A Tiger’s Dream

I was distracting myself playing the piano when my muse Txumaka walked gracefully into the sun room. Writing time.

I got up and sat next to the large tiger that she was. Txumaka’s fur was adorned with black and pink pearls. As I caressed her back, I heard the most beautiful sounds come out from the pearls. This was the music through which Txumaka talked to me.

“Are you sad again Jules?” she said licking her paw.

“I must confess I am,” I responded.

“You must kill your firstborn. That’ll reenergize you!”

“Oh, it sure will, but can you inspire me to write a comedy instead? A fantasy tale maybe?”

“Alright, Jules. So be it.”

She rolled on the floor and the music filled the room. I took notes for the next hour. I called my story “A Tiger’s Dream.”