Every so often I run across story snippets, ideas or lines or just a mood that at one point I committed to paper or pixel.
They are a form of meditation, in a sense, and while some turn into stories or poems or posts, most are just my way of thinking. It’s constructive, but sometimes I find these fragments again and wonder, “What on earth was I thinking?”
And sometimes the idea sets off a new spark and triggers fresh ideas, along a different path. Here’s one such snippet.
When Fluffernutter, our cat of sixteen years, died, we buried her in a shaded spot under the willow in the backyard, down by the creek.
That was our first mistake.
Not checking the grave was the second.
And not warning the neighbors was our third.
*Note: No kitties were harmed in the making of this post.
* * *
J.R. Johnson 
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