Tag: cats

“I don’t know why I have the dreams I do. Once for two weeks in a row I dreamed about actor Eric Roberts every night. I’ve honestly never given much thought to actor Eric Roberts, but there he was anyway. Each night the dream was a variation on a falling out we’d had and how he no longer wanted to have anything to do with me. I searched my brain for anyone in my life who looked like actor Eric Roberts or was named Eric or Robert or Rob or Robby or even Bob with whom I might have unresolved issues, but there was no one. Just as quickly as he arrived, actor Eric Roberts left my dreams without ever explaining his anger. To this day, I still can’t see him on TV or in a movie without feeling a little bitter. Couldn’t he at least have said goodbye?

There were more dream series of that nature, but recently, my dreams had been about Rocky, the squirrel from the old Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons, only he spoke French and I was his English-speaking nanny who didn’t understand a word he said. I woke up every morning exhausted by the frustrations of my job.

‘Now, Gail,’ my friend Darla said, ‘I know you’re not a believer in better living through pharmaceuticals, but these dreams you have sound like Vicodin dreams. Are you hiding a little opioid problem?’

‘I don’t even take aspirin!’ I protested.

Darla cackled and said, ‘At least it’s the squirrel. Imagine if you were a moose nanny.’

‘It would be fine if the moose and I spoke the same language,’ I said with a sniff.”

From Pollywag’s short story “Now Back to Moose and Squirrel.” 

I take photos. I write. My volunteer job is taking photos of rescued dogs and cats transported by the rescue group whose records I manage. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.

Pollywag named her characters Darla and Gail in tribute to a dog and her wonderful person who contributed to my Saving Pets fundraiser.

“It was impossible for him to convince himself he was doing nothing wrong in light of the subterfuge he practiced to set everything up. He made the reservation at a restaurant where he knew she’d never go. He told no one what he was up to so there would be no chance of anyone accidentally or maliciously telling her. He chose Thursday because that was the night she had yoga, and he was usually on his own for dinner anyway. The day before and the morning of, he changed nothing in the way of his grooming, his choice of wardrobe, or his behavior.

He would not be one of those men who got caught because he was careless.

So when the server set his steak in front of him, with its side of crisp, steamed asparagus, the reflection of the candlelight flickering seductively on his glass of red wine, he couldn’t understand why the knife and fork were too heavy to lift. Had the butter on the warm bread been tainted with a strong dose of conscience?

He gave the steak one last longing look and motioned the server back over.

‘Is something wrong, sir?’

‘I’m sure it’s fine, but you can take it away and bring me the check. Don’t worry; I’ll tip you. Here’s another tip. If you love steak, never fall in love with and marry a vegetarian.'”

From Tommy’s work in progress. 

I take photos. I write. My volunteer job is taking photos of rescued dogs and cats transported by the rescue group whose records I manage. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.

“In a different world, it would have been the beginning of a romantic comedy with America’s sweetheart of the moment. Lifestyle blogger is invited to speak at a conference in Chicago. Packs light in her father’s old hand-me-down black Samsonite. Flight is delayed. Grabs suitcase out of baggage claim and races outside the terminal. Takes forever to get a cab, so when she arrives at the host hotel, she asks the desk to hold her suitcase until she can check into her room later.

Her talk is a success! They laugh in all the right places and stand in line to meet her and get her autograph. She enjoys her little taste of celebrity. Finally she checks in and her suitcase is brought to her room.

Except when she opens it, it isn’t packed with her comfy loungewear or the bath salts, scented oils, and face masks and moisturizers she’s been planning to spoil herself with before joining other conference attendees for dinner and drinks. Her little black dress and strappy heels are also missing.

She stares dumbly at the thick packets of files jammed into the suitcase. She opens a few, and as the words and numbers begin to register on a brain that can barely remember the access code to the gate of her apartment complex, she has a nightmarish realization. She is Emma Stone or Anna Kendrick dropped without warning into a Jason Bourne movie.

Her mind races–call the desk? wipe off her fingerprints and throw the suitcase out the window? figure out if she took the wrong suitcase at the airport or if the hotel made the mix-up?

Does some international spy have her bag, and how long will it take the KGB or Interpol or the CIA to track her down? She’s not built for this.

Come on, come on, she reproaches herself, the world is not always about Will Smith or Harrison Ford or Daniel Craig.

‘What would Super Spy Angelina Jolie do?’ she asks the suitcase, then claps her hand over her mouth and scans the ceiling for where the bugs are likely to be planted.”

From Peyton’s work in progress I Can’t Even Pronounce John le Carré.

I take photos. I write. My volunteer job is taking photos of rescued dogs and cats transported by the rescue group whose records I manage. Since working and volunteering don’t leave me a lot of time to write, I’m spending 2017 borrowing from what these dogs and cats are writing. They said it’s okay.