On Little Cat Feet_One Way To Do It_Don't Drink The Stars_Objectionable
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On Little Cat Feet
On Little Cat FeetYou’re watching my fingers tapping on the keyboard. Those luminous green eyes are fixed on the movement… Mesmerized… mesmerizing… Help, Cat! Give me inspiration. The Naming of Cats is a great poem—but how am I going to write an essay on it? Eliot must have known cats. He used great characterizations. Why did I choose that particular poem? And speaking of naming cats…I need to name you.I already have a name. You’re staring at me. I’ve heard that cats might have some sort of mind transference ability. It’s those eyes. Those deep, glowing eyes. What are you thi...
One Way To Do It
“Take a daily walk,” my therapist told me. A daily walk would help manage my weight and might improve my mood.Sure, I thought. A walk would make all the stuff in my head disappear. I nodded politely with a smile that rivaled the Mona Lisa and waited patiently for my session to be over. Yet another fruitless attempt at combatting an issue so ingrained that it successfully dodged all attempts at destruction. I pitied my therapist and her feckless attempts. The only real solution might have to be amputation.Thankfully, the hour ended, and I paid my small fortune and propelled myself into the dayl...
Don't Drink The Stars
The sky was dripping again. The grass was blue with it. Mr. Thomson was screaming about his car getting stained. Now, he would have to paint it again. Or he could wait until a good sunset dripped. The Junbergs were sitting on their porch, drinking a bottled 4:30 am August sunrise. They insisted that only 4 am sunrises were proper quality. 5 am was too bitter. And 6 am wasn’t worth speaking of. Since they were some of the few willing to wake up at that time, it was no wonder that they made the good money, bottling it for resale. Mothers handed their children umbrellas. “Now, remember,” they sa...
Objectionable
It’s not easy getting fired. It’s not just the loss of income, the burden of looking for another job, the uncomfortable position you find yourself in when on your next job application you’re asked if you’ve ever been terminated: Do you tell the truth or stretch the truth or outright lie? But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is knowing you didn’t make the cut. You weren’t good enough. You weren’t one of us. Anyone can make a mistake. They could have overlooked it, found a way to work through it. But they jumped on it, like a dog latching onto a soup bone. Now we can hire someone we lik...