Witching Hour


Photo prompt by Dale Rogerson


Witching Hour

The best part of the night, the witching hour. My dear Madam is casting her spell on striking blue eyes. Me? I enjoy a roll on my back in a pile of snow. Snowflakes ruffle and soak through my fur coat. Wow! It is so invigorating. I’m glad I’m alive.

In the park Madam’s concocting her usual magic. In contrast, I don’t need magic. I have eloquence and charm. I prefer green eyes.

“Good evening.” Tom’s purr rumbles from his chest.

I return a smile, pace around him the same as a caged lion while leaving dainty paw prints in the snow.



Friday Fictioneers



27 thoughts on “Witching Hour

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