It was a nice evening for slippers. Steve opened the closet door, shuffled through the pile of shoes and finally found the old leather pair that he’s had since Lord knows when. It was the first time this season that it truly felt like fall and the wind ripped through the trees threatening to pull off every last leaf before it was done. Inside, a pot of chili simmered  gently on the stove as it’s typical to have a nice big pot of chili the first cold day of the year. Still a bit too early yet for a fire, but chili sounded really good tonight and Steve was glad Connie obliged him and threw together a big batch. He could smell it throughout the whole house and he certainly felt like the flavors had married enough for it to be delicious.

The grandkids were due to be in town tomorrow morning, and there was an excitement in the air as the last time he saw them was before Kyle and Jenny moved to Lincoln. The phone calls were nice and all, but nothing beats giving those kids a nice big hug from grandpa. It may be too chilly to take them to Centennial Park tomorrow, but he was sure they would find plenty of things to do to fill the time. Plus, there was sure to be plenty of chili leftover, so at least they had dinner covered. Connie was clever like that, and the grandkid’s sure did love her chili. Not wanting to wait another second, Steve urged Connie to give the chili one final taste test, and whenshe gave him that approving nod he hastily got his favorite ceramic chili bowls from the cabinet.

Belong

"Her world collapsed early Sunday morning."

Every once in a while, out of nowhere, Sara would hear these words from an obscure 90's song echoing in her mind.  Belong.  Such a bleak lyric lead her to hope, to dream, and she felt alive and free as she breathed in the crisp spring air. 

The air was singing and the magnolia trees were in full bloom.  Deep pink and white flowers burst forth in the warming sunshine.  Yearning for and basking in the energy from the sun, Sara felt the overwhelming urge to climb the magnolia tree that sprawled to life in front of her as she walked through Heritage Hills Park.  Before she knew it she was entrenched within those branches and the soft petals delicately caressed her cheeks as she climbed. 

There was no late frost for the first time since Sara could remember.  Too often the pedals of the flowering trees were singed by this unwelcome visitor leaving them with gnarled brown edges that withered away in decay.  Not this year, and Sara did not miss the opportunity to embrace the beauty of the season which often can be so easily overlooked.  She let her world collapse into now as she lived for this very moment in time.  She did not look ahead, she did not look behind.  She let every breath be a song.  This breath, this song, belong.

Time in the Shadows

Soon enough a wave of emotion came over him and he felt silly.  He hastily closed the laptop and shuffled back into the living room and collapsed into his recliner.  Time had a way of making him feel insignificant and he allowed fear and doubt to maintain a stronghold on his mind.  He didn't really know who he was anymore; he knew that his best days were behind him, yet he remained hopeful for the future.

Just then there was a knock on his door and he found a sweet young lady on the other side reminding him that it was time to eat.  Her appearance reminded him of his daughter or maybe even his wife, though he couldn't remember the last time he saw either one of them.  There was a distance in her eyes and he suddenly realized she was not who he thought she was.  Maybe she was his sister, did he have a sister?  It didn't matter, he was feeling frustrated but he figured he could just sort it all out later. 

He went back to grab his laptop thinking maybe he could work on his new story at the dinner table, but it was no longer there.  Perplexed, he fell back in his chair and suddenly felt the sensation of being pushed.  Before he knew it he was in the school cafeteria.  Lunch was being served and he found himself sitting with a bunch of guys from his high school swim team.  Chicken and noodles were on the menu today.  His favorite.  The story could wait.  He had a lot of catching up to do.

Brushing off the Dust

"Testing.  Testing.  One, two.  Is this thing on?"
He chuckled to himself as he thought about dusting off the old keyboard.

Would anyone listen?  Would anyone care?

There was an all to easy to ignore void in his life that he had tried to fill with other things.  Important things, no doubt, but there was always a little something missing.  A bit of his freedom, his whimsy, seemed to have been wadded up and thrown into the back of a broom closet, collecting dust and never seeing the light of day.  He had urges to write, little twinges here and there, all too easily snuffed out by the duties of being a husband, a father, and all the general doldrums of adulthood. 

He couldn't help but wonder why now, why couldn't he shake the urge this time, and why was he sitting in front of a white screen with a digital piece of paper glaring at him as his fingers rested gently on the keys?  This could be just another desperate stab at reliving part of his youth, in which he tended to lose motivation as the duties of life became too hard to ignore.  Then again, it could be something more.

Not sure ... Is anybody out there?

Hey all,  I was thankful to guest post on here several years ago. I have started writing again. In fact I have challenged myself to a 100 word a day challenge for 2020.  I am going to post some of my story starters and chapters here.  If you have feedback I would love to hear it.  If not, that will be fine too.  Hope your literary minds are racing and your next story is growing in your heart and mind.

Snow has a way of muffling the sound of the world until everything fades into background static.  The noise of traffic and people give way to the soft crunch of footsteps. From the moment the first flake falls until the world is covered, the transition quickens the expectation of those who seek tranquility in a deafening world.  A snow-covered landscape is the playground of all. The introvert finds solace in the quiet and calm. The child discovers new worlds racing down the avalanche ready cliff face or defending their fort from the coming marauders. The athlete sees a new challenge or a day of rest.  The one thing snow doesn’t do is provide anonymity. As each flake is disturbed, by heat or by pressure, evidence is left. A person can get lost in the sea of white, but rarely do they leave no trace. The footsteps faded with each passing minute and they knew they were running out of time.

Callie had been missing for just over 25 minutes when her teacher noticed she hadn’t come back from the bathroom.  No one knew she was missing, only that 7th graders tend to wander. Callie, and her friends affectionately known as the Airheads, were more prone to wander than others. At that mark Mr. Sullivan, the Social Studies teacher, called down to the office to see if Callie had turned up at the nurses office.  He explained to the tired secretary, who had been dealing with calls from parents asking if school was ending early due to the heavily falling snow, how long she had been gone and her hastily expressed need to go to the bathroom to deal with “girl problems.” It was the school equivalent of a get out of jail free card.  Teachers didn’t mess with that explanation. The secretary said she would check with the nurse and call him back.  

When she called five minutes later, the secretary sounded concerned.  Three other teachers had phoned the office with similar stories. Girls had walked up and asked to go to the restroom.  All had now been missing for over thirty minutes. The principals were out searching the building and she would get back to him as soon as she knew more.

Mr. Gerig, the first year assistant principal, was the first to notice the door.  It was at the end of a rarely used hallway that ran between the kitchen and the boiler room.  He probably wouldn’t have even glanced in its direction, as students rarely even came to this part of the building, but a tendril of cold air caressed his arm as he passed.  The door was propped slightly open and a small mound of snow was building on the waxed tile floor. As he walked down the corridor, he expected to find the janitor or a cook standing outside taking an ill-advised smoke break just outside the door.  What he found instead were 4 distinct sets of footprints headed towards the woods that ringed the back of the property where the school met the national park. The footsteps were slowly fading as more snow fell and wind pushed across the open space.  There was no sign of anyone outside the door and no shelter for over 20 miles in the direction the footsteps led. Mr. Gerig grabbed his walkie talkie to call Ms. Lamb the principal when he noticed the bright red dots alongside the rightmost set of footprints.  A note of fear entered his voice as he said, “Ms. Lamb, I need you to come to door 21 as quickly as you can. I am afraid it may already be too late.” He was still staring into the woods when Ms. Lamb arrived.

Photo Finish

The title of my friend's magazine is Photo Finish.  It is a magazine catering to amateur photographers pursuing their passion in photography and developing film.

The featured article "The Fall and Rise of Film" features a round table discussion among top professional film advocates Ryan Pfluger, David Benjamin Sherry, and Ellen Rogers; as well as celebrity analog film aficionados Jeff Bridges, Elijah Wood, and Michael Stipe. 

In this issue, Photo Finish with also begin a campaign for readers to submit letters and photographs to the magazine sharing their passion for analog photography to be published in future issues. 

The star-powered article and reader campaign will surely revitalize this floundering magazine.  Not only that, this issue hopes to rejuvenate interest in shooting pictures with film and rediscovering the magic of film photography; inspiring readers to fall in love with it all over again, and lay the groundwork for the next generation of film enthusiasts.

“There’s a spirituality that’s connected to it. I go out to take the pictures and at the end of the day I’m by myself, alone with my thoughts, in the dark room. It becomes very meditative.”

-- David Benjamin Sherry 

Magazine Maverick

October 2017 Writing Assignment: Magazine Maverick

You've owed a good, old friend a favor for over 15 years, and now they've come to you with the ultimate request. Save their magazine from going out of business.

You're a well-known humanitarian and you have met nearly every mover-and-shaker, in nearly every industry all over the world.

You have one chance to make it happen for your friend.
The magazine's fate is hinged on how creative you are to guarantee the success of its next issue.

What will you do to create the most timeless, and alluring issue, that saves the magazine, and your friendship?

Your assignment is to choose:
1. The title, and industry of your friend's magazine.
2. The cover of the magazine: who or what will be featured on the cover? Upload a JPEG image from the internet to give us an idea of the cover image idea.
3. The featured article or interview. What special celebrity/influencer/artist were you able to interview for this issue? What article topic will you be featuring that you sure will sell copies, and save the magazine from doom?
4. If you'd like to spend the extra time, write, and post your "article" or "interview" from the magazine!

Decomposition

Decomposing tides, withered worn joints of the sea,
willing me,
showing balance where life can grow.
as always, natural things flow
the paths of least resistance,
they decompose.
they release,
they die.
they let go.

Rivers and rivulets, breaking free,
expectations not.

it's the end of the world.
in every step of growth.
it's the end of the world, as we know it,
and as it will never be known.

Telling All

We are told we are here to raise vibration to experience grace in the chaos of time to relieve our spirits of grief and pain. and to relinquish our burdens to higher powers, ourselves included. we are given tools for empowerment shown ways, and guided by mentors and gurus samādhi practices, and breathwork prayer, and agonizing stretches. we are pulled from both ends by society, and then every other side as well. stretched beyond natural capacity. oddly gripping tight the comforts of habit, the creaturely ways of our thought patterns that have developed who we are over our lifetime. no longer questioning ourselves, and our interpretation of our daily ritual. facing days, as if to climb a mountain that leaves no footprint. surrendering to our ignorance, as our Will has plummeted, as if weighted and tied to stones in the river... we so Willfully, unknowningly so, give up our power. just to feel less feeling. to receive less change, less flow, less Spirit force pulsing through our minds. to deny the body, is to deny the Self, ever flowing, capturing pictures of itself for review... for validation. Breath, voicing ourselves outward and then inward, salvation hurries and scurries near us and then dearly holds us. we survive, and then we thrive. our choice. one breath.

I miss writing and thought I would share - The Clock

Tim slowly descended past his breaking point.  The cuckoo clock, so old his grandmother did not remember a time without it,  ticked off each passing second, with every click reverberating like a gunshot.  He stared at the ceiling, knowing that eventually they would have to return.  He had heard nothing from the hall outside of his door in over a day.  The lights had come on automatically at 6AM like they did each day, but had flickered throughout the morning.  He knew, or at least he had convinced himself, that soon they would go off and he would end the day in total darkness. 

Tim rose from his cot and began pacing the short side of the room.  It was only 12 steps and he knew them well.  Tim had only been allowed to bring one book and one remembrance item with him.  He had been told anything more was outside the allowances for each person on board.  The clock he thought would remind him of family only served as a trigger for happier memories.  Tim brought the longest book he could find, "The Count of Monte Cristo," It had seemed like a great idea at the time.  He now realized just how much he hated the story.  In fourteen months, he had not gotten past the 30th page.  Each time he tried, his hands began to shake and he could not keep reading.  

The lights flickered for the last time late in the evening.  No food had not arrived in over 30 hours.  As the hunger and darkness began to gnaw on his stocmach, he grudgingly began to acknowledge the cold.  It had started soon after the lights flickered out the last time.  The heaters were no longer running.  Power must be out all over the ship.  Tim imagined everyone frantically working on a solution.

From the hall a sound somewhat between a sob and a chuckle escapes into the darkness.  The realization has dawned on Tim that he has just been granted an amazing gift.  His life sentence, handed down on earth to be served in the mines of Saturn, was significantly shortened.  Soon the sob faded away as the welcoming, cold darkness allowed only the ticking of the clock to mark the cell's rebirth as a tomb.

The Note

The NOTE

   

 As Thomas looked through the window to the dusty, leaf-strewn path, he knew his life would forever be changed.  His mother had left the house a short time earlier with the admonition to," Stay hidden, no matter what happens.  Do not answer the door for anyone!"  So for a short time, Thomas hid in his room.  He looked at the Legos he seldom played with and the TV that had been dark since the power went out 2 weeks earlier.  Time passed slowly as he waited for his mother.  Thomas grew tired of waiting in his slowly darkening room and walked back to the first floor.  He walked first into the kitchen, thinking he would get something to eat, but it was too much work to make anything.  He decided instead to watch for his mother through the boards covering the front windows, figuring she would not be too mad as long as he was not visible when she came home.

     His view from the window was limited by the fact darkness was falling and his mother and Tim had put the boards so closely together.  That was before Tim had left and did not return.  That had been a week ago and Thomas could tell that his mother was bothered that her boyfriend had not come back.  Thomas did not like Tim as much as his mother did, but he was better than most of the men that had pretended to be his dad.
  

    From Thomas' perch by the window he also had a view of the basement door.  Two padlocks and a deadbolt seemed to fill his vision as he gazed at that wretched door.  His mother never let him go down the rickety old steps, but he knew what he would see if he ever did.  He shuddered a little as he turned back to the window, hoping to see his mother, but seeing only the ever growing shadows.  He knew with each passing minute the chances of her appearing grew smaller.  Sweat broke out on his face as he thought back to what he was supposed to do in the event she did not return.  He knew he had to go get the list from his dresser, sooner rather than later, so that he could still read it in the failing light.  They had one flashlight that still put out a feeble light, but his mother's first rule was not to turn on the flashlight unless there was an emergency.

    Thomas rose from his place at the window, climbed the stairs to his room passing his siblings rooms on the right and left.  Their doors were closed and Thomas figured they would never be open again.  He missed them both, but understood the consequences of their choices.  As the youngest kid in the family his mother had worked harder to keep him under control after what his siblings had done.
   

    When he arrived in his room he grabbed the list.  He did not really need to even look at it any more. He had memorized it the very first day when his mother entrusted it to him. When he saw his mother's writing on the page, he sat heavily on his bed.  Even though he was only twelve, Thomas understood this may be the last glimpse he would have of his mother.  

   He allowed himself a short cry that ended as a gunshot split the air.  It was not as close as the others he had heard on previous nights, but it brought him quickly back to the list.  He quickly began the list, closing doors and hanging blankets.  He prepared the barricades for each door leaving the front door for last.  When the house was locked up tight and everything was done except the front door, he made his first adult decision.  Thomas was going to open the front door.  He had to look and had to know that his mother was not coming. 

   He found himself energized by the chance to do something for himself.  The chance to not just follow the list.  He undid the locks from bottom to top and swung open the door.  Feeling a rush he looked out on the cul-de-sac.  Everything was the same it had been for the last two weeks.  The cars still parked in driveways.  The neighbor's paper on their front walk. The trees were changing colors as their leaves began to fall. He glanced quickly, searching for signs of movement. He saw nothing moving and his elation fell.  As he hung his head and as he began to turn, he caught a glimpse of something on the front porch.  It was a small rock with a piece of paper caught under the edge.  He stooped down to pick it up and as he stood he was and was struck by how vulnerable he felt out and exposed.  He quickly turned on his heel, threw the door closed, and bolted the locks. 

   It was now dark enough in the house that he had to make a choice.  He knew it was against his mother's rule, but emboldened by his first adult act he decided on a second.  He grabbed the flashlight from the counter and with a shaky hand read the words his mother had chosen to write.  The words swirled on the page as the meaning of the words sunk in.   

    When Thomas awoke it was pitch black inside the house.  He did not know how long he had been unconscious, only that it was long enough for the flashlights feeble power to run out.  It did not matter though.  Thomas stood on shaky legs and felt his way to his mother's room and found a second flashlight in her dresser.  When he flipped the switch, the light blazed to life and he was temporarily blinded.  That was when he knew it was time.  Thomas descended the stairs and walked to the basement door.  He knew the numbers by heart, they were the next to last item on the list, and he spun each padlock in turn.  When the locks were off he turned the deadbolt that clunked with a finality that almost drove Thomas to run to his room and hide.  

     As he swung open the door and the light fell on the stairs, Thomas began to feel each second.  He stepped lightly down the dusty, worn treads.  Each stair making its own little noise as his weight settled on them.  When he reached the bottom he turned to the back wall and saw two mounds of dirt with the little crosses.  What made him begin to cry were the two empty holes beside them, one small and one larger. He hid his face in his hands when he realized only one would be filled and sat upon the step.  As he looked up after a short while he noticed that only one of the two guns were hanging above the workbench where the list said they would be and he realized why his mother never came home.  She had left him to complete the last item on the list alone.  He had one last adult choice to make as he stood and reached above the bench, knowing it was time.

It Starts With an Earthquake

Lenny was contently reading the morning paper, savoring every sip of his steaming cup of black coffee, when all of a sudden the house began to jangle and pop.  As the rumbles subsided, he got up from the kitchen table, folded the newspaper and silenced the radio.  Peering outside, he thought to himself,

“Great, my day starts with an earthquake.”

As he studied the view from his kitchen window, he saw a mesmerizing murmuration of starlings dominating the sky. As he gazed at the dazzling cloud of birds swirling, pulsating, and drawing together to the thinnest of waists, his attention was diverted to a pit of snakes unearthing themselves from their den. Puzzled, his eyes then shot up towards the sound of aeroplanes rumbling across the sky. Such an odd way to start the morning, birds and snakes and aeroplanes, but Lenny was not afraid.

As much as he would have liked to continue to stare out the window, Lenny had to get to work. The radio offered no relief to the oddities at play that started his day. First, he heard an NPR news report on how the eye of a hurricane mysteriously seemed to come to a standstill on Daytona Beach, Florida. Then, as he was stopped at a traffic light, Lenny saw a petulant vagrant brazenly hoisting a sign and shouting, “World serves it’s own needs, dummy serve your own needs!”

Lenny grunted, “No.”

As Lenny finally got downtown, he saw a building ablaze and a local fire department ladder in the midst of a fearful fight down at the Height building. A frayed wire started the firestorm and the whole block looked like a combat site. He slowed down to check out the scene, but a stream of cars behind him blasted their horns as they were coming in a hurry, breathing down his neck.

At the next block, he saw team by teams of reporters looking baffled, trumped, tethered, and cropped.

“Look at that," he said to himself, "How can they be low playing that fire at the Height building?” 

He then saw the soup kitchen overflowing with people, "Fine, then, population common food. It’ll do.” Lenny chuckled.

A businessman on the corner dashed out and pounded the hood of Lenny’s car, yelling, “Save yourself, serve yourself, world serves it's own needs!”

Lenny refused to listen, “Bleeding heart dummy. What does he think this is the rapture? That’s only for the revered and the right, right?”

With a sense of vitriolic fervor, Lenny pulled in to his parking spot at work feeling pretty psyched.

Six o’clock couldn’t come soon enough after an uneventful work day tucked away in his cubicle. It was time for Lenny’s favorite TV hour, and he just missed getting caught in the traffic jam at the foreign towers. But instead of a new episode of “Slash and Burn: Return”, the network continued its coverage of the day’s events; Lenny could literally listen to himself churn. The networks were stationed at several major metropolitan cities; as the military was uniformly locking in. In the streets, there was book burning, blood-letting, every motive escalating, automobiles incinerating. The news reporters were telling the viewers to light a candle, light a votive, step down to the lowest level of your home.

Just then, Lenny’s roommate Lester bangs through the front door, shouting, “If you go outside, watch your heal, there is crushed glass everywhere! There was also a swath of no fear, cavalier renegades; so steer clear!”

Lenny replied, “I know! Have you watched the news today? It’s like a tournament of lies. They want to offer me solutions, offer me alternatives, and I decline.”

As the two sat down for dinner, Lester proceeded to tell Lenny about how the other night he dreamt of knives and continental drift divide. All the mountains sat in a line, and how Leonard Bernstein was there. All of which was extremely peculiar, to say the least.

Lester continued, “The weirdest thing about it was that it was my birthday party and we were having cheesecake and ..... jellybeans. Boom! I hate jellybeans.”

Lenny chimed in, “That dream is kind of symbiotic of all the events that have happened today, right?”

“Right!” Lester agreed, “It’s almost like it’s the end of the world as we know it.”

As he loaded the dishes into the dishwasher, Lenny expanded on that thought, “If it’s the end of the world as we know it, I feel fine. It's time I had some time alone.”

My latest Trip Around the Sun during a Month of Saturdays

In the Aftermath of Luke asking for me take a deep dive, a Nightswim if I may, and select the topic this month I almost struggled with Losing My Religion.  I was able to be one of the Shiny Happy People, climb out from Underneath the Bunker and pick a theme that fills me with Wanderlust. So, I decided this month we would play a little Wicked Game.  We have two choices for the month, each inspired by a REM song.  Luke, these are for you.

#1 - Its's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine) - Write your own end of the world tale.  It can be fun, it can be frightening, it can even be a little sci-fi, but make sure its the end of ?????????

#2 - Turn You Inside Out - Since it is October, and I love me some M. Night Shyamalan, take a well known story and write your own twist ending. Expand a universe, change a life, or just get the bad guy in the end.  What ever you choose to do, make it your own.

Pick one, pick both, or chose to do something else!  Just make sure you Talk About the Passion and don't be Second Guessing what you choose.

Josh

Yoga Breath

Yoga Breath;
blue
roving between Sun and Moon
like wool between hands
softer than peaches
and the touch of silken water
along the sandy shore.
The wave, eternally amused
humored in it's own reflection
blue as night
blue as day
blue as yoga breathing.

autumn.

she - floating downward
amidst no cries, no tears shed
leaves fall – autumn comes.

- The First Day of Autumn (Autumnal Equinox), September 23, 2015. photo & haiku by Jeffrey James Ircink.

Off Topic; if you will permit me a moment

Fragile. A simple word that we use to describe babies, glass, emotions, and myriad other things. Last night I was reminded the most fragile thing of all is life. Teenagers are a rough sort. We view them as impulsive and reckless. We see them as brilliant and stupid at the same time. We see them as the traditional paradox of, "can't live with them, can't live without them!" Believe me there is no truer statement than that. I taught middle school kids for 11 years and the one word to describe that time is frustrating. It's frustrating to not know how they will turn out. To not know which ones will end up as Rhodes Scholars or teen moms. It's frustrating to know it will be years before they truly find themselves. Last night, I saw how frustrating and fragile come together to create sorrow. David was a kid with an easy smile and a quick wit. Always willing to engage in banter, thought provoking discussion, or a prank to get a quick laugh. He frustrated me because he used his smile to mask hurt and frustration. That same desire to laugh easily hid his deeper emotions much of the time. Often his release of those frustrations came on the ball field or basketball court. Last night frustrating and fragile came together. Sorrow and sadness visits in its wake. A family ripped to shreds. A town in shock. Friends hollowed out. Never say enough. Never quit. Reach out. Someone cares. I know my town did. I know I did. Goodbye David

The Tide Stumbles In

The sky laughs at my misfortune
The venomous yowls breach my soul
The stars instinctively know they have won
The moon separates from the sun

Footprints vanish as the tide stumbles in
The seagulls flicker and dance on the bay
Life is ever so easily undone
The moon separates from the sun

Envelopes of light peer off the moon
The sea mechanically lathers and fades
Freedom was never so easily won
The moon separates from the sun

The fish and the flora never knew me by name
Whirls of the clouds temper and flail
The threshold is simply and perfectly done
The moon separates from the sun

The brilliance and the light
The pain and the pride
Destiny calls us one by one
The moon separates from the sun

Ekphrastic Poem

September's writing assignment is submit a poem to Rattle magazine. Rattle is a quarterly literary magazine that publishes poetry. They have monthly Ekphrastic poetry challenges as well, which is what I am encouraging all of us to partake in! An Ekphrastic poem is art-inspired poetry. The artwork I have posted here is the art in which to draw your inspiration from for your poem.

After you submit your poem to Rattle Mag, post it here too so we all can read it! Have fun!

The submission on rattle.com must be made by September 30th. Details are within the link below:

http://www.rattle.com/poetry/extras/ekphrasis/

A Hearty Welcome

Sending a hearty welcome to our newest member Joshua Winrotte! We're so excited to have you join us here in our 'community'!

Snibbets the Cat

The air was heavy and dark, the smell of cat food filled the basement. “Where's your cat Diane?”, Teddy yelled up the stairs, where Diane was prepping dinner. Diane walked over to the basement doorway, her silhouette, lit up from behind from the bright kitchen lights stated confidently, “Snibbets will come when you pour the food into the bowl. He's probably in the laundry pile somewhere.” She motioned toward four large bags of cat food, half folded over at the top. “Try that one with the yellow label.”

Teddy grabbed the yellow bag, unrolling the top and looked toward the east wall of the basement....his eyes scanned what looked to be the wreckage of a long forgotten flannel war. He wondered when Diane was going to fold and press the laundry, and more so contemplated her burning the clothes in a giant bonfire in her yard. He loved the relief of a clean home, and Diane's basement was long overdue for a deep and thorough purge. He poured the chunky dry cat food into a red plastic bowl on the floor.

Still no sign of the cat. This seemed unusual to Teddy and he wondered if the cat was ill.

“Diane, should I just leave the food in the bowl and come upstairs? Snibbets isn't coming.” Diane suggested coming upstairs and joining her in the kitchen.

Suddenly Teddy remembered he had buried a black Twizzler in his jeans pocket, which Diane had offered to him on the car ride to her house earlier that evening. He was puzzled as to why he had accepted it from her, as he hated black licorice. As he pulled the sticky Twizzler from his pocket, he could hear something clinking above his head. He looked up to the large metal pipe above him, and noticed Snibbets looking down at him with eyes aglow - vivid with reflection as he crept along with the calculated moves of a panther, the metal tag around his neck dragging along the pipe. Snibbets then let out a horrific cry and lost balance, falling haphazardly onto Teddy's shoulders and digging his claws in deep. Teddy lifted the Twizzler to Snibbets mouth hurriedly and the cat cried out again as if his entire life depended on consuming the twisted licorice.

The claws lifted out of Teddy's skin as Snibbets dove to the floor with the candy hanging from his mouth. He shot Teddy a look of utter disgust and jumped up the staircase in a frenzy.

“Wow, ouch!” Teddy exclaimed out loud. He climbed the stairs and entered Diane's kitchen. “Your cat... your cat. Has he lost his mind?” Teddy rubbed his shoulders delicately as to ease the sharp pain. “He must love licorice!”

Diane broke out in a big smile, “Oh Snibbets loves licorice!” She laughed and inquired about the event, “What happened down there?”

Teddy explained, “He was on the pipe above me and I caught him glaring at a Twizzler I was holding. I thought he was going to jump to the floor so I would give him a piece … I had no idea he would fall for it!”