I have concluded that God created the cat in a moment of exhaustion or of extreme pique. How else to explain such a soft fur covered creature capable at once of a gentle caress and a claw lunging out at a hand or face deemed too close. Why else this projectile constantly launched only at those places it was not to be, fine wood tables etched with reminders of its sudden presence and rapid departure. What else to explain this shedding ball of multihued fur that always curls in sleep in the one place you wish to sit and even when it cedes a seat to you, smirks in the realization you will soon an unexpectedly be half covered in fur. Why this package of fluff and terror crawls beneath your blanket as you verge on sleep curls tightly against you and begins its gentle rhythmic purring that draws you deeply into a world of fur filled dreams.
First Published in ZOOANTHOLOGY, Sweetycat Press, August 2022
If you truly believe that God created every creature individually, it is all His intelligent design, then why the apple in the Garden, and why both crocs and alligators, wouldn’t one have been sufficient, and why, just why have mosquitoes at all, ever?
I won’t bother asking why God gave us free will, since you say He will punish us if we use it other than as He directed, and you know the directons better than anyone.
For that matter, why termites and fire ants, alternative purposes seem wholly lacking, and above all, and beyond all logic and even beyond omniscience, what in the name of God was He thinking when He created the politician?
From the heart of the inferno Dante and Lucifer grow bored waiting, waiting for the ferry while Charon stops for lunch yet again at a Greek diner in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. They take up a game of catch tossing Molotov cocktails, raining fire onto the brimstone, setting the Styx ablaze. Each knows this is not necessary, for necessity is a creature of heaven and there is no room for the extraneous here in the realm of forgotten souls. We watch from deep within a nightmare of our darkest memories, certain that heaven must await us, or purgatory if that is how our fate is to finally be written. The angels dance on the ceiling waiting for the precise moment to break Morpheus’ grasp and drag us back to our reality, to continue our dance between heaven and hell.
His extended wings momentarily block the sun setting his feather tips ablaze. His vermillion talons grasp the waiting branch threatening to break it from the tree unless is bends to his will. His curved beak arches against an orange sky holding tightly to the retreating sun. I can only watch a majestic moment and believe that somewhere the must be a God for nature alone could not conceive of a creature of such beauty, such passion.
He began his trek up the mountain early in the morning to allow time for the ascent and return. He’d planned this carefully, and proceeded slowly so as not to be put off his goal. He smiled as he passed through a low hanging cloud layer, erasing the ground from which he set off on his journey. He plodded on, seeing the summit growing ever, if slowly, closer. He finally reached his goal at the summit, sat and smiled broadly. He had made it. He gazed down, feeling as though he had at last achieved flight. He was one with the sky. A sudden shadow passed over him. He looked up at the eagle circling, mocking him, as if saying this is flight, you poor earthbound creature.
It washed up on the beach this morning, stopped right at my feet, as I stared down at it, examining it carefully. It message was clear at first, a tale too hard to swallow, of creatures tossed about by a storm that no one saw, from an age in which no one now alive could have experienced. The message described a magic land of which it gave only had a brief glimpse, a land that was constantly in flux and perpetually out of reach. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine such a marvelous place, and as I did it receded back into the ocean from which it emerged, merged with all of the others, and I was left with only this dream of it.