HOW TO GIVE A CAT A PILL
By Robin Gordon
1. TAKE PILL OUT OF BOTTLE
2. FIND THE CAT
3. PLACE PILL IN CAT’S MOUTH
4. WATCH CAT SPIT OUT PILL
5. FIND THE PILL
6. FIND THE CAT
7. PULL CAT OUT FROM UNDER THE BED
8. WRAP CAT IN TOWEL MAKING SURE ALL APPENDAGES ARE TUCKED IN SECURELY
9. ONE LIMB WILL ESCAPE
10. COVER DEEP SCRATCHES WITH OINTMENT AND BANDAGES
11. FIND THE PILL
12. FIND THE CAT
13. WITH ALL CAT’S APPENDAGES ON THE FLOOR, CROUCH AND HOLD CAT FIRMLY BETWEEN KNEES FACING YOU
14. PLACE PILL IN CAT’S MOUTH, GENTLY STROKE ITS THROAT WITH ONE HAND WHILE HOLDING ITS MOUTH SHUT WITH THE OTHER
15. FIND THE PILL
16. CHASE CAT AROUND THE ROOM
17. CALL YOUR BEST FRIEND OR TRUSTED NEIGHBOR
18. BEST FRIEND/TRUSTED NEIGHBOR HOLDS CAT DOWN WHILE YOU PRY CAT’S MOUTH OPEN
19. PUSH PILL INTO OPEN MOUTH AND PRAY
20. FIND THE PILL *will be soggy at this point
21. CALL VETERINARIAN FOR ADVICE
22. SCREAM A STREAM OF OBSCENITIES TO YOURSELF WHEN VET RECOMMENDS YOU STOP BY TO GET LIQUID FORM OF MEDICINE WTH DROPPER
a. PRO TIP: HAVE OINTMENT & BANDAGES CLOSE BY
b. PRO TIP: PUT CAT IN A ROOM WHERE THEY CANNOT HIDE OR ESCAPE
c. PRO TIP: MAY WANT TO WEAR OVEN MITS
d. EDITOR’S NOTE: ADD “CALL VET AND ASK FOR LIQUID MEDICINE AND DROPPER” TO STEP 1
By Stephanie Villalpan
Peter's sister was completely pink. She had big pink cheeks and tiny pink fists, with a gaping pink mouth lined
with two rows of rubbery pink gums. The tongue inside her mouth was pink, too, and so were the little
crescents of her fingernails. If she'd had any hair, it probably would have been pink too, Peter imagined, but
instead, her head was covered in a downy, orange-white fluff, like the skin of a peach. Her eyes, when they
weren't screwed shut with the efforts of her wailing, were her only notably non-pink features: they were a
striking blue, the same color as Peter's eyes.
"Why is she so pink?" Peter asked his grandmother, who was busy trying to fasten a white bonnet around his
His sister was wailing, like usual, but in a conversational way. Her blue eyes darted back and forth between
Peter's face and her grandmother's as they both hovered over her. They were in Peter's parents' bedroom, his
sister on his parents' bed while both of his parents fussed over their clothes in the adjoining bathroom. Peter
and his grandmother were already dressed. Peter's sister just needed her bonnet.
"She's pink because she's new," Grandmother said. "She's fresh. The world has barely touched her yet."
Peter looked over at his grandmother, wondering what she meant.
"How can the world touch someone?" he asked."The world doesn't have hands." He paused."Does it?"
Grandmother laughed in her subdued way, trying not to hurt his feelings. Peter's feelings weren't hurt, though.
He wanted to know.
"The world will touch you in a million ways," she said. "We're all God's instruments. And we all touch each
other's lives every day. And God--"she fastened the little pink bow below his sister's chin with a satisfying
snap"--God keeps track of these things. The times we suffer factor in when it comes to our final score."
Peter stared at her, bewildered. "Score?" he repeated.
Grandmother favored him with another gentle smile. Then she put a hand on the nape of his neck and guided
him to his mother's vanity mirror. Peter saw himself in a blue suit with his orange-brown hair slicked against
his head. His grandmother stood beside him in a flowery pink dress, her hand still on his neck. Then, before he
had time to ask another question, she pinched him.
"Ow!" Peter howled, looking up at her in shock. His eyes began to fill with tears. It was one thing to be
pinched when you weren't expecting it; it was quite another to be pinched by your own grandmother.
"See? There?" Grandmother smiled. She pulled him closer to the mirror. "You see how it changed?"
Peter wiped the tears from his eyes and looked in the mirror. His face looked slightly redder than before, but he
didn't notice anything else different.
"No, look," Grandmother said. She tapped a finger on his cheek, causing him to jump. "You see there? Six
freckles now. A moment ago you only had four."
Peter looked at himself in the mirror. He'd never bothered to count how many freckles he had before. He didn't
have many, especially not compared to his parents, or his grandmother, who had a sea of them crawling all up
and down her arms.
"You'll see," Grandmother said, with a reassuring pat on his head. She turned back to the bed and went to pick
up his sister, who stopped crying as soon as she'd been lifted up. Grandmother stood in front of the mirror
with his pink sister in her freckled arms, and for a moment the three of them stood there, their three sets of blue
eyes all looking at each other.
"Does it hurt to be baptized?" Peter asked.
"Only a little," Grandmother said. "And only because it"s someone you love who's hurting you."
Ode to Laura Belle
by Robin Gordon
Hi, Robin here! Don’t you love it when you your mind wonders to happy memories? Me too
At nearly 60 years of age, my mind still goes to my grandmother
She left this earth when I was a pre-pubescent…horrible time to leave me
With 11 children and countless grandchildren; I mean I have actually lost count
I was her favorite
I’m quite sure that’s not true
My heart refuses to believe the unlikeliness
I smell Ivory soap and I can feel her hugging me
My face buried in the folds of her neck, I breath it in and smile
I see China dolls in a collectibles shop, I’m in her dining room
Looking up at the shadow box on the wall where she displays without a speck of dust
Uncle so-and-so brought them back from his military time in Asia, I think she said
I hear big band music and I’m on the floor
In front of her TV watching the Lawrence Welk Show
“Boy, that Bobby and Cindy can sure dance”
She’s nestled in her green jacquard rocker
As I sit at her feet during her daily reading of the Bible
Eyes closed, sweet puffs of air escape her lips, “Are you asleep Grandma?”
“No Sugar, I’m just resting my eyes”
No one yet has cast this spell on my wondering memory
I might not have been her favorite
Laura Belle, you will always be mine
A perfect world has perfect people,
A perfect world has no evil.
A perfect world is my ultimate wish,
But a perfect world cannot exist.
A perfect world is called a utopia,
Societies that often turn into dystopias,
Because a perfect world made by imperfect humans,
Is destined to collapse into ruins.
A perfect world has no place,
Existing on a planet full of evil and waste.
A perfect world can never survive,
If imperfect humans continue to thrive.
An imperfect world will soon begin,
When those imperfects spread their seeds of sin.
And the crumbling of peace is the destined future,
Bringing pain and sorrow to every living creature.
A perfect world; What a dream!
But that’s all it is; a stupid dream.
A dream I carry in my heart, I know you do too.
A dream we all know will never come true.
Because a perfect world has perfect people,
A perfect world has no evil.
A perfect world is our ultimate wish,
But a perfect world cannot exist.
A perfect world will never exist.
How To Make A Waffle Sandwich
I know how to make a waffle sandwich
But yours just taste like the potion of a witch
So don't fret, don't fear
Don't shed any tear,
I'll tell you exactly how to ditch your breakfast-cooking woes.
Step one, step uno
In how to make your breakfast less likely to be eaten by a burro
Is to grab some eggs and milk and make it batter
Then pour it in the press with a mighty splatter
Step two, step deux
In how to reel your diners like hooks
Is to throw in some eggs and milk again in that pan
Then start warming it up, but not until you need a fan.
When done just throw some sausage patties in
Making the scent stomp your stomach's DIN!
Step three, do re mi,
We're almost done, hee hee hee
But when that waffle is done
The will not yet just end your fun
Get the waffles on your lovely plate
And don't worry, the sausages weren't made with a pig's sealed fate
Then after tossing your fluffy eggs on that patty
Serve it to your mother, son or daddy.
Step four has opened the door, to make your stomach stumble to the floor. 'Cause your critics have made them go frequently say galore.
"Please can we have some more?"
Go ahead, take a whiff, Take a nice little sniff,
Since my waffle sandwich, Has made some give the chef a kiss.
And it brings me to say, fully nerved
Eat up-breakfast is served!
Introduction to Middle Ground
By Piper Tesdall
There is a place called Middle Ground. It is accustomed to the needs of the visitor. You may only arrive between the hours of 10pm-12am. Don’t stay for too long, for Middle Ground starts as your most wanted desires, but you begin to lose yourself. Soon, you do not know what you want. Middle ground begins to change. Do you know where you are? Where did you come from? What is your name? You better get on the train back home quickly, the conductor does not like those who are late. But, oh, where would he take you? You cannot remember your home. Middle Ground knows what your biggest aspiration is, but once you have forgotten it, Middle ground is allowed to take over. At some point everyone finds the train, but they may never exit. That is, until they are kicked off right where they started. Welcome back, welcome to Middle Ground. What is your name?
By Archana Vasisht
Autumn leaves scatter, mindlessly blown by the wind;
disappearing as winter approaches into the darkness of cold nights.
Trees stand bare, discontent in their stark nakedness;
their insides sleeping with conscious exhaustion--
yet, breathlessly waiting to burst into life at the first sign of nascent warmth.
My feel shuffle in the crunchy snow
longing for the feeling of warm, green grass.
My mind travels to distant lands-
to` people, sights, and scents I just imagined.
This here-- this snow, these naked trees, this spot here---- is home.
Yet, the mystery just beyond calls and calls
---never to cease—
like the throbbing inside these naked trees.