Everyone is Welcome at the Witch’s House

A Slice of an Unusual Life

Tarrant Smith
Jul 26, 2019 · 2 min read
Photo by Emiel Molenaar on Unsplash

“If you’re a witch, then why don’t you have fairies in your garden?” the possum asked right before he ambled under the house. He’s far too full of dry cat food and what bugs he’s eaten to wait for my reply. He is seeking his bed where it is cool and I know he doesn’t mind the family of armadillos.

“The chickens chased them away,” I mumble, knowing he was out of earshot. It’s true, the red hen harried the poor creatures until one morning I realized they’d fled my garden in search of safer lands. To make matters worse, the rest of the flock ransacked the peas, flattened the parsley, and raked up the second round of basil I’d planted. I’d been looking forward to fresh pesto this fall, but apparently, the feathered hooligans had other ideas.

“They’re a nuisance and their wings tend to catch in my throat. You don’t need fairies fluttering about anyway,” declares the stray cat laying on the porch with her one calico kitten. She’s one of a number of strays who expect their meals to appear twice a day. Her suspicious stare is quick to remind me that none of the colony trust me, though I’m a witch and due a little respect.

“Don’t listen to her.”

I shade my eyes against a rising sun and smile at the buzzard on the roof. He’s one of my favorite residences here at the witch house. He’s comical, though he longs to be dignified. His night perch is the chimney and he keeps his guests to a minimum. “What news from the rooftop?” I ask.

With a bob of his head, he replies, “The armadillo tells me they will start excavating the north side of the yard tomorrow night. And a raccoon has gained access to the attic.” With his report given, he awkwardly hops, and then hops again before abandoning the roof for the open sky.

“Fine,” I say to no one, for the stray cat has wandered off with her one kitten and the chickens are too busy gorging themselves on overripe figs that have fallen from the tree in back.

Though the fairies may are gone, for now the garden is safe — and all is as it should be here at the witch’s house.

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Tarrant Smith

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Kitchen Witch, Wife, Mother, and Indie Author of two paranormal romance series.

Literally Literary

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