SUPERDOG! Ain’t Gonna Take No Feline ‘Tude

In the early morning darkness, two cats sit face to face at the end of a driveway, staring intently into each other’s eyes. Their two forms take shape, disappear into the darkness, and take shape again beneath a flickering street lamp. And yet, as they purr at each other and bat their eyes, there is nothing “on/off” about this romance. This is happening – it’s “on.” They move closer, purr, move closer still.

And then?

A ball of white fluff slices through the darkness, ears raised, tongue lolling. Into the sky, the canine hoists her Swiffer tail – which has a mass of dead leaves tangled into it – and sprints forward, dragging her slow, sweating human behind her.

SUPERDOG! Reporting for cat population control duty!

In an instant, she is almost on them.

“Foul! Foul!” the felines yowl, baring sharp teeth and claws. And yet, spell broken, they scatter. One cat retreats to a nearby roof, the other leaps a chain link. Two hearts, two bodies, almost one, now solidly two again.

At the site of the almost-romance, SUPERDOG! jams her snout to the ground and sniffs forcefully, inhaling particles of dirt and rocks and insects that once scurried, and now scurry no more. SUPERDOG! hops forward, curses the pull of the leash at her neck – if not for her state of enslavement, oh, the felines she would chase! – and scans the horizon for the enemy. No cats. Mission: Accomplished.

SUPERDOG! looks back to her human, pants loudly, and gives a proud growl. Then she pulls a pair of sunglasses from her Swiffer tail, and in the tradition of Horatio Caine, says:

“Looks like those two romantic kitties aren’t any match for puppy love.”


Neel in Sunglasses

Photo credit to Sarah Herman and to Miri’s body double, Neel, who looks so badass in a pair of sunglasses.



Can’t Finish What I Started

I’m not sure if you know this about me, but I’m a master of beginnings. As in, my MFA really stands for, “Master of First Attempts.” But middles? Ends? Yeah, not so much. Let’s just say if my hard drive is a vast desert, story beginnings bounce like tumbleweeds over the horizon. And there I am, dragging my parched, sunburned body along the sand, just trying to capture one of them — any of them — in my maniacal story web. How’s that for dramatic imagery?

Rather than attempting to give this post an end here, I’ll toss you over to Write By Night, who have been kind enough to publish my musings on the subject of beginnings that have no end. Here’s the article. Voila! Go forth! Complete something for once!

An Elderly Man’s Fairy Tale

A gaggle of elderly men shuffles past the coffee shop lead by their Pekingese pups.  One is the height of a light pole, yet it’s potbelly, bellybutton, heart attack as far as the eye can see.  Another sucks food from his teeth, his reddened cheeks inflating and deflating beneath sporadic patches of a white whisker facescape.

Too eager for hydration, the first dumps an icy drink onto his tonsils, then rolls over his potbelly and gasps for air.  The second laughs and pounds his back heartily, then mirrors his movements with consumptive coughs.  Then a third man nudges around the corner, peering over his walker like a beady-eyed gunner into the South Pacific night.  He steers his ship toward a bike rack, straightens suddenly, and belches into the trees.

“To the beach!” he cries.  And I wonder what it must be like to be old.

Published in Pindeldyboz!

A few months back, I had the pleasure of having my short short, The Secret Society of Carpet Liers, published in Pindeldyboz.  How’s that for alliteration?  Check it out on their website here.

This piece was the result of experimentation in the last months of my MFA with shorter forms and more precise phrasing.  I always tend to move in this direction after struggling through a poorly conceived novel.  BIG to tiny.  For me, short shorts mean declarative sentences which mean depressing prose.  Fortunately, I had just gotten out of a relationship at the time, and had plenty of heart-wrenching things to say.