Ma always told me I'd catch my death. She

Ma always told me I'd catch my death. She was right. Death fit in the palm of my hand: a little Death. Not only that, but Death was a girl! And she was none too pleased that I had

a series of mason jars containing other anthropomorphic abstract concepts. I slipped Miss Death next to Mr. Right and Joe Blow. Then I noticed the Sand Man's top was ajar.

Naughty, naughty. That puppy was trying to get out again. I put on my cap and ran outside to catch him and put him back in his jar. He would suffer, as I would

try and squeeze his head through the tiny little jar. I then made sure the puppy didn't run out again and gave him tacit look, and the puppy did nothing but kept his face

and car keys. I looked around and didn't like the way things were shaping up. This appeared to be some foreign 3rd World back alley and I the only one wearing a puppy suit. I would

have to seriously re-think my choices in people with whom I surround myself. I mean, these guys may be thugs in a back alley, but can NO ONE dress up as a puppy like me? No fun!

I turned my back on them and tucked my little fabric tail under myself as I crept from the alley. Through my puppy-head eyeholes I could see the world opening up before me. There

to use the breathing techniques I learned in therapy to help ease my anxiety. This was all so strange! Maybe this world is too big for a fuzzy toy puppy like me. I tucked my tail

between my legs and shrunk away. My tail got entangled in my legs as I walked a cliff’s edge. I wondered as I fell how in hell a cliff always shows up at the most inopportune time.