March 1, 2019

The Move

by Kristi Brooks At night the elephants would congregate in the living room. The largest, Brack, was easily five pounds and his massive two foot frame had been bound in brown leather. He towered over the ceramic elephants that lined the bookshelves; and to the half-inch glass figurines that guarded the pictures on the dresser he was a god. “Fellow Brethren,” Brack snorted through his trunk, “some of us have been in this mess before, so we know how unorganized humans can be when it comes to packing.”

March 1, 2019

New Hire at the Final Library

by Laurence Raphael Brothers Welcome to the Library of Beasts. Well. Technically, it’s the Final Library and Transtemporal Museum of Human Culture, but after the orientation tour I’m sure you’ll agree the informal name is superior. What? You don’t know what you’re doing here? Ah, confusion is normal in a newborn librarian. Let’s just take the tour. The gazelle resting on the throw rug in the central reading room is certainly not showing off. The elegant creature has her nose in a volume of Flaubert, but you’d have to look over her shoulder to see the title, Sentimental Education, so it’s not as if she’s flaunting it. She’s too engrossed…

March 1, 2019

Bibelots and Baubles

by Shauna Roberts Buddy Jumphigh, curator of bibelots and baubles at the Third Smithsonian Institute, sighed and jammed his pince-nez onto his snout. There was no point in continuing to sniff the breezes wafting past his open window; no point in melancholic reminisces of times past when the Mall thronged with people; no point in whining, as he longed to do:  he could not avoid cataloging the horrifying object before him any longer. In a slow, cramped, scholarly hand, he printed the item acquisition number at the top of the form, along with a brief descriptor: “mechanical hummingbird with gems.”

March 1, 2019

Cat of Thunder

by John Taloni Mirru padded around her nest, ears twitching. Her tail flicked back and forth as she heard distant thuds. Her kittens curled against each other, sleeping fitfully. Their paws pressed against one another as they cuddled together in the underbrush, hidden in a clump of gorse bushes. A column of smoke rose in the distance. The faint whiff of its far-off smell caused Mirru’s nose to wrinkle. Then a louder noise cracked the night – an explosion. She could hear shouting and observed a whirl of activity. The figures had two legs and two arms. People, of one variety or another. One of her kittens woke and mewled,…

December 1, 2018

Issue 1

Welcome to the first full issue of Zooscape! The first question most people ask about furry fiction is, “What about reptiles?  Do they count?  They don’t have fur!”  But furry fiction isn’t just about having fur — it’s about empathy, most often with animals, but sometimes anthropomorphic literature reaches even further into the unfamiliar and finds ways to make it familiar. For our first issue, we offer a journey that will take you from the familiar to the very fringe of furry fiction.  From a dog experiencing the apocalypse and two fables about cats and boots, we’ll take you to eerie places where humans don’t quite belong, and finally end…

December 1, 2018

Sentient Tears

by A Humphrey Lanham We rolled out of our cave, grouping at its red rim. One by one, we rushed down, over the peak of the hill, leaping across the soft-edged crevasse to land on the pointy cliff at the edge of the world. There we hesitated, waiting. “This is it,” said our leader. The first out of the cave. The first off the edge of the world. And one by one we leapt, falling down, down, down in a slow, steady beat onto the soft world below, bleeding into the fibers. Our salt comingling. Our five-second lives sacrificed in the name of sorrow.   * * * About the…

December 1, 2018

The Far Side of the Ocean

by Lena Ng “Let me refill your cup, dear,” said Meyxtle, as she poured from the refined bone china teapot. The smell of seaweed from the warm, salt tea wafted into the room. “Take a snack as well.” She moved the bucket closer to the edge of the table. Crystix studied the pile of moving crabs as they clumsily climbed over each other. “Looks delicious.” She delicately wrapped a tentacle over the top crab—since manners dictated she didn’t dig into the middle of the pile and pick the fattest, reddest one hiding beneath its brothers—slipped it under her mantle, and into her beak. “Sorry about the mess,” she said as…

December 1, 2018

Zoo

by Ellen Denton Last week, herds of deer started coming to my yard. They’re not afraid of me; when I tap on the window to get their attention, they don’t act startled or nervous even though I’m only a few feet away. When I speak to them through the glass, their ears twitch and they look at me with intelligent, almost friendly eyes. When they’re not there, I can still see their tracks, like words of a secret code written by hoof prints in the snow. I like to think they’re telling me, in a winter language spoken with their feet, “We’re still here.  We’re watching over you.” They make…

December 1, 2018

The Mountain Farmer’s Bootlace

by David Sklar Once upon a time there were three cats who lived in a boot that belonged to a giant. Now, this giant had a small farm, stretching over about half a continent, where he grew mountains. You might not think of mountains as a crop that grows on a farm, but if you are large enough and patient enough, you can grow them, and I’ll tell you how: You start with a mountain seed, which is a special kind of stone, slightly bigger than you are, and shaped like a kernel of unpopped corn. Hold this stone between thumb and forefinger, and push the pointy end down into…

December 1, 2018

The Turn of the Year

by Gerri Leen Snow trickles into the barn, blown by winds grown suddenly gentle after gusting all night. You can hear the sound of festivities from the castle: the humans are preparing to welcome in another year with dances, great spreads of food and drink, and embraces when the clock strikes twelve. There’s no clock in the barn, but you’ll know exactly when the year slips over: the sense of potential will build as the minutes tick down and then be gone again until next year. You turn away from the cold, feeling it despite the lushness of your fur. Your joints ache as you move and you want nothing…