Originally published in Analog Science Fiction and Fact, March/April 2017
“Can you breathe fire if you eat rocket fuel?” asked Alison, the captain’s five-year-old daughter.
S’lisha drew a deep, calming breath through her scaly nostrils. She didn’t understand why humans brought their children on spaceships. Her species kept their larval offspring in caves on their home world until they matured and their adult scales grew in. Continue reading “Hidden Intentions”
Originally published in Claw the Way to Victory, January 2016
“You’re distracted,” Lizzie said. The asymmetrical white splotch on her tabby face made her look sloppy and unprepared, even when she was dressed in her prim skating leotard with her ice skates tightly laced up her hind-paws. Continue reading “Marge the Barge”
Commander Bill Wilker’s angular muzzle split into a wide Collie grin, and he smoothed down his ruff of fur that spilled regally out of the collar of his Tri-Galactic Navy uniform. “That’s a goddamned beautiful lookin’ planet,” he said. Continue reading “Questor’s Gambit”
Originally published in A Glimpse of Anthropomorphic Literature, Volume 3, August 2016
Maureen lumbered toward the Re-Incorpus Center, feeling horribly large and conspicuous. Wire fencing on either side of the sidewalk protected her from the yelling protesters. Nothing protected her from reading the hateful slogans on their signs: Re-Incorpus Is Murder! Vat-Bodies Have No Souls! Death to Gen-Clones!Continue reading “The Mouse Who Was Born a Bear”
Originally published in A Glimpse of Anthropomorphic Literature, Issue 2, March 2016
Sheep tell many tales as they graze. There’s little to do in a grassy field but count the clouds, search for four-leafed clovers, and tell tall tales. Yet, some of the sheep’s tales are true, and when Soft-as-Snow stares at the clouds with her liquid brown eyes, she isn’t counting them. She’s searching, seeking, and hoping against hope — waiting for White Wings to return to her. Continue reading “Sheeperfly’s Lullaby”
Originally published in Anthropomorphic Dreams Podcast, AD 049, December 2012
Everything was going wrong this Christmas, and the dogs were too stupid to care.
Usually, after the Feast of the Giant Bird, Shreddy and the dogs were given table scraps to eat. As a cat and a mediocre hunter, Shreddy relished the chance to taste the flesh of an avian larger than himself. He looked forward to it all year. Thus, he watched in utter horror as one of the Red-Haired Woman’s dinner guests scraped all the plates off into the trash. No taste of turkey this year. Continue reading “Shreddy and the Christmas Ghost”
Originally published in Inhuman Acts: A Collection of Noir, September 2015
Captain Pierre Jacques twitched his naked ears and swished his bare, pink tail as he stepped into the lumo-bay, a large, empty room with hexagonal, blue grid-lines on the walls. Even though he was a hairless Sphynx cat, Captain Jacques always held an air of dignity. No other cat or dog wore a Tri-Galactic Navy uniform with greater aplomb, but today Captain Jacques wasn’t wearing his uniform. He was dressed in a pin-striped suit and a floor-length, tan trench coat, split down the back. Continue reading “Danger in the Lumo-Bay”
Originally published in Ember: A Journal of Luminous Things, November 2015
Igor the arctic fox lurched across the tundra, limping from the deadened feeling in his left hindpaw. That paw had never fully woken up when Frankie Mouse reanimated him. The electric surge from the lightning bolt hadn’t made it that far, but Igor was still grateful to Frankie. Without his kindness, Igor would still be lying in an unmarked grave, forgotten and unmourned. Instead, Igor adventured across the tundra on glorious missions in service to the most magnificent mouse throughout the land. Continue reading “Frankenstein’s Gryphon”
Originally published in Stories of Camp RainFurrest, September 2011
The last camper had left. The cabins had been swept clean of the dirt from the tramping feet of a hundred teenagers. The dining hall had been swept and scrubbed free from the grease of a summer’s worth of meals. The canoes had been pulled in from the lake and stowed in the boat house for winter. The fire pit had been emptied of ash. The gate on the road leading to Camp Riverwind had been locked.
Originally published in Allasso, Vol. 3: Storge, April 2014
Topher checked his watch and peeked out around the dusky red stage curtain. There was a full house in the bar tonight. If he played them right he could get all the tips he needed, and tonight could be the greatest night of his life. Continue reading “A Real Stand-Up Guy”