cat

Let’s Get Real 1 and 2

/ Liz H-H / 20 Comments
golden butterfly on purple lilacs

Join us for a weekly blog party in Six Sentence Stories, hosted by Denise and attended by some mighty fine, fun folk. Prompt word=HELP. Read, write and come back for more SIX SENTENCE STORIES.  (Link goes active Wed night).

Let’s Get Real 1

It started out as an uncomfortable late-morning meeting over tea with her aunt, in which Elsa dressed as her mother had always insisted: pressed, pleated skirt; stiff white blouse with a Peter Pan collar; frilly-topped white anklets inside white sandals with slippery soles not meant for running.

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JusJoJan26 Day 30: Cinnamon

/ Liz H-H / 3 Comments
face of a black cat

January 30: CINNAMON. Many Thanks to Tessa K. (Itsa me! Nom de Plume) for today’s prompt, as we take a moment or two each day this month to reflect on words that come from the community. And thanks to Linda G Hill for getting us organized!

I don’t know what they put in the new cat food formula the veterinarian gave me, but it sure had an affect on my old Tuxedo cat, Tolstoy. We’ve been together for about 15 years, and he’s gone from fluffy, with wizard locks beside each ear and a sage, but kittenish expression, to a bony-bummed, splay-legged, swinging belly, rheumy-eyed dreamer who seeks the sun’s warm rays in winter, but loves snuggling at night. We have a lot in common, in our respective old ages.

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Watcher Doings 9

/ Liz H-H / 14 Comments
juicy tangerine wedges

The challenge? Write a story in exactly 6 sentences based on Denise’s one word prompt: CHOICE. Visit, comment, and write & post your own on SIX SENTENCE STORIES. (Link goes active Wed night)  The Café is open. Come as you are!

Yes, it was inconvenient that tracker Rockmouse was extremely cautious, especially since gnome Fernlodth’s trust in Ferah (honestly earned) was almost an afterthought, as automatic and natural as breathing a sweet winter’s dream.

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Warrant

/ Liz H-H / 17 Comments
Black cat reading a magic book

Sonja gazed around the property at the end of the peaceful neighborhood block: the perfect two-story house with its tiny back porch and wooden rocker, a colorful light shawl draped over an armrest; the tidy garden with its newly planted and wide-spaced blooms; black tuxedo cat half-napping under dense shrubbery hugging the side of the house; four sweetly curved granite steps leading up to a cheerful purple door.

“Purple,” she muttered, looking uneasily at the neighbors peeking out at her from behind lace curtains, noting “Definitely suspicious that the address in question in this sweet little neighborhood has a purple door.”

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