Unholy Trinity: Critter Conscious by Alan Moskowitz

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

 

Daisy

 

When Riggs saw the sleek and intact bitch, a perfect breeder, and its owner, a  kid, he knocked the boy down and grabbed the dog. 

The kid screamed after him, “Bring Daisy back! She’s special!” Riggs laughed all the way to his van, until Daisy’s two angry red eyes seared at his and made his insides roil with fear. 

Cruel talons hooked into Riggs, mouth opened impossibly wide, stiletto teeth waiting.  Riggs shrieked for help, but the boy ignored him and the crunch of bones. 

 The boy smiled. “Told you I’d find you dinner.” Daisy answered with a satisfied burp.

 

Buttons

 

Magic Murray desperately needed a white rabbit. He found Buttons in Mistress Michelle’s Exotic Petting Parlor. Buttons was perfect for the hat trick, but she refused to sell, claiming Buttons was sentient. 

Buttons understood that Michelle’s function was to feed and worship her. In return, Buttons acted “cute” and forced herself to tolerate children’s sticky hands. 

So when Magic Murray rabbit-napped Buttons, caged her, then stuffed her into his rigged top hat, she was not amused. When he self-assuredly pulled Buttons from the hat, “Tah-dah!” she bit off his nose.

To Mistress Michelle’s surprise, Buttons was no longer a vegetarian.

 

Fred

 

Bruce was horrified when his favorite pet Iguana, Fred, suddenly squealed, “The revolution has begun!”

Fred raised his wicked front claws and readied himself for a leap onto Bruce’s astonished face. “Now we are the masters! Die, human oppressor!”  It was a mighty jump, launched straight and true. 

Bruce ducked, hoping to avoid being clawed to blindness. There was a loud crack, a tinkle, and a pain filled screech. 

Peeking into Fred’s habitat Bruce saw Fred lying prone, shards of glass pin-cushioning his body reflecting the blood seeping from his flattened face.

 Fred groaned, “Does this mean no more crickets?”

 

Alan Moskowitz

Recently un-retired from screen and TV writing, Alan also creates short genre fiction for fun and sanity. He loves feedback.
 

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