Dream a Little Dream Of Me, Granny

I feel like a preserver of silence. The royal chief of the Chuppies trying to prevent every decibel from entering sleeping grandmother's ears. The doors are shut. The disgusting tweety wind chime banished from our kingdom. Pillows guard giant granny from turning and falling. No slippers allowed in the territory. No use of keys or trinklets. No words either. Whoever said actions speak louder than words was deaf. We use mime. Mime is the language of our kingdom. The T.V. is on exile. The phone is on low ringer and right next to me. I sip my whiskey on the rocks (read lemonade) .
The tables are coated with bubble wrap. No cups couple and no pens penetrate.
All that prevails in our kingdom is the joint hum of the fan and the hollow sound of granny's snore. Occasionally I turn a page, but I'm taxed for it.