A hot geyseroo was hopping along when a cryptozoologist happened to notice it and shout, “What are you?”

“I'm a geyseroo, the hot kind,” came the reply.

The cryptozoologist leafed through his bestiary and checked the index but he couldn't find any reference to that monster in the book. “You must be extremely rare,” he remarked.

“Yes, that's true,” concurred the hot geyseroo.

“What's that in your pouch?”

“It's a baby xaratan. That's what hot geyseroos do. They keep xaratans in their pouches until they are old enough to be set adrift on the ocean and pretend to be islands. It's our duty.”

“Do you get paid for doing that?” asked the cryptozoologist.

“Nah, it's purely voluntary.”

“But why can't I discern your outline or form a picture of your body in my mind when I close my eyes?”

The hot geyseroo said, “Because the fellow who wrote this fable didn't bother to describe me, that's why.”

“I see. He just left you deliberately vague?”

“Yep. Well, I must be off.”

“Nice to meet you. Take care. Bye!”

As the hot geyseroo bounded away, the xaratan in its pouch looked up and said, “What the heck was that?”

“A cryptozoologist,” answered the hot geyseroo.

The xaratan rustled some pages.

“I can't find one of those listed in my reference book of humans. Are they especially rare, I wonder? I can't even form a coherent picture of his body in my mind when I close my eyes.”

“Don't bother. He was ugly,” said the hot geyseroo.

¶ Make up your own moral for this fable.