Footprints Writing Clubs for Grownups
 

RE-INTRODUCING EARL BORETZ

As I said on the More Grownups' Tales page, Earl had more of a penchant for puns than I do, and that's saying something.  I know you'll have fun as you read more of his MoTails series below -- entertaining adventures of a pussycat and scads of his wacky siblings.  If you missed the first two in the series, go back to the More Grownups' Tales page by clicking here.

Enjoy, and keep coming back for more as we add to his long list of musings from our files.  Plus, you can now buy a collection of Earl's and other grownups' stories.

                                                              Love,
                                                           


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Pawpress Books
The Pawprints Tail
Writers' Tools
Writers Blog
Ina's Weird Prompts
Publishing Services
Speaking Services
News Flash!
Grownups' Corner
Grownups' Stories
Kids' Corner
Kids' Stories
Pawprints Literacy+
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Ask Our Vet
Pawprints Pet Photos
Pet Eulogies
Story Time w/ Dr. B
Pawprints Gifts
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About Ina

 

                                                                               

                                                            

                                      

MoTails #3

 INTERVIEW WITH MO
By Earl Boretz

 It might be said that Mo is the product of a one night stand -- or lay -- depending on one’s perspective.  He never knew his father.  And while Mo’s parents’ lack of morals might raise eyebrows, they were in full compliance with other laws.  For instance, Mo is black and white so he is in compliance with affirmative action.

Mo was born at a very young age.  He had two birth defects, he was blind and couldn’t walk, but he overcame both of these problems.  He left home at a very young age, and found a sucker, I mean person, to care for his needs and wants.

Then at age three, Mo bit his owner so hard she got rid of him immediately.  That’s how Mo acquired his present residence.  Mo may have had the right to attack his former owner;  after all, she had his cathood removed by a vet.

When my wife and I adopted Mo we thought he would make some worthwhile contribution to our home, but his main contribution required a litter box.  In short order, Mo recognized his place in the household.  He was and is, “Numero Uno.”  He decided he didn’t want to look for work;  rather, he ate, slept and filled the litter box he refused to clean.

When we got him he was an indoor cat, but we introduced him to the outdoors.  Now he had wide diversity and opportunity.  He would sleep all day and keep us awake at night to let him out and in at his discretion.

Mo is now thirteen years old.  His love bites still draw blood.  We’ve arrived at a compromise.  He is boss, and we love him.

                               
                                           
                                                     

MoTails #4

SHIFTY CHARACTER
By Earl Boretz

There’s an adage stating that every family should have a member who’s an attorney, and Mo’s is no different.  The name of the attorney in his family is Shady. 

There was never any doubt in anyone’s mind that Shady was destined to be a shyster.  At a very early age, he could tell a very convincing lie.  The guy could stretch a short, insignificant story into something that would challenge “War and Peace” in length. 

Shady could have gone one of three ways – a car salesman, a con man or a lawyer.  He never could decide, so Shady’s made up of equal parts of all three. 

The name on his office door really cracks me up, “Dr. Shady.”  It sounds more like a soft drink.  He dresses like a flim-flammer.  You’d only know his profession by the size of his wallet; it’s twice the size of a normal billfold.   

After graduation from law school, Shady focused on the most lucrative areas in law.  He tried entertainment law, but there just aren’t enough cats in the field.  And he couldn’t represent Lassie, or the 101 dalmations, or any other canine star, because he’s afraid of dogs.  He explored the possibility of water litigation, but, you guessed it, he’s afraid of water.   

Then Shady got a brainstorm – he would become an ambulance chaser in the tony Beverly Hills and Brentwood areas of Los Angeles.  So he grabbed his attaché case and wallet, and was off to work.  He listened to his police band radio.  Paydirt!  The call he was waiting and praying for came.  He ran to the scene, and glanced around to see whom he would represent.  In other words, who would be worth more in court.  As he was collecting names of witnesses, the howl of a siren became audible in the distance. Then catastrophe!  When the ambulance came close, the sound of the siren scared the you know what right out of Shady.  You might say he was scared s––tless.  At least that saved cleaning his litter box.  Well, back to the drawing board. 

Shady saw an ad in the newspaper for an attorney, for a company that creates special effects.  Anyhow, his office is next to where they produce thunderstorms.  With the first flash of lightning and clash of thunder, Shady was off in a flash (pardon the pun) with his tail between his legs.  He is thinking of sing Mother Nature, but these effects were artificial.  No one knows her address anyway,

You would think Shady would’ve given up by now, but he still had a couple of irons in the fire.  He thought over his options and decided to become a politician.  But what exactly and where?  He didn’t have a lot of money for a campaign, and he needed a place where he’d be a shoe-in.  He focused on the Aleutian Islands, but that was part of Alaska, and would require a legitimate vote.  So he decided on the North Pole, but the whole place is melting on its own.  He felt any more hot air would require an environmental impact report.   

Then it struck him.  How about Antarctica?  "That’s it!" he thought.  He headed there in June.  Unfortunately, he was in the dark until December.  I say unfortunate because Shady’s afraid of the dark.   

Well, our boy was down to his last iron.  But again, inspiration struck.  Now Shady lives on welfare.  He splits his year, living the dark months of the North Pole in Antarctica, and the dark months of the South Pole in the North.  Since Shady is shady, it all works out very well.

              
    
                        

MoTails #5

GOOD COMPANY
By Earl Boretz

It was one of those kick-back nights.  Mo and I put our feet on the table, and each of us got a cigar.  Mo couldn’t bite the tip off, and his attempts really made me laugh.  He got very mad, so I offered to tip it for him.  He accepted my offer, stuck it in his mouth, and I lit it for him.   

We picked up our snifters, each with about two fingers of brandy, and toasted each other as I checked out the TV log.  There was nothing on, so we settled for the news.  Suddenly Mo’s jaw dropped.  The cigar fell out.  His eyes got big and round.  I was about to ask what was wrong, when he put his paw over my mouth so I wouldn’t say anything.  I turned and focused on the TV.  Two English adventurers were exploring the 15,000 foot area atop Mt. Kilimanjaro, in North Africa.  They found the corpses of two snow leopards completely intact. 

Tears welled up in Mo’s eyes.  I asked what was wrong.  He said one of the leopards was his Uncle Archibald.  He’d been missing for months. (eleven months in all, not years?)  Seems Archibald had gotten into a fight with Aunt Martha and he went out to cool off.  He said he was going to leave their home in London for a week.  No one suspected he went to Africa and climbed Kilimanjaro to do his cooling off. The snow level begins at 10,000 feet, and   besides that, he’d never packed.  He had no warm clothes or boots.  As a matter of fact, he was as naked as the proverbial jay bird.  Which only added to Mo’s woes.  He covered his eyes before realizing it did nothing for Uncle Archibald’s rather exposed condition.  Mo was so embarrassed he thought his uncle would turn red.  Not bad for a white snow leopard that turned blue from the cold to also turn red from shame.  He almost looked like a stiff Union Jack.  Mo explained that when Aunt Martha talked about the events leading up to his uncle’s disappearance, it became clear that the argument was really heated.  

The question now was what to do with Uncle Archibald.  One thing was certain – he was dead.  And he didn’t have his passport.  Everyone in the family was contacted. They took up a collection to have Uncle Archibald sent home.  Unfortunately, they only raised enough money to have his remains sent third class mail.  It would take two months to get him home.  Mo gave the OK to make the arrangements and sent a money order with the request.  Uncle Archibald arrived home a little ahead of schedule, five weeks later.  But before Aunt Martha could pick him up, there was a knock on her door.  It was Uncle Archy, completely thawed.   

Now when Aunt Martha talks to Uncle Archibald, he uses only two words, “Yes, Martha.”   

The events in this story covered almost eleven months.  But when Mo speaks of his uncle now, there’s a sigh of relief and contentment.

                                
                                                
                                                                

 

MoTails #6

 I DON’T BELIEVE IT
By Earl Boretz 

Now, Mo has a distant relative named Spooky.  She’s distant not only by lineage, but because some of the family believe she’s hundreds of years old.  They say she came to what is now Maine from Egypt and possess powers from the occult.  She was the pet of the first Mohawk chief, and brought much good fortune to the tribe.  On rare occasions around a campfire, she said she could recall when the warriors made their bows and spears.  Now she calls it a lost art because they buy their stuff at Sears. 

Not too far from the original hunting ground she owns a pet cemetery.  Some say the ground is sacred because they’ve seen buffaloes with wings.  Others dismiss the stories as plain fiction.  Stephen King, the author, once talked to her and wrote the book, “Pet Cemetery.”  So there must be some truth to the talks.  Some say that late in the month of October they’ve seen her on a broomstick behind a witch.  Mo really had his doubts about that until he found out her favorite color is black and her school colors are orange and black.  She went to Dracula High School.  They have turned out more undergraduate hematologists than any other high school in the U.S.  Still, I think you have to take these legends with a grain of salt.  Everything is better a little salt.  But I am the habitual skeptic.  My lack of belief upset Mo. 

Despite his annoyance with me, we went out, Mo and I, to buy our Halloween costumes and Trick-or-Treat goodies.  They have so many great costumes nowadays.  Mo decided he wanted to go as a bat.  They had a Dracula outfit, but no bats.  They thought Mo went bats when he told the sales person what he wanted.  So he ended up getting a black cat costume.  It really looks good on him but he seems sad because his tail drags.  Well, you can’t have everything.  I decided to go as a woman of the night.  It made me look like a prostitute. I’d thought it was a female Dracula.  Anyhow, I couldn’t wear it.  The skirt was too short and my legs didn’t help any.  So I dressed as a pimp and put my costume on a mannequin and dragged her along.  She made a “100” and I got arrested.  Spooky dressed as an Indian princess.  Her outfit was really authentic.  

At midnight, without Spooky’s knowledge, Mo and I went to the pet cemetery.  A heavy mist covered the ground.  We couldn’t see a thing.  A chill made us both shiver.  We heard a distant clumping approaching.  Suddenly we saw a horseman carrying his head in his left hand.  He threw it at us and it changed into a lighted pumpkin.  It hit the fence and shattered.  Mo and I split and ran for home.  We could barely catch our breath.  Then I realized to my shame that I’d left the mannequin.   

The next morning I went back to the pet cemetery.  There was no mannequin, but there was the shattered pumpkin.  I was really concerned, that without the mannequin, there was no costume.  I never recovered the mannequin.  Oh, well, easy come, easy go.  I reluctantly gave the sales person at the costume shop the $100 the mannequin earned.  We never saw Spooky again.

 

More Earl!  Different, non-Mo Tails. 

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