From the P.U.N.Y. listserve, a serving of witchcraft by Cynthia MacGregor.

Nothin’ says lovin’ like something from the coven, so Hazel (which Hazel? You know which Hazel!) decided to cast a spell. She went down to the river and lazily threw the fishhook into the water for half an hour or so.

“What are you doing?” a passerby asked.

“Just casting, a spell,” she replied, annoyed that it wasn’t obvious. Who was this ignorant fellow anyhow? Irked, Hazel decided to turn him into something slimy. She toad him what she had in mind and then turned him into…a congressman.

“I newt it was a bad day the minute I got up,” the stranger said before departing.

Hazel gathered up her fishing gear and got out of there reel quick. She slipped the key into the lock of her door, which had a name. The door was called Bertha. She entered her kitchen and lit a fire under her big pot, called Ron.

But she got restless and returned to the river, where she looked over the boats. A man wandered by and she asked him, “Which craft is yours?”

Eventually she had to go back to the house, though, for she had left a concoction of cats’ tails simmering on the stove. With a huge wooden ladle (how could it be both huge and ladle?), she turned and turned and turned the contents of the pot. (Isn’t this a stirring story?!)

The cats’ tail stew was heavily seasoned with cumin, as were all the foods Hazel cooked, for Hazel was the proprietress of a restaurant that served all cumin-spiced foods. The name of the restaurant was Summer, as everyone knows that Summer is a cumin inn. Alas, though, Hazel fell asleep while the stew was cooking, and all the meat got burnt, so that is the end of this tail.