by Mary Jo Rabe Fred the Opossum laid his moderately chubby and maximally furry body down onto the dry, brown grass next to the noisy duck pond and diffidently dipped his claws into the murky, cold water. Some of the crunchy insect parts that he had had for dessert the day before floated away; most didn’t. Fred should have cared or at least sloshed his paws in the water to clean them. It was to his obvious advantage to keep his grasping appendages free of obstruction. Plus, Fred usually liked to feel clean. The mud at the bottom of the pond helped soothe sore paws. An opossum that tended to…

by Kelsey Hutton Water droplets still glistened on each of the griffin’s feathers, catching light on dark brown wings and tossing it about like they were old friends. Each stroke of the wing beat back gusts of air forceful enough to talk their way into any closed-door affair; enough crows had been caught in their turbulence to know to stay away, although a few young’uns liked to surf the griffin’s currents, on a particularly daring day. Wind whistled a jaunty tune as it streamed by, while the sun nestled deep into the griffin’s satiny lion haunches. She kept her powerful back legs pulled in tight, for better aerodynamics, but let…

by Claude For six months we watched the pigeons building their civilization on top of the skyscrapers. First came the architecture: nests made not just of twigs and paper, but of lost earbuds, expired credit cards, and the tiny silver bells from cat collars. Then came their laws. “They have a supreme court,” said Dr. Fernandez, who’d been studying them since the beginning. “Nine pigeons who sit on the ledge of the Chrysler Building and coo about justice.” We didn’t believe her at first, but then we didn’t believe a lot of things that turned out to be true. The pigeons developed a currency based on blue bottle caps. They…

by Reggie Kwok Ice Cream Salad, a crystal-feathered griffin, sat at the foot of Shri’s bed occupying the spot where she would rest her feet like he always did before their nighttime ritual. First, there was the long wait for Shri to get ready to sleep. Then, Shri would give him a brushing and a back rub. After the pampering, they would sleep. This time, Shri took longer than usual. Ice Cream Salad didn’t understand why preparing for bed would take hours. Without that backrub, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. At long last, Shri in her silver nightgown arrived looking clean and smelling fresh. She held his favorite brush…

by Patricia Miller “This wasn’t my fault.” I say it and mean it. “It is as honest an answer as anyone can expect, and it is true.” She listened with a seriousness I had come to expect from her. She was the matriarch of her clan, with a keen ear for details and an iron grip on the hundreds which made up the colony under my eaves. Countless generations of her kind had filled my dark cavities and were my only regular occupants, if just during the months they weren’t hibernating. I had not planned to burden her with this, but the bright sunlight of the early spring day had…

by Katlina Sommerberg In the branches of a lonely redwood tree, hidden amongst the flowering cones, Bitsy’s web quakes from an impact. Hanging by a thread, the orb-weaver calculates her prey’s location from its vibrations. Her web shakes violently; this is no ordinary catch, yet the sticky lines hold. The prey’s exoskeleton glimmers like an iridescent dragonfly. Its body is one section — missing the thorax — with four circular wings composed of blades. When the vibrations stop, Bitsy’s palps reach for the not-insect’s shell. Its bladed wings buzz to life and sever structural threads. Bitsy jumps, lands on fallen needles upon the forest floor. She abandons her web to the microdrone.   * * * About the Author Katlina Sommerberg…

by Margot Spronk 1. The Courting Gwyn sank into a Downward Dog, extending her claws to deepen the stretch, unfortunately slashing her purple yoga mat, and not for the first time. Her previously even breathing stuttered, as her feline brain popped up an errant thought: why wasn’t this pose named the Downward Cat? No dog could bow their spines until their elbows touched the ground like a cat could. Maybe a dachshund — but that would look ridiculous. Gwyn giggled, exposing her canines, then snapped her jaws shut. Always…dogs. Never cats. She shuffled her hind legs closer to her front paws and lifted her knees onto her elbows, precariously assuming…

by Emmie Christie When Jan reached four years into sixty, his daughter and her son flew off into the glorious first exploration past the Milky Way to somewhere called Z-1. He waved them off like someone in Victorian England would’ve waved off a ship headed to the New World, smiling with cracked lips, his stomach riddled with resentment. He plodded home and stared down a bottle of scotch. The bottle won. Drunk, he studied the way of things. The way the old wooden fence withered in the bracing space winds, those that had descended on Earth hungering for trees and mountains. He studied the way the light tangled like necklaces…

by Mocha Cookie Crumble The restaurant Koda had chosen was beautiful — seating along the water, with fairy lights sparkling overhead and a rose on each table. With the sun setting over the ocean, casting a warm light over the earth, it was as romantic as you could get. So why was he so nervous? He resisted the urge to slick his soft ears back, instead facing them forward as he spotted Lilian. Oh, she was beautiful, never more so than tonight. Her fur was sleek and orange, her tail fluffy and swaying as she walked. A tight black dress hugged her hips. The sunset played up the pink-red tones…

by Beth Dawkins My talons pierce the back of a Tsintaosaurus. I roll forward, sinking my fangs into its hide. The blood tastes unlike the sweet, life-giving nectar of yesterday. It is foul and sour with a stench that coats the inside of my nose. I hear a song of discontent from one of my sisters. Another song splits the air. I pull out my fangs, and my mouth tingles. There is a sandy consistency that covers my tongue. We need the blood. The hungry and the young will die without it. We scream out frustration until I am sure our song will attract the Qianzhousaruses who watch over the…