Izzie – It’s Mine Now!

The Viking is always getting visitors.  They drop shit off and pick shit up and they all make me happy when they leave.  I don’t like people invading my yard any more than I like other cats invading my yard but if they really feel the need to stop by the least they can do is leave their truck door open, or a window at a bare minimum.  I’m short, you know, and getting into your vehicle isn’t always easy.

I bring this up now because I found the perfect Izzie-mobile.  Lucky for me, the guy I am stealing it from spent a good amount of time talking with The Viking so I could do a long and thorough inspection.  That’s the most important thing about getting a new vehicle – check it over carefully.

I like the color.  It’s not pink but it’s attractive nonetheless.

That seat belt is a little high.

It has a rack to carry my litter box and cat tree – unlike that monstrosity The Viking drives.

Lots of leg room for my people.

Plenty of cargo space for my toys and food.

The side mirrors are in good order – I just need to reset them for my height.

Methinks I’m going to need a Booster Seat.

Hey!  You!  Hand over the keys so I can take it out for a test drive.

And then, in what I can only call a complete breakdown in communication, the guy takes the truck away!!  What the hell were you thinking, Viking?!  I wanted it and you just let him drive it away?

I was just getting over your betrayal with the neighbor’s cat and then you pull this shit?!  How hard could it be to just put the guy on a bus?

What?!  I’m not allowed to have a truck now?  Is that what you’re saying to me?

Where’s Mom?!  She’ll let me have a truck.  Just you wait and see!

I put up with a lot of crap around here.  Mim brings her damn cats here all the time and you won’t leave the water running so I can drink when I want and Teddy eats my food.  You even tried to make me wear a sweater!  I don’t do sweaters!

Look at me when I’m giving you the Stink Eye!  If I had poo right now I would fling it at you.

Someone had better get that Treat Jug out.

I don’t know why I even put up with you.  There seems to be no end to the atrocities.  I’m calling PETA!  Black Lives Matter, you know!

You think I’m going to ‘sit pretty’ anymore?  I don’t bloody think so!  I’m going for a nap and there had better be zero noise!  You hear me?  ZERO!


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Friday Fictioneers – Weren’t You Listening?

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  I can’t always add to the group but I do when I have the time.  The same goes for reading all the other great offerings – it takes a long time to get through them all.  If I miss you one week I try to catch you the next.  My apologies if I miss you more often.  I’m reading as fast as I can and my other jobs won’t always wait.

This week’s photo prompt has been supplied by Sarah Potter.


“I’m home, Babe!  Mom says hello!”

“I’m in the spare room!” He called back

The stairs creaked as she went up.  The hallway was dark but the spare room spilled more light than usual.

What the hell?!

He was caked in white powder; hair, face, clothes, shoes.  Drywall dust, obviously, because the next surprise was a transformed spare room.

The ugly green wallpaper had been replaced with delicate pink walls and white trim; crib, rocking chair, change table.

She caressed her belly and smiled gently.  “But it’s going to be a boy.  Weren’t you listening?”

“Wait! What?!  Ah, shit!!

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Izzie – Hell In A Hand Basket

Well, shit just went right off the rails and I’m not happy about it!  A cat’s house is supposed to be her castle.  Everyone knows you don’t just let any Tom, Dick or Harry into the castle.  Just ask Rapunzel.  That’s a universal law, isn’t it?  As a matter of fact, I think the 10 Commandments covered this situation – ‘Thou shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Cat’.

And what did I find when I came home after my morning tour of the Neighborhood?  A cat!  Even worse – The Viking petting the cat!!  Not cool, man!

And then Teddy showed up and he was like “Hey!  A cat!  What does his ass smell like?”

Am I in Bizzaro World?  Has everyone lost their damned minds?  We don’t need anymore cats!  I am more than enough for any one household.  Don’t I give you enough loves?  Don’t I sleep in bed with you?  Don’t I eat enough?

Of course I’m enough for you.  I accepted Teddy – reluctantly, yes – but I draw the line at any more cats.  This is my claw-mark in the sand!

If you prick us, do we not bleed?  If you tickle us, do we not laugh?  If you poison us, do we not die?  And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

I cursed Teddy for the Traitor he is.  Instead of standing in solidarity with me, he watched the One Cat Show.  It was pathetic, really.  It rolled around and around on the cement like a man-hussy!  No one needs to see such a ridiculous display to get more attention.  I levelled a couple of insults in his direction but he’s as receptive as Teddy to sarcasm, which is to say I’m wasting my talents on them.

It turns out that this interloper is called Charlie; The Viking checked the tag on his collar.

At one point he even tried to walk into the damned house!  Luckily Mom blocked the way.  The Viking is dead to me now, but at least Mom kept her integrity.  She didn’t fall for this disgusting display of blatant slut-iness.

Apparently his owners moved into the house next door despite my wishes to the contrary.  So he’ll be hanging around like a bad smell.  And I suppose Teddy will befriend it because that’s what Teddy does.  He’ll fall for anything if there’s a chin scratch involved.

Later, The Viking came in the house and tried to give me loves.  “Not today, Traitor!”  You’re unclean now.  This whole place has gone to hell in a hand basket!

What’s next?  Sleepovers?  Birthday parties?  Split holidays – one year at the neighbour’s one year with us?  Sweet Geezus!! What if they dress us up in matching costumes and parade us around the block?  Hallowe’en is coming, after all.  Gawd!

Well, there’s one cat here that won’t be taking part in any of that tomcatfoolery!  I have dignity.  I’m a lady!  

And why am I the one who has to monitor these things?  Isn’t there like a Feline Occupancy Law regarding how many cats are allowed in any one neighborhood?  The next time I see a By-Law Enforcement Officer, I’m going to lodge a firm and articulate complaint.

In the meantime, I will be watching The Viking very carefully to make sure he doesn’t get too attached to Charlie.


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Izzie – Grow Some Balls, Already!

I have a new collar.  Finally.  Mom took her sweet time replacing my Pearls.  Okay, maybe I’m being too harsh with Mom; maybe the fault belongs more with the 2 dogs across the alley.  Specifically, with the Owner of those dogs because he’s the genius that built a fence with the chain link that broke my Pearls.

And don’t think I had the choice not to bully the dogs.  Of course I had to bully them.  They are dogs!  Yappy dogs!  The kind of dogs that spend the entire day barking and barking, like they need constant assurance from humans.  That gets on my nerves!  I want to take a walk down the alley and Sweet Geezus!!  All hell breaks loose!

“OH MY GAWD!  Bark, bark, bark!  THERE’S A CAT!  A CAT!!!  HELP!  Bark, bark, bark.  SOMEONE SAVE ME!  OH GEEZ!!  IT LOOKED AT ME!  Bark, bark, bark!  HOLY SHIT IT’S COMING CLOSER!!”

Every damned time I walk in the alley!

And it’s not like they are little dogs either.  These are great big Labradors and I only weigh like 8 pounds.  It’s not like I could actually kill them.  Teddy and I sat in the middle of the alley last week, watching them run around their yard in a total panic, barking frantically.  Honestly, we were literally just sitting there, chatting between ourselves.

So I went in their yard to try and have a civilized conversation and come to a reasonable understanding about the barking.  It didn’t go well because the brown one started pissing everywhere!  I started to get a little verbally abusive and the barking escalated and I called the blonde one a “useless waste of fur” and then the Owner came out and I had to make a quick getaway.  Unfortunately, my beautiful pearls caught on the chain link and I was naked, streaking across the alley and back home.  I shouted a few expletives over my shoulder as I went, though.

So, how can I not bully them?  If they were barking death threats at me I would have at least a little respect for them, but the frenzy of fear is just pathetic.  Grow some balls, already!

But now, happily, I have a new collar.  Pink and clear beads.  It’s not Pearls but I suppose Mom did the best she could.  Maybe next time she’ll find Pearls – they are my favorite after all.

Mom tried to get a picture of me with my new bling but that didn’t work out for her very well.  She finally stripped them off me and took a picture of them.  What can I say?  I don’t like getting my picture taken.

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Is That You, Mildred?

So I was at the grocery store yesterday – just picking up a few things for dinner.  It was nearly that time already but I had other things on my mind all day and suddenly I thought “Shit!  What am I going to make for dinner?!  It’s blisteringly hot outside so I’m not cooking inside.  Bar-B-Que it is!”

And everything went really well, almost right to the end.  Because as I was waiting for the scale to verify the weight of my bags I looked up and…..time stopped for a moment.

Is that Stanley’s* new wife?  Can I even call her the ‘new’ wife because it’s been a while since he married her.  I consider myself the ‘old’ wife so I suppose that would make her ‘new’ wife.

That kind of makes us sound like cars, doesn’t it?  I’m the old trade-in and she’s the shiny new one that smells awesome inside.  EWW…!!  That didn’t come out right.  Not that she doesn’t smell good inside…..but how would I even know that?  Geez!  Let’s just pretend I never said that, okay?

So……I look up from the scale and I see her, but I’m not 100% certain it’s her….I’m in more like the 85 percentile of positivity.  It looks like her but it’s been a while since I’ve seen her so maybe I’m wrong.  This store is a little out of her neighborhood and while I don’t mind her shopping at my grocery store, I would like to know if it is, indeed, Mildred* or not, because shopping like a Meerkat is going to get weird.

Let’s put that aside for now though, because there are bigger issues here than whether she is Mildred or she isn’t.  Namely, did she see me?  We didn’t quite make eye contact before I dropped my head and stared at the screen in front of me.  I diligently started scanning my items while my mind kicked into overdrive.

How am I supposed to behave?  What’s the protocol?  Do I wave?  Should I do the Floppy Wave and keep it loose and friendly?  A rigid, proper wave – my fingers straight and squeezed together, and make Wash On, Wash Off movements?  Maybe a Queenly Wave – my hand cupped, palm towards me with kind of scooping motions?  Or maybe she didn’t see me at all and the guy at the cashier behind her will think I’m hitting on him and I’ll have a situation in the parking lot?

Maybe I should just take a deep breath and plunge into the morass of awkward Divorc-i-ness.  I’m not harboring any bad feelings but I have no idea what the other side feels.  Maybe there is an incommunicado policy in place that I’m not aware of.  Did Stanley tell her that I wanted to give him away at their Wedding?  I thought it was a brilliant idea – the old wife officially giving him to the new wife.  That would have started things off on the right foot, in my opinion, but Stanley threatened death and dismemberment.

Even if I do decide to take the plunge, what do I say for an opening salvo?  Do I holler across 6 cashiers and say…..what?

“How’s that husband working out for you?”

Or “Hey Mildred!!  Lookin’ good!”

Or should I be more formal “Felicitations Mildred!”

By the time I finished paying for my stuff, I had decided to just screw up my courage and make an oblique approach and maybe accidentally bump into her cart.  I could pretend that I just saw her at this moment and not 5 minutes ago when I ducked down like a 3rd Grader.

There was a tiny whoosh of relief when I couldn’t see her.  And then I wondered if she was doing the same thing that I was doing because she had no damned idea how to behave in these circumstances either.  Maybe she hissed at her cashier to hurry the fuck up, then ran out of the store like the hounds of hell were at her heels.  Maybe she even squealed tires trying to get out of the parking lot before I made my way out of the store.  Probably not because she’s an adult, but I still wonder if she felt awkward too?

I’m going to blame this entirely on Stanley.  First, because I haven’t done that for years and second, because he should have let me give him away at his damned Wedding.  This wouldn’t even be an issue if we had started this off on the right foot to begin with.

In the meantime, I need a plan in case we bump into each other again.  I need a suave and elegant opener and then hope to hell I did my hair that morning.


*I’ve changed his name to protect his identity and privacy.  Because I’m just that kind of person.

*I’ve changed her name to protect her identity and privacy.  Because I’m just that kind of person.  What?!  I like the name Mildred and it goes quite nicely with Stanley.  Mildred and Stanley – see?  It rolls right off the tongue.

A Baby In Each Arm

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, the photo provided by Danny Bowman.


They stood side by side, the older woman’s arm around the younger. 

“Between those two humps, your great, great grandmother buried 2 children – it was cholera.  Three days later she gave birth to twins in the back of the wagon.  They had to stop when the babies came, then they travelled through the night to catch the other wagons.  She walked the whole time, a baby in each arm.”    


“Yes.  You come from a long line of strong women.  A broken heart might hurt like hell but it won’t kill you.” 


A long, comforting hug.   “I promise.” 

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Come Out Of The Shadows Jesus

I don’t normally do this but this video showed up on my Facebook feed and I watched it and then I had a lot of questions.  One sentence in the video, in particular, had me confused.

“The Christians will finally come out of the Shadows.”

I had no idea there were Christians hiding in Shadows.  Exactly what Shadows are they hiding in and where are those Shadows?  Are there schools and hospitals in these Shadows where they can be educated and receive medical care?  Do they have Garbage Disposal?  Because it might get kind of nasty in the Shadows if the garbage starts piling up.

If real Christians are hiding in Shadows then who are the people that are claiming they are Christians but aren’t hiding – like the ones that go to the church across the street from me, or the ones on TV or the FaceBook groups?  Are they fake Christians?  Are they just pretending while the real Christians are residing in some horrid Shadow?

Why are the real Christians hiding in the first place?  Who are they hiding from?  We don’t allow Lions in arenas full of Christians anymore, do we? That would be fucked up if we do and I’ll start writing Protest Letters to the UN immediately if that’s the case.

Are these Hiding Christians in Canada too? Does this explain Andrew Sheer, Jason Kenney and Brian Jean?  They aren’t hiding so does that make them fake?  How can I tell the real ones from the fake ones?  If I see a person hiding in my shrubs should I assume it’s a real Christian and offer them chocolate and a blanket?  If I suspect someone that isn’t hiding in my shrubs is a Hiding Christian are there identifying marks or secret handshakes that will let me know what they are?  Are they dangerous?  This guy is talking Civil War and that sounds kind of dangerous to me.  Is there a Hotline I can call if I have suspiciously identified one of the Civil War-causing Hiding Christians?

Are there nice Hiding Christians?  Should we be working on Safe Houses for them?  I would donate some food for them if I know where to send it all.  The Shadows might be a big place and I wouldn’t want my donation disappearing to other things that hide in the Shadows.  And speaking of food, if the Christians that are not hiding (fake Christians) don’t mind me Bar-B-Quing, should I immediately stop Bar-B-Quing in case the real Christians are repelled by the smell of roasting meat?  You know…..like Hell?  I ask because if the Christians I see all the time are not real Christians then I have to question everything I know to be true.

There are so many unknowns now.  I’m asking myself “What would Jesus do?” but I’m drawing a blank.  I suppose if Jesus was around the real Christians wouldn’t be hiding, right?  Or maybe Jesus would be in hiding too, waiting for someone to impeach Donald Trump so he could come out of the Shadows with all the other real Christians.

So, if I have this right, if the Americans impeach Donald Trump, Jesus can come out of the Shadows with all the Hiding Christians.  And maybe there are enough nice Hiding Christians to stop a Civil War that the not-so-nice Hiding Christians want.

That sounds totally plausible to me.

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VICTORY! or not

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again, hosted by the stupendous Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  This time we’re using a wonderful prompt photo by Roger Bulltot.

“HA!  I told you this wasn’t the way out!”  Cheryl crowed, twerking enthusiastically in a well-rehearsed if seldom used victory dance. 

Steve rolled his eyes, studying the map.

“YeeHaw!!”  Slapping her ass and shuffling like she was riding a horse.  “Gawd, it’s great to be right once in a while!”

He traced the map with his right index finger, muttering about medieval architecture.

Cheryl was now trotting in circles chanting ‘LOOOOSER’.

Steve went closer to the wall and pulled a vine aside.  “Hey!  Here it is!” 

Cheryl stopped to stare, wilted in disappointment and let her head fall back.  “Fuuuuuuck!”

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Just Listen Already!!

People don’t listen to me.  I talk and they nod like they are listening and then they go and do as they damn well please!  Like I hadn’t spoken at all!  I believe in doing your own thing and being your own person but when I’m paying for something I’d like them to LISTEN!

I just got home from the grocery store and I’m still a little annoyed.  Safeway sells wonderful collapsible square bags that are actually boxes that stand on their own, can handle a lot of weight and are easy to carry – I have many of them.  So when I got to the cashier, I placed the box in front of my groceries and moved down to the other side where she was packing the box.  She put in a six pack of canned flavoured water and I said….

“Just leave both six packs and the jugs of Cranberry Juice out of the bag.  I won’t be able to lift it if there’s too much weight.”

Her:  I was going to put all the light items in a plastic bag and the heavy stuff in the box.”

Me:  I don’t want a plastic bag.  Just leave the heavy items unbagged and I’ll hand-bomb them into the car.”

She put a six pack of the flavoured water in the box.  I reached in and took it out and put it loose in the cart.  She scans in the second six pack and puts it in the box!  I take it out and put it beside the other six pack in the cart and said….

“Don’t put the Cranberry Juice in the box.  I would like it loose and unbagged, please.”

She scans in some cereal and the fresh produce and deposits them in the box.  Then she scans the Cranberry Juice and puts it in the box!!!  What. The. Fuck?!  She pretends I’m not even there!

I just gave up at that point. I paid for my damned groceries, muttered all the way out to the car and came home.  If that was the only example I wouldn’t have much to complain about, but it’s not the only one.

About 6 weeks ago I went to the dentist and it was a total shit show and the ultimate end product was an incredibly painful TMJ issue.  I went back to the dentist, he took an x-ray and said my TMJ was just fine.  So I went to a physiotherapy clinic and they recommended I see Anne, the Traditional Chinese Massage Expert.  I told her what the issue was:  the entire right side of my face is killing me and the pain shoots up from my neck, through my jaw, up through my temple and across my forehead.  I explained that the dentist said it wasn’t TMD so it must be from the huge lump on the back of my neck.

Her:  Your face hurting but problem isn’t face.  Your face like computer screen that not working.  You think the problem is screen but it not screen.  It hard drive or software.

Me:  Oookay.

Her:  Lay down face up.  Show me where the pain is.

Me (laying down, face up, waving my hand all around the right side of my head):  Everywhere but mostly in my jaw and temple.

Her (poking my jaw):  Here?

Me:  OMG!!!  Yes!  That fucking hurts!

Her:  Ah!  You see?  Like radio.  You hear radio but radio not here.  Is over there.  You have to follow wiring.

She carried on talking about computers and radios and cars and other shit I wasn’t listening too.  I wasn’t listening to her because 1). She’s using her hands to point at the invisible computers/radios/cars, and 2).  I can hear the ticking of the clock and every tick is another minute I’m paying for while Vanna White is NOT fixing my problem!

The next appointment I said my face was feeling well enough for me to feel the lump on the back of my neck stabbing into my brain.  She shook her head at me and said….”Not neck.  You feel pain in neck but neck is not problem.  Your neck like computer screen that not working.  Not screen problem.  Software problem.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.  Blah.”

And she tortured my face some more.

Next appointment – my face is still hurting and now I can’t even touch it because she’s bruised every muscle on my entire head!  AND my neck is really hurting from the big lump.  I take her hand and push her finger on the lump.  Right there!

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Neck not problem.  Like radio.  You hear radio here…….”  Blah, blah, blah, blah BLAH!  And she tortured my face in between her Vanna White impressions.  I go for 4 appointments with her not listening to me.  She would torture my face for a little bit, but then she decided to torture my left leg because I have nerve damage and walk with a limp!  What. The. Fuck?!  That’s the furthest place from my neck that she could possibly be and I’m almost certain my damned leg isn’t making my face/head/neck hurt!!

Two can play at this game, you know!!

The next appointment I said my face feels wonderful!  No pain.  It’s very good now.  She showed me a demonstration of how my jaw joint works.  She asked where the pain is and I said….”I have a terrible headache.  It is the back of my head all the way over my skull to my forehead.

She smiles and nods.  “Lay down face up.  Forehead not the problem.  Forehead like computer screen.  You think forehead is problem but it not the problem.  No.  You have hardware or software problem.”

And she finally worked on my neck like I wanted in the first place!!  Gawd!!

And then there’s The Damned Viking!  He only listens to the first 3 words in my sentence, decides what I’m about to say and then starts hollering, like he’s a fucking Clairvoyant!  I stop talking and make the universal sign of WTF by turning my palms face up in front of me with a confused face.

Me:  So, I was thinking that I should get……


Me:  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the…..


Me (sighing heavily):  I was thinking that I should get busy doing the laundry.  Your dirty clothes corner is almost touching the ceiling.

The Viking:  I’m almost out of underwear.

And then there are the cats.  They don’t fucking listen either, unless I’m shaking the treat container and then they are listening so hard I’m tripping on them.

I don’t think I’m asking too much for people to fucking listen when I’m talking!  I’m becoming more and more convinced all the time that cranky old people are only cranky because no one would fucking listen to them and they’ve had enough!

I don’t need my cane to walk anymore but I’m thinking of taking it with me anyway, just so I can poke those non-listening fuckers!  And maybe I’ll sharpen the end into a point.  A nice sharp point.


Friday Fictioneers – Hotels and Room Service

I missed the last few Friday Fictioneers because The Viking tricked me into marrying him.  Okay….talked….me into marrying him.  So, there was that and then his brother and wife came to visit from Denmark and then a Honeymoon.  All of which kept me from getting too much time with a computer.

But I’m finally back in the swing of things so I have time for FF, hosted by the great and wonderful Rochelle Wiseoff-Fields.  And the photo prompt this week is provided by Jan Wayne Fields.


“What was that?”  Cheryl’s legs scissored and kicked inside the sleeping bag.  “There’s something crawling on my leg!!”

Steve rolled his eyes.  “There’s nothing crawling on your leg, Cheryl.  It’s all in your head.”

Scrambling out, sitting heavily on Steve’s stomach (Oooff!), she shook out her bag.  A beetle about an inch long plopped on her pillow.

“I knew it!!  This is why I hate camping!!  There are bugs in EVERYTHING!” 

Steve tossed the beetle outside immediately after Cheryl bolted, taking her pillow and bag to the car.

“So it’s hotels and room service forever?!” He yelled after her.


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