The Pennysworth household consisted of a dog, as mentioned before, Mr. and Mrs. Pennysworth and his as yet, but still looking to the horizon for hope, unmarried, older sister, Jean. Mr. Pennysworth held the opinion that the sun was down, the shades were drawn and the rooster was asleep on that option, but, tactfully, never expressed this view in his sister's presence.
Jean Pennysworth remained unmarried, not because she was unattractive, although she certainly was. Or because she was simple-minded, which she certainly was not. No, she remained without a spouse for the simple reason that she insisted on singing. Night and day, day and night. Songs robbed of their melodies and harmonies. Songs that became twisted and corrupted in her mouth. Songs so horrific that few suitors could imagine a lifetime of bonding near them. No piano had any key or combination there of to start them off. No musical instrument could keep time with them. No mind would ever forget them.
Whenever Jean Pennysworth was not singing, she would hum in an undertone. Very softly, her voice rising and falling like the sound of a mosquito darting around your head at night. Thankfully, Mr. & Mrs. Pennysworth were quite deaf and willfully so. The dog, who unmercifully was not, suffered untold harm and would certainly have had a lot to tell his psychiatrist if only dogs spoke English.
The family, because of old age and idleness, had fallen into the vulgar habit of spending time together as such. Thus, they ate their meals together, planned outings as a group and generally spent time in conversation, though it sounded an awful lot like shouting because of the hearing condition of two of them. Afternoons were set aside for reading, listening to music and assisting the dog with his piano lessons. The music instructor was content to patiently teach the dog the scales as long as the checks continued to clear the bank, which they did.
The brains of the family was not as it was supposed, Mr. Pennysworth, but was in reality, his sister, Jean. What she lacked in musical skill, which was a considerable deficit, she made up for in financial savvy. Their fortune had doubled under her efforts. Her brother, who certainly knew how to add eggs to the family basket, did not have her ability to make the eggs mature and to lay more. So, though Mr. Pennysworth sat at the head of the negotiation table, all associates knew the real dogfight would be with the owner of the chair placed discreetly at his right side, Jean's. During such negotiations, she never hummed and the resulting silence was terrifying to hear!