By Pat Brunson
By Mrs. Jerry Wilson
Jerry Wilson said it a thousand times, “Cats are so damn stupid.” White Socks had nicked herself on a tuna can three times in the last eight years. All minor lacerations.
His wife said, “Then don’t give her a sharp can!” She rushed Jerry to the emergency room. The cat oblivious to all the drama.
“Yes Mr. Wilson, your fingers will need stiches,” the ER physician said. “Aren’t you the same guy I stitched up his fingers six months ago?” Jerry nodded.
“It’s essential only your wife operate the can opener.”
“I write to make people smile, whether in a journal article, short story, or cartoon.” – the writer
By Beth Moulton
My cat Lucy sleeps on my chest in the night. Sometimes I startle awake from the weight of him, afraid my heart is squeezing shut, but no. It’s just Lucy. He lays purring between my breasts, his heart to my heart.
When Lucy was a kitten, the vet told me he had a heart murmur.
“So do I,” I said.
Now, on bottomless nights, when Lucy aligns his heart with mine, and his purrs rumble through my chest, I wonder what my murmur feels like to him. And I hope with all of my heart that it feels like purring.
“I write because there are stories that need to be told and writing is the only way that I know to tell them.” – the author
By Michael Thomas Ellis
I am not a gnarled desire grasping
for a younger persuasion
nor a groomed garden cutting
to be tossed once withered.
I may have veined hands
and sweetbreads not fresh-baked
but I laugh deliciously
and live to knead your dreams.
So let me be your Persian cat
dug deep in the quilts
to be remembered
and I will reward you
with my purr.
Michael Thomas Ellis is looking forward to next year, trying hard to be an optimist.
By Daria Angelova
They met every day.
The tabby cat appeared first, and took her place atop the old weathered table in the middle of the veranda. There she lay like a queen, her white paws tucked in, secure in her high ground advantage. The ginger cat came later and settled on the floor, never more than two meters away from the table.
They never played, never fought, never acknowledged each others existence in any way. Their relationship was a study in pretend indifference. A waste of time, to our human mind, but who were we to judge that inscrutable mystery, the cat.