Cats In The Cradle

[Damn it! She's obviously a scheming wretch. She's trying to seduce the male lead while the female lead is away. She's so eager to be the mistress, and she even called him Sir? Just go to hell already.] [Did you forget? There's no way the male lead would fall for such low-level tricks. He only cares about his precious niece. The male lead and the female lead's fathers were best friends. They're not blood-related. Those two are destined to marry each other!] [Hey, don't forget that the male lead also loves cats. Haha! He's an ailurophile.]

When the zombie apocalypse hit, pets leveled up into guardians. Three per person. That was the cap. My buddy dropped serious cash on three Caucasian Shepherds. My landlord dumped his fish and started raising crocodiles. My girlfriend bolted to the zoo and came back with a lion. Me? I had three strays. Bubba—blind. Missy—lame. Snowy—barely a month old. The second the system locked pet slots, I knew I was screwed. I barricaded myself inside with my three "broken" cats and kept my head down. Day one—fear. Day two—helpless. Day three—the cats strolled back in, tails up, dragging something I didn't recognize. Bubba looked at me. "Dad, I bit off every zombie head on the block. I'm solid, right?" I just stared.

The zombie apocalypse had arrived, and pets could transform into guardians to protect their owners—each person was allowed no more than three. My best friend had spent a fortune on three Tibetan mastiffs. The landlord cleared out a fish tank to raise a crocodile. My boyfriend? He had stormed the zoo and dragged a lion home. And me? I only had three stray cats. The eldest was blind, the second one limped, and the youngest had just turned one month old. The moment the apocalypse system announced that pet slots were locked, I knew I was doomed. I tried to hide with my three disabled cats, hoping to survive quietly. Day one of the apocalypse: terrified… Day two: helpless… Day three: my cats sauntered over, tails swishing, carrying some unidentifiable object. "Mama, I bit off all the zombie heads on this street. How's that? Solid enough?" I was rendered speechless.

The moms at the company post about me online, claiming the free daycare I provide for their kids is a "prison" and a vile tactic to force them to work overtime. What they don't know is that the daycare was set up with imported equipment and staffed by internationally trained professionals. It costs nearly eight thousand dollars a month per child to operate. The internet curses me out, calling me a show-off and disgusting capitalist. So I grit my teeth and send out a company-wide announcement. "To support everyone's desire to handle their own childcare, the company has decided to close the free daycare program. Effective immediately, it will be replaced with a childcare benefit. Eligible mothers will receive 200 dollars a month." As soon as the notice goes out, the moms panic. They crowd outside my office, begging me not to shut it down.

The tale of a widow's harrowing journey through grief and peril into the cold remnants of a dead world. Damon Sharpe had in part found victory, he believed, in his battle to unearth a truth obscured by time. By autumn, he was dead, leaving to his wife Anne a house of unfulfilled wishes, remnants, and the key to the enigma of his obsession, the Mourner’s Cradle. A journey through grief and peril delivers Anne Sharpe from her home in St. Charles to the faraway skeletons of a long-dead civilization where she will find the desperate answers she seeks…or die trying. ©️ Crystal Lake Publishing

A comedy of errors, that offers second chances for first love in this BDSM Mafia, Reverse Harem Romance. In that moment of embarrassment, fear and dread, I do the unthinkable…….. I jump into the black clad stranger's arms, and kiss him with all the drama of a soap opera. Yes, I meant it to be for show to avoid my stalker, but .....Let’s just say it’s not all fake when I practically swoon like the well-to-do British lady I’m impersonating. “Renfield tricked me,” I pant, pointing my shaking finger at the obnoxious blonde man, literally crying, this is all so hysterical to him. “Dracula's spell is too powerful. I can't fight it, go! Go find Van Helsing!" How did this happen? Nicky! That’s right, this is all my orphan brother, Roman Nikolai Cross’ fault! Ever since that tweedle twap jerk named me after the bad luck stray cat outside our orphanage, there is no end to the comedy of errors that is my life. I was hoping to avoid the so tragic it’s funny or so funny it’s tragic stigma with my second chance on life, but no such luck with his latest shenanigans.