2020 Spec Faith Fall Writing Challenge

As we have done in the past, Spec Faith will offer a prize for the winner of the 2020 Fall Writing Challenge.
on Sep 21, 2020 · 23 comments

Technically Fall begins September 22, so I guess we’re starting this biannual contest a day early. But at long last, and in place of our Summer Challenge, Spec Faith brings you our traditional Writing Challenge!

Certainly 2020 has been the strangest year I’ve lived through. Nothing has seemed normal—from the impeachment (yes, that was this year, though it almost seems like a lifetime ago), the pandemic, church online, race riots, fires, hurricanes, on and on.

Perhaps there’s something within all these strange events that sparks a story idea. But that’s for writers—published or unpublshed, hobbyists or professionals—who wish to enter the challenge to decide.

As we have done in the past, Spec Faith will offer a prize for the winner of the 2020 Fall
Writing Challenge. Of course there’s also feedback from other Spec Faith visitors, which all entrants may enjoy, but there’s a $25 gift card from either Amazon or B&N for the winner. For readers, there are stories or story beginnings to enjoy. It’s all very win-win for all our visitors!

As a refresher, here’s how the 2020 Fall Writing Challenge works:

  1. I’ll give a first line, and those who wish to accept the challenge will write what comes next—in 100 to 300 words, putting your entry into the comments section of this post.

“What comes next” may be the opening of a novel, a short story, or a completed piece of flash fiction—your choice.

In keeping with Spec Faith’s primary focus on the intersection of speculative fiction and the Christian faith, writers may wish to incorporate Christian elements or to write intentionally from a Christian worldview, but neither is required (largely because many entries will be the beginnings of stories, and may not yet reveal the direction they could go). Likewise, I’d expect speculative elements, or the suggestion of such, but entries will not be disqualified because of their omission.

  1. Readers will give a thumbs up (NO THUMBS DOWN, PLEASE!) to the ones they like the most (unlimited number of thumbs up), and, if they wish, they may give a comment (please do!) to the various entries, identifying what elements particularly grabbed their attention or in what ways they can strengthen their writing.

I encourage such responses—it’s always helpful for entrants to know what they did right, what readers liked, and what they could have done to improve.

  1. After the designated time, I’ll re-post the top three (based on the number of thumbs up they receive) and visitors will have a chance to vote in a poll for the one which they believe to be the best 2020 fall entry (one vote only).

  2. The entry which receives the most votes will earn a $25 gift card (from either Amazon or Barnes and Noble). In the event of a tie, a drawing will be held between the top vote getters to determine the winner.

And now, the first line:

Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.

Finally, those silly little details we all need to know:

  • You must include the given first line without changing it. Changes to the prompt will disqualify an entry (things like verb tense or gender or POV).
  • Your word count does not include this first line.
  • You will have between now and 8:00 AM (Pacific time) this coming Monday, September 28, 2020, to post your challenge entries in the comments section.
  • You may reply to entries and give thumbs up, this week and next. To have your thumbs up counted to determine the top three entries, mark your favorite entries before Monday, October 5, at 8:00 AM (Pacific time).
  • Voting begins Monday, October 5, after the poll is posted.

Feel free to invite your friends to participate, either as writers or readers. The more entries and the more feedback, the better the challenge.

However, please note, the challenge is not a popularity contest. We want to give writers a chance to find out what readers actually think of their writing. Consequently, please do not ask your social media followers to give your selection a vote unless they read the other entries as well. Thanks for making this little exercise a valuable help to all who enter.

Best known for her aspirations as an epic fantasy author, Becky is the sole remaining founding member of Speculative Faith. Besides contributing weekly articles here, she blogs Monday through Friday at A Christian Worldview of Fiction. She works as a freelance writer and editor and posts writing tips as well as information about her editing services at Rewrite, Reword, Rework.
Website ·
  1. Colleen Snyder says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. That the road was gone, too, did nothing to reassure her that she would not be followed. Landon had spies in all dimensions. He would stop at nothing… well, he was nothing, and that created the problem. How do you hide from nothing?
    In the All. Maram had told her enough times: fill the corners of nothing with the All. All-knowing. All-seeing. All-loving.
    But to serve All was to deny self. Octavia hadn’t crossed that line yet. She wanted freedom from nothing, but at what cost? Loma had promised her a place existed where you could have both: freedom from nothing and freedom from the All. He would take her there, for a price. A small thing. Inconsequential, really. Something she hadn’t thought about, didn’t need, and maybe didn’t exist, to begin with. Her soul.   

    • I’m having trouble adding my vote to the various entries, but I’d give this a thumbs up. A very interesting twist. Thanks for participating, Colleen.

      The problem I have is that the second sentence doesn’t really go with the first. Why should she look out at the road if the road was gone? (And also, there’s no real explanation how a road could just be gone). But the idea of running away, not only from something negative but not to something that is opposite is really thought-provoking.


  2. Colleen Snyder says:

    A question: can you enter more than once?

  3. Ann Milo says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.

    Poof! Angel appeared on her shoulder.

    “Don’t go,” he whispered. “Don’t do it.”

    Poof! Devil appeared next to him.

    “Hey! What’re ya whispering for? She can’t hear ya!” Devil pulled out a megaphone. “GO! You should go!”

    Angel covered his ears. “Pipe down!”

    “WHAT?” Devil whipped around, bonking Angel with the megaphone and knocking him off Octavia’s shoulder.

    Angel flapped along by the hem of Octavia’s pants.

    “Ha!” cried Devil, prancing around.

    Angel fluttered back up and landed on Octavia’s other shoulder. “Oh, dear! Where were we? Oh. Don’t go!”

    Devil put his megaphone in Octavia’s ear. “WHY WOULD YOU LISTEN TO HIM? He’s wearing a skirt!”

    “It’s called a robe,” cried Angel. “Don’t listen to him! He’s holding a fork!”

    “Yes! Listen to goody two-shoes!” laughed Devil.

    “Hey, where’re we going?”

    Angel and Devil looked down as Octavia darted out the driveway.

    “Hah! She’s getting away!” Devil hopped around, waving arms and legs as though on fire. “If you’d talked about something other than a fork, she might’ve listened to you.

    Angel leaned over. “Don’t do it.”

    Octavia crossed the street.

    “She did it.”

    “Why’re you so evil?” Angel cried.

    “Well, when I was a little devil, I fell from Heaven.”

    “That’s too bad,” sighed Angel.

    “Anh, shut up!”


    Devil and Angel went airborne and landed on their faces. Above Octavia’s shoulders, a scarlet banner fluttered over a covered tent reading “Charity Drive”.

    “Hello!” Octavia pushed her travel bag across the counter. “Here’s my donation.”

    Angel’s and Devil’s mouths dropped open like two hinges.

    “Aha!” exclaimed Angel. “’When you give to the needy, don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret.’”

  4. John Sweeting says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.
        Bag slung over her shoulder and small travel chest in hand, she raced through the empty villa to the courtyard. Shamus, the only remaining house servant, held the reins of her chariot. Leaping aboard, she shook out her long wavy black hair in the sharp breeze. Her straight nose, fair skin, dark almond eyes, and lithe frame betrayed her Roman ancestry.
        Why didn’t Father take us from this island when the Legions departed? Now I am stuck here protecting his secrets when all the new King’s knights seek them, and me!
        “Fare you well, My Lady,” Shamus called as she shook the reins and her two mares, Spitfire and Lightning, broke into a trot out the gates.
        “You too, Shamus. Try to hold the villa if you wish. Its all yours now!”
        Scarcely had Octavia gone a mile, and she came around a bend to find four horses with riders blocking the way. Three were knights on their dark chargers. The fourth was a young woman on a white palfrey.
        “Hello, Dindrane,” Octavia addressed the women. “Did you really need three escorts? Percival, Galahad, and Bors, I believe?”
        “Give us the scroll, Octavia,” Dindrane ordered. “We know you have the secrets of the Sword, the Ship, and the Tree.”
        Percival dismounted and said, “Or just tell us, Lady Octavia, where do we find the Grail?”
        Octavia laughed. Then, seeing their stunned expressions, laughed again.
        Catching her breath, she told them, “You ask, where is the Grail? You should ask, what is the Grail? For if you knew, terror would halt your search.”


    Crumping the paper, I toss it.
    Trashed like every other piece of escapist writing I’ve been attempting for the last seven days, thirteen hours, and four minutes.
    Penning imaginary worlds doesn’t relieve scratchy eyes or a nagging cough. Dense fog blocks the trees. We used to have the purest air in the world; now I’ve stooped to writing something other than first person, present tense. With Octavia’s entrance into my story, I even toyed with multiple narrators.
    But I just can’t do it. 
    My Guardians of the Galaxy fan club will need to find their own future somewhere beyond my foggy imagination. Maybe my bookstagram friend can do it. She’s all for treasure hunting and ensemble casts. 
    Yes, she’ll do it justice.
    I text her the characters and include my last-minute addition, Octavia, the token female who – like many of her fictional predecessors – rejects her stereotypical placement by having a will of iron, moral strength, and surprising kickboxing skills. Beyond above-average beauty, of course.
    I take out the beauty and insert fire into her icy blue eyes.
    Looking at the pile of rejections, I accept I’m emotional and the world on fire outside my window isn’t inspiring anything except symptoms of a scary flu.
    Forty seconds later, my friend texts me back.
    The eerie glow remains the same at dusk and dawn. Stars, still hidden.
    Fires. Smoke. It’s like a nuclear winter. 
    But it isn’t the end of the world yet, so I start another draft:


  6. Audie Thacker says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.

    A cat was there. It stared back at her. It meowed. It was too far away for her to hear it. She hear it, anyway.

    She rushed through the house. She opened the screen door, and stumbled down the stairs. She leaned against a crab apple tree.

    She heard purring. The purring came from everywhere around her.

    She ran.

    The trail ran through the forest. She stumbled, fell. She heard a slight meow to her side, then to her other side, then overhead. She pushed herself up, and ran. The travel bag was left along the side of the trail.

    More meows. More purrs.

    She stopped, and leaned against a tree. She felt a small head bump against her ankles.

    She tried to run, but couldn’t run for long.

    She fell.

    Meows. Purrs. Soft paws tapped her arms and shoulders.

    She tried to calm herself, but she knew. She knew what would happen when they finished playing.

  7. Jenna says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. No one was there. She drew in a deep breath and held it, watching. Waiting. Still no one. Nodding to herself, she swept up her bag and strode out the back door, not flinching or turning back when the bot blasts erupted.

    Even as a toaster, you always burnt my toast.

    Her step was quick, but she didn’t run. She peered up into the sky. Clear. Bright. No bots in sight yet. She could count on the Protect Octavia command to blunt the Mainframe’s initial investigation, though nothing could block its reach. Still, she couldn’t run.

    The security bots were meant to be a means of protection.

    Nothing in the Toaster’s hands worked as expected.

    Octavia trained the AI since childhood, and it had played many roles. From a toaster that brought her sustenance to a companion that trapped her in a never-ending game of lambs and tigers, the AI had grown up with her, ever faithful to its core command. Trouble was, Octavia didn’t know that command. It was locked in the central data core, and even the Mainframe had failed to pry it open.

    She rounded the corner and stopped dead. Soldier bots.

    I. Will. Not. Have. A. Panic. Attack. Each word was a short, quick breath. It had been ten years since her last panic attack, but the technique still controlled her emotions. Even if it did cause that one blackout.

    She was steady when the bots began to speak.

    “Even as a toaster, I always burnt your toast.”

    Boom logic. Boom after boom after boom, and now the Toaster had collided with the Mainframe.

    Octavia didn’t try to conceal her panic or regulate her breathing. She didn’t advise the Toaster to calculate the likelihood that its meddling with her safety would lead to her doom…

  8. Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. She had to be careful that no one saw her leave. They said she wouldn’t stay long. They were right. She didn’t want to face anyone.
    Never depend on Octavia, they’d say. How can we ever trust her?

    She peeked left and right before stepping out the front door. Leaving her key under the welcome mat, she pushed the door shut and sprinted to her Micro Honda.

    Soon she was on the open road.

    They’ll never understand the way I am, she thought, and they’d never believe the truth. Maybe this time I won’t come home. Maybe I’ll never come home again. Except for Mother…

    Her car said, “Incoming transmission from Colonel Benson.”

    “Answer. Hello, sir.”

    “Are you on your way?”

    “Yes, ETA 35 minutes.”

    “Excellent. Your transport is ready and waiting. Go directly to the launch pad.”

    “Yes, sir.”

    “Good luck, Octavia. You understand the stakes?”

    “Certainly. But I don’t believe in luck. I pray for God’s safety, strength, and victory, and that God’s will be done.”

    “Of course. Signing off.”

    She wished she could tell her family and friends about her secret life out in the depths of space battling the forces of evil. But she couldn’t.

    She knew what it looked like, that she could never commit to anything and was always running away from responsibility. And now, with her own Mother’s failing health, her actions looked that much worse.

    She had a far greater responsibility for the welfare of the world, but wasn’t the welfare of her Mother important as well? Her head hurt and her stomach tightened. Her life was a quandary she didn’t know how to resolve.

    As she watched the sun peek over the horizon in brilliant streaks of red and gold, she realized she had some very important decisions to make.

  9. Dana Bell says:

    We Came for You

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. Taking a deep breath, she headed for her front door, only to discover her cat Cecil stalking a shadow flickering along the edge.
    She backed away, her worst nightmare realized. During the night they must have moved. The large ragged nest filled with creatures so menacing she’d barely slept. When she closed her eyes she could hear them whispering, promising they were coming for her.
    No! No! She would not go back. She raced for the back door, only to discover her other cat Mince also hunting. His wicked claws scratched the floor and he hissed.
    “Leave me be!” she screamed. Falling to her knees Octavia covered her ears as words assaulted her.
    “We’re coming for you. We’re coming for you.”
    “No!” she screamed, bolting to her feet. She had to get back to the window. It was the only safe place.
    Stepping into her cozy bedroom, she stared in horror at the broken glass. Her fingers dropped her travel bag as her eyes took in the dark figure waiting, it’s large feet unaffected by cruel shards cutting into them causing blood to flow over the carpet.
    “We came for you.” The creature moved forward, tossing her over its hairy back, stomping through her home and yanking open the door. She heard her cats yowl and she saw them disappear through a dark hole.
    Outside, the children waited, darting in the air, playing in her hair, and snuggling against her skin.
    “We came for you.” Their warmth enveloped her. “Mother.” 

  10. Teresa Haugh says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. Not that she was going out that way. The tunnel was much safer.

    She zipped up the bag and slung it over her shoulder. Walking into the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet and pressed a red button. A mechanism in the floor groaned. Octavia whispered goodbye to her home as she squeezed under the rising bathtub to access a rickety ladder. As she started down the vertical tunnel, the tub slammed back into place. A chill swept over her as the light disappeared. She descended rung by rung until her feet touched bottom.


    “Who’s there?” she cried. She felt dizzy and leaned on the wall.

    “We’ve been waiting for you. What took you so long?”

    Octavia looked over her shoulder and squinted, but she couldn’t see in the inky surroundings. “Please, do you have a light?”

    A soft, warm glow suffused itself throughout the small cavern. A motley crew of individuals lined the walls like wooden soldiers standing guard at the queen’s palace.

    One of the men stepped forward and held out his hand. “It’s okay,” he spoke softly. “You’re among friends.”

    Octavia willed her heart to stop pounding. “Do you know the way out of here?”

    “Do you want to leave?” This was spoken by a woman with braided red hair and a gentle face.

    A single tear slid down Octavia’s face. She nodded. “It’s bad up there.”

    The crew looked around at each other as if communing in an unheard language. The woman spoke. “Are you ready to take your place?”

    Octavia took a deep breath. “I’m ready.” She hoisted her bag. Almost as an afterthought she asked, “Will I get to see the heaven man?”

    The woman nodded. “We’re going to see him now.”
    Octavia’s heart sang. She was going to live after all.

  11. Shari Branning says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. 
    Torren Blackpaw, werewolf and jerk extraordinaire, had been stalking her for the past month. He’d claimed her as his mate. At least he claimed that he claimed her. Leave it to a werewolf to wield the antiquated, toxic tradition of claiming mates like the proverbial neanderthal’s club to get what he wanted. Unfortunately, what he wanted was her. But she had no intention of succumbing to that club, proverbial or otherwise, and getting dragged off to his cave. Or den. 
    His ploys wouldn’t have caused her more than an eye roll if her clan actually backed her for once and cried poppycock. But whether he had them that bamboozled, or whether they were afraid to cross him, they had made it perfectly clear that she was on her own. 
    Bag packed, she hurried across the road and slipped into the shade of the thick forest beyond. A few miles’ hike through dense underbrush brought her to an ancient, lightning-struck oak with a cleft in the trunk big enough to walk through. She stepped into the cool shade of the tree, gripping the rough, scarred bark at the edge of the cleft. Inside the tree she could see nothing but black. So it was true. A rift had opened in the ancient tree. Well, let Torren follow her into the human world then. 
    With a deep breath and a final glance behind her she stepped through the rift into a different world. 

  12. Timothy Hicks says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.

    Blast those King’s Guardians. Should have known they’d track me through the Horrid Hill Pass to my little bungalow. She scuffed loose dirt into a floorboard hole. My first place of my own.

    Octavia hung the bag on her chair, and positioned a half-empty bowl and cup nearby on the table. “There. Looks like I left in a hurry.”

    She peered outside again. Still clear. Bet that pesky village demi-gremlin sold me out. And after I gave him my last golden Orn.

    “Best leave before the Guardians arrive,” she said.

    Octavia stuffed the Bowl of Scrying into her old rucksack. I can’t very well explain why I have the Lord High Bishop’s bowl.

    The Solar Twins had already risen in the east and west, burning off the last morning mist. Too hot a day for a forced march to Highspire, if I get caught. Time to go.

    Octavia propped the door open and started down the road. She swung sharp onto the forest trail where pine needles paths deadened her steps. The musky scents calmed her pounding heart. She breathed deep revealing in her freedom.

    Father will be furious when he finds out his Guardians just missed me. But won’t he be pleased when I return bearing the Nygian Wyrm’s egg? I hope I read the bowl’s scene correctly.
    That cave looked a little dark, but the wyrm egg sparkled in the firelight.

    The forest air grew heavy beneath the tall pine trees, and the bowl grew heavier still upon her shoulders. Had the bowl lied? Was there no forest wyrm?

    A deep growl ripped the quiet morn. The bowl had spoken true. The wyrm and its egg lay close by. I will redeem myself to Father, the King, this day!

  13.       Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.
         Octavia froze, eyes on Frank.
         His nostrils twitched. A rush of terror flooded over the old woman. How could he know? Impossible. He’d been out when it happened.
         She cleared her throat and zipped up the duffel bag.
         Frank rubbed his furry black hip against her bag, mewing. His tail flicked the zipper.
         Frank knew. Sweat beaded on her forehead. And if Frank knew, she’d never get away with it. Not again.
         She lifted him to her chest. “Sweet Frankie. We’re moving on.”
         The Mancoon brushed his forehead against her chin. She held her breath, but stroked his back.
         How am I going to escape if he knows? 
         Octavia’s eyes darted around the room, catching on a trunk. The trunk. 
         If he knew, he’d turn, and she’d be caught. Guaranteed. Frankie was like that, demanding, controlling, ready to snap. He’d have to stay, poor thing.
         She took a slow step toward the trunk, and a sour whiff of what was inside sent shivers up her spine.
         Through the doorway she could see everything ready in the kitchen. An accident, like last time. She placed her hand on the lid of the trunk. She’d need to move fast, to get Frank in there with…”her.” 
         I hate doing this, buddy—she kissed his temple—but you leave me no choice.
         With feline swiftness, the cat bit her throat. Octavia yelped and dropped him. He ran out of the room and jumped onto the kitchen counter, next to his food dish—she gaped in horror—next to the candle. Yes. He knew. 
         She’d never get out alive.

  14. Dan Niema says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. She rushed down the stairs, into the garage, to her motor scooter. Primed the motor and turned the key, ran the bike out the back door and down the alley. She knew her family had been drinking the polluted water. They would happily sit in her living room and watch as the Sun went supernova. They wouldn’t get on the transport out of the solar system. Octavia will.

  15. Cyndi Carter says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house.  She could see fires mounting into the dark sky to the north.  The wailing sirens, blaring police bull-horns, and rioters’ screams made her head ache, and she was scared to death.

    She moved quickly in the dark to the front door and opened it carefully.  Scanning the street again, she launched out into the night without bothering to lock the door since she wouldn’t be coming back.

    Octavia reached her car and shoved the bag inside as she hurtled into the driver’s seat and jammed the key into the ignition.  The engine turned over, and she let the car roll forward with the lights off, away from the chaos.  Then an explosion shook the ground, and a new burst of flame lit the night sky as more sirens began to wail.  Her heart and head pounded even harder.

    She made it out of the neighborhood without seeing anyone else and turned on the lights.  She switched on the radio for a news report.  “Police have set up roadblocks at …” and static thrummed from the radio before it fell silent.  A sense of dread filled Octavia’s heart.

    “I’ve got to make it to Aunt Ruthie and Uncle Jim’s farm,” Octavia said aloud, her voice trembling.  “Surely they’ll just be watching the main roads for right now.”  She took side streets to reach the turnpike and headed out of town.

    She dialed her aunt’s number as she drove.  “Octavia, are you okay?” quavered Aunt Ruthie.

    “I’m heading your way,” she replied.  “Oh, Aunt Ruthie, it’s horrible!”

    “Don’t stop for anything and get here as fast as you can!” said Aunt Ruthie.

    “I should be there in about thirty minutes.  I love you.”  Octavia clicked the phone off and sped on through the dark night.

  16. Lily Crites says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. It would be horrible if she ran over someone right after being accused of stealing. She was going to her grandma’s house for the summer and hoped everyone would forget that stupid rumor by the time school started again. You see, she got into an argument with the most popular girl in school, who afterwards told everybody that Octavia stole her lipstick.
    Later, when she had been at her grandma’s house for a couple days, Octavia noticed a hat had moved across the room from where she had last seen it. Octavia didn’t think anything of it, but strange things kept happening. Hats weren’t only being moved, but they also seemed to be appearing out of thin air. I’ve been cursed by the hat gods, Octavia thought, but of course she was just being silly.

  17. Anna Crites says:

    Stuffing the last item of clothing into her travel bag, Octavia glanced out the window once more to be sure that no one was on the road in front of her house. No one.  She stood, watching, waiting.  Still no one. Finally, deciding it safe, she grabbed her bag and headed outside. She heard something. There it was again!

    “Meow,” said the kitten.

    “Oh no you don’t,” Octavia said to the kitten.
    She ran outside, attempting to shut the door in its face. The kitten leaped outside, barely missing the door. The kitten purred. Octavia ran. Past the gate, which was left open, thanks to her horrible memory, and out into the forest. The kitten followed, fast, but just slow enough not to catch her. The kitten meowed, purred, and then jumped on her. Play-fighting, the kitten’s favorite game. But Octavia wasn’t fooled. Not again. She knew what would happen when they were done playing.

  18. Leanna says:

    Just wondering… why so many cats in these entries?

What do you think?