Writing about zombies on Easter Sunday may be sacrilegious, but soul-less, reeking, walking dead things aren’t the point. Soul-hurting, desperate, walking living things are. Continue reading “What Zombies Wish They Could Tell You: An Easter Poem”
Daisy used to climb the high back chair in my office to lay across the top, that is, until the veterinarian declawed her. And that brings up another interesting point. Daisy was neutered that same day, which is why Daisy, you see, isn’t a she. She’s a he. And he’s a cat.
Chester. Tucker. Tyrone. Or stick with Daisy. These are a few names, among others, our family can’t decide on since my oldest son’s girlfriend enlightened us of Daisy’s genital make-up, though I’d known for a while something looked odd. And I apologize. That might sound sexist.
But as best as I can tell, Daisy doesn’t care about sexism. Continue reading “Declawed”