Love Changes Everything

Jack came in from feeding the geese. “That golden goose, she’s laying plain old eggs.”

His mother looked up from stirring the magic bean stew. “Are you sure?”

Jack produced an egg from his basket.

“Let’s see what’s inside.” She cracked the egg against the iron stove into a bowl. The yolk was pure gold surrounded by opals. “What about the others? Did she lay more?”

Jack nodded and pulled three more eggs from the basket. “Maybe she got with the gander.”

His mother cracked them each in turn and found rubies, emeralds and pearls. “She’s one mixed up goose.”

The Collective

She came straight from weeding her small plot of land in the community garden.

The fiery redhead marched to the podium and gaveled the meeting to order. “The first item, the only important one, is the proposal to buy a mill to grind the wheat.”

A large man barked. “No one else grows wheat.”

The crowd quacked their approval.

Her feathers ruffled, the redhead said, “You eat the bread I bake. Let’s turn the garden into a wheat field and mill our own flour.”

A catlike woman spoke. “Hannah, dear, we thought you liked baking. We don’t.”

All That Shimmers Is Not Gold

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/
Category:Nathaniel_Hawthorne

He had the touch. Austin got in on crypto early. In college, he mined instead of studying. Hey, why not; the internet was free. He didn’t graduate.

No matter, he struck it rich and moved to a penthouse in Manhattan where he lived like a king. Austin had it made until he didn’t. A whiz kid, yes; a mensch, not so much.

He only knew crypto, which meant nothing to the women he met in bars. It got old with his drinking buddies; the world moved on to other things. Drowning in data, he’d no hope of getting a date.

We’ve Slept Too Long

Rip woke in a frenzy. What a nightmare he’d had. Befuddled by layers of dust on the furniture, his feet numb with sleep, he left the house. How long had it been?

A trail behind his house led to an overgrown pasture. Where were the cows he kept? And if they were gone, why hadn’t the deer replaced them? He tuned his ears to the sounds of birds and heard nothing. He found the river, now a creek. Sixty years ago, there’d been a spring that gushed from a rock. Now it was silent. Hope’s season had come and gone.

Pussy Crooner

Pussy was a musical cat. Sometimes the tabby played a lute and others a bagpipe. She yowled at pubs throughout the British Isles that bear the name Cat and Fiddle. Accompanists flocked to back her up.

Nine long lives she lived and nine again but cats grow old, as do we all. She retired to a barn in Cheshire, then to an old wishing well with one last request: a concert. Johnny Green gathered a band for Pussy’s last show. His father beat him. Said, “A better mouser never was nor will be.”

Pussy had nought but praise. T’was time.

The Shoemaker’s Challenge

The shop bell tinkled behind the cat as he left the shoemaker pondering what had just happened. The shoemaker’s wife announced supper and when there was no response, she smoothed her hands along her husband’s shoulder. “You seen a ghost, pet?”

He came out of his thoughts. “A talking cat. He left these boots in payment for ones that fit. Think I’ve gone ‘round the bend, Eliza?”

“I did see him. From the window upstairs. Odd, that cat, like a man on two legs.”

“He were real. Measured ‘im meself.”

“Will you make the boots?”

“Said I would, didn’t I?”

Maintenance Request

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From: Housekeeping

To: Maintenance

Re: North Tower

There is a broken spinning wheel in the Queen’s sitting room in the top spire of the tower. Provenance unknown. It materialized without warning in a dim cupboard during routine monthly cleaning. Some surprise! Spider webs, dust, and other detritus hid a malfunctioning spindle. Please fix this at your earliest convenience.

From: Maintenance

To: Housekeeping

Re: Spindle

I have placed your request in the queue. Be advised that all available personnel are busy with preparations for the Princess’s sixteenth birthday ball. I shall wait to schedule repair until afterwards. Thanks for your patience.

Mirror Magic

It was only a matter of time before she broke me. That’s an occupational hazard of delivering bad news to an evil queen when you feel bound not to sugarcoat it.

I did warn her. After two unsuccessful assassination attempts, I ventured an opinion that Snow White had her own magic. Not appreciated. Evil zapped me, electric charge flowing from her fingers until the glass fought back. Magic glass does that. It exploded leaving her a bloody mess and me a disembodied spirit. Now that I’m free, I’ll find a way to dislodge the poison apple from Snow White’s throat.

Beyond the Looking Glass

Cleaning the many mirrors in the castle was a full time job. The blind lass, hired by the queen, felt her way up and down the craggy stones of the winding staircases. Doors opened into lighter shades of gray filled with solid shadows. She found her way through every room but one. That door was always locked. The mirror inside was magical.

Dreaming, she turned a key and entered the forbidden room. Blindsight rendered the planes of the walls a darker gray. The mirror, the room’s only tangible shape, beckoned. A grayscale world of touch emerged from behind the glass.

All Romantics Meet the Same Fate

Your mother is annoyed. She barks at the receptionist, “It’s all her fault I’m late.” Four minutes. But it was Mom who lost the address.

“If you want me, I’ll be in the car.”

Windows down in the mad heat, waiting forever for an apology that never comes. Long enough to calm down.

She gets in, ragging, “You’re too sensitive.” Like that’s a criminal offense.

Her anger never stops. It circulates, accrues interest. She banks outrage. The only solution is to withdraw.

You will say, “I’m gone.” She will cry. You will come back. You just don’t know when.

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