• Janna Barber

Instead of a Silver Spoon

The cat in the cradle stole my tongue, and I’ve been silent ever since.


“Don’t let go of those tears,” he said, with a grin. “And be careful not to laugh too much.”


So I learned to tuck myself in close, keep everything under wraps— and what a team we were, the cat and I!


But what the feline failed to say, let alone know, is that the more you hold onto, the more there is to drop.


And oh, the hissing! When that basket finally hits the ground.


Next thing you know, I’m flattened. Scratching and clawing for correction. “Decorum! Order! We must—ahem— We must maintain control!”


‘Til I spy red lines running from my own curled up claws, now dripping blood.


Softening once bristled edges; I long for the ways of a gentler, less clutchy animal.

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