The Memoirist
Published in

The Memoirist

Haunting Our Hearts and Pocketbook

We were moving, but our resident non-human, Toast, refused to cooperate.

“Let’s call him Toast, he’s the color of toast,” and ten-year-old Jason christened our new kitten because of the light brown splotches dotting his white fur.

Toast became a spoiled member of the family, demanding food, water and hugs, and forbidding other animals from entering his domain. Visiting dogs…



We exclusively publish memoirs: The creative stories unpacked from the nostalgic hope chests of our lives.

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Meryl Baer

The shore is home. Folks visit in summer, but no one stops by in winter, so I write.