I Once Started Walking

Pedro The Shredder • Fishy Advice

Cat Poetry

Pedro The Shredder

Sandie Clarke

My wife recently received a poem. It wasn’t from me, but I wasn’t jealous. I was more surprised. I had no idea our cat could write poetry. I thought he only wrote fiction.

When I told him I was planning on sharing his poem on Substack, he said he wanted half of my paid subscriber proceeds. I said, “What would you do with two dollars?” He sniffed and walked away.

I have changed his name to protect the not-very-innocent.

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I will not use a scratching post
Nor a box filled with rough cardboard
Do I look like a common house cat?
Of course not

I am Pedro, The Shredder
My claws deserve the finest fabric
Would you eat store-brand macaroni and cheese or cereal?
No, you would not
Nor will I dull my claws on lesser-quality surfaces

I am a cat of exacting standards
Standards only your couch and chair provide
It is not like you sit on the bottom of your couch
Or the sides
I am simply putting the unused portions of your furniture to good use

I am sure you recall the time a mouse visited uninvited
Had I not had sofa-sharpened claws, I might not have apprehended him
Yes, I released him
But that was only because you startled me with your blood-curdling scream

I simply wanted to show you what I had caught
I didn’t know you would freak out
Humans are so unpredictable
By the way, I will need a good head-scratching later

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I never said Pedro was good at poetry. His fiction is much better, although most people ignore it.

Sayings Of Renown by Captain Peanut Butter

Fishy Advice

Sound advice, Captain.

A Tale Of Adventure And Determination

I Once Started Walking

Rachel Pfuetzner

I once started walking continually in the same direction just to see if I could. When I met an obstacle, I went over it, under it, or utterly destroyed it. Nothing would change my path.

After some time, I arrived at a vast desert stretching as far as the eye could see. Undeterred, I kept pace and forged my way into the wilderness. I encountered a colony of scorpions and kicked them out of my way. I met a rattlesnake and laughed as I told him he would soon cover my boots. When I got thirsty, I cut open a cactus and drank sweet cactus juice. When I got hungry, I ate from the 40-pound stock of beef jerky I kept in my backpack.

After four days in the desert sun, I met a guy on a horse. I asked him what his horse’s name was.

He replied, “It has no name.”

So I asked him what his name was.

He said, “In the desert, you can’t remember your name ’cause there ain’t no one for to give you no pain.”

He was obviously drunk, so I pressed on. I walked for three more days in the same direction when I came upon a vast, gaping canyon. I feared I had reached the end of my journey. Sheer rock cliffs made it impossible to climb down. It was too far to jump, and Evel Knievel had already retired. My prospects were grim.

I noticed a flock of eagles overhead. Although seeing eagles in the desert was unusual, I did not question it. I simply reached into my backpack and pulled out a bag of Starburst Fruit Chews, knowing that eagles love Starbursts. They prefer the strawberry ones but will accept any flavor if offered politely.

I filled my hands with unwrapped starbursts. Next, I raised my arms and placed a starburst on each elbow and shoulder. Then, I carefully extended my arms like a child pretending to be an airplane. Two eagles landed on each of my arms and sunk their talons deep into the fabric of my jacket. They each ate one of the fruity, chewy treats and squeaked with delight. I then threw a starburst into the air. They all launched into flight after it, lifting me off the ground. I continued to throw starbursts one after another into the sky until I was across the canyon, and the eagles were well-fed.

I continued in the same direction for four more days. On the horizon, I saw what appeared to be a city with towers reaching impossibly high into the sky. As I approached, I discovered it was a city, alright, but not a city made by man. It was a city made of faintly glowing rock. But try as I might, I could find no seams in any of the structures. They were either the most magnificent sculptures ever created, or they were living rock that grew into buildings.

As I pondered why rocks would want to grow into a city where no man lived, I heard what sounded like a distant voice. It started as a faint echo, growing gradually louder and more intense with each repeat. I struggled to hear what it was saying. Intently, I listened.

It sounded like, “Next…, next…, next…, next…” Finally, it became crystal clear. The voice was saying, “Sir, it’s your turn.”

The fog of my mind lifted, and I realized I was standing in line at the DMV. So I got my license plate tags and went home.

Happy Monday. Thanks for reading and responding. You make it fun.

Mark

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Monday Morning Mark • 171