Old Whateley, seeking to perfect his art,
Purchased a puppy from the local pound,
Leashed him and tied him up, and all around
Chalked the grim sigils of the Outer Dark.
The cowering man-whipped mongrel gave a bark
Of awe and wonder as a force profound
Reached to his spirit from the voids beyond
The wizard's ken, and on him made its mark.

Long escaped from Whateley, he dwells now
Far from that town. He wears a careful coat
Hiding the wonders that strange force has wrought
Upon his frame. The roaches whisper how
In his small home he speaks at night with ones
Who dwell beneath the light of alien suns.

From A Child's Garden Of Fungi From Yuggoth, H P Smithee

***

Wilbur Whateley in The Dunwich Horror always haunted me a little. He was a nasty bit of work, but he had some excuse. Created and raised to carry out his grandfather's catastrophic plan, given a spectacularly unhuman nature he had to constantly hide, he was screwed around with pretty badly. (For a treatment of the story that fleshes him out a bit, listen to the Nineteen Nocturne Boulevard dramatisation.)

Geisel is my take on him, an early animal test run by Grandpa Whateley, but wiser and luckier than Wilbur; he was smart enough to see a life beyond the wizard's plans for him. Now he lives quietly somewhere, using his Yog-Suthothian powers for his own benign purposes (mainly, chatting on the aethernet with friends in eldritch places). He's a Wilbur who got away.