EVERY HOOFPRINT

Pawfluencer Pip Iguana Pinto is making headlines again after trying the men’s litterbox at Pinto Tower. “It’s new and stainless steel. Mine’s plastic. Sexist,” she says. Known for viral antics like licking PetSmart treats without paying, Pinto isn’t phased by fame. When paparazzi appeared, she flashed her middle paw pad. “I want movies, shows, a podcast—everything,” she declares. Asked about Grumpy Cat, she shrugs: “Who?” There’s only one Pip—and she’ll pee wherever she wants

Resilience isn’t something you’re born with—it’s a choice. It’s the mindset that keeps you standing when life tries to knock you down. Being resilient means knowing your strengths, controlling your emotions, and adapting when things fall apart. Even the smallest effort—the mustard seed of “I won’t quit”—can carry you through. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about refusing to give up, no matter how hard it gets.

I’ve decided my life is a sociological experiment run by a bored grad student in heaven. My schedule defies logic; my coffee intake defies science. People say I’m “high functioning,” but really, I’m 47% competent, 38% guessing, and 15% strategic nodding. I am not a person—I am a concept powered by caffeine and chaos.

I wandered through a world of noise,  Where silence used to scream.  Each echo told a tale undone,  Each shadow held a painful wound. My heart longs for belonging and safety. The faces I pass blur into one endless crowd. Everyone seemed to know who they were and where they were supposed to be. Here I stood still, unable to move a muscle. Letting the world rush past me, wondering whether I will learn to move like them. In the end, the noise never became familiar. I remained a

SATIRE No one ever in the wildest dreams ever expects to be viewed as THAT person. The person who ends up experiencing such a tragic event that they are forever known by it. They are marked by the thing that happened to them, the thing that is so unspeakable, so… traumatic.  This is my story.  My daily walks are part of my special routine and it is something that I pride myself in; they're my way to decompress after a hard day crossing the road. My path is always the same fro

It’s 2:19 a.m., and the world is quiet—the kind of quiet that makes you hear everything. In that silence, I start thinking about the person I am when no one’s watching. Not the version people see, but the one who exists without pretending. The one who feels everything, questions everything, and just… is. Maybe that’s who we really are—the quiet version we meet in the dark when the noise fades. And for now, that feels like enough.

It all began on September 9 at 8 p.m., when I discovered what I thought was a leak in my bathroom ceiling. Standing in a puddle with wet socks, I looked up—only to meet the beady gaze of a squirrel peering through the air vent and politely introducing itself by peeing on my freshly cleaned floor.

To my peers, and to my community, It was winter break, December 2024 and while my mind was reeling from months of late rent payments and struggles with college courses, my mother surprised me for Christmas with a flight to North Carolina. She moved months ago, and what little she knew of my struggle on campus, she knew less of my struggle on my own. I was scared to step away from so much responsibility, even for a few days. My mother’s worry is worse than any anxiety. I could

I let my anger get the best of me. Just like him. There are no words to describe being compared to someone your memories villainize. Though I knew my father beyond the anger, having one of your first memories of someone be something so traumatic doesn’t set a great tone, especially when you see them once a yNineteen. The last year of one's teens. The last chance to be a kid before the impending doom of your twenties begins to sink in. The age I am now and the age my father wa

I have a complicated relationship with the winged insect known as the bee. It’s a tale that stems from childhood fears and eventually extends through maturating adulthood.  On the fourth of July when I was young, our deck at home had been cleared of a huge bees nest. I trusted my father when he said it was safe, so I naively thought all the bees were gone. Yet I stepped on one, and it wiggled right in between my toes and stung me. Childhood glorifies good memories into hazy d

Whether it is misremembering or a sickening form of nostalgia, something sinister hangs over memories of movies from our youth.  Never in my life has any current movie given me the same sense of primal fear as some childhood movies have given me. The heart racing and stomach sinking feeling that films like “Where the Wild Things Are” and “James and the Giant Peach” have given me have not been matched by any modern horror movie I have watched recently.  Yes, “Where the W

My weight enters the room before I do. It doesn’t matter if I’m having a good hair day. It doesn’t matter if I walk in with a smile on my face. It doesn’t matter if I’m wearing makeup. My body is the first thing people always notice. The first time I noticed I was different was when I was five. I was going on the bus to school and made friends with two twin sisters. The seat I sat in that day became my assigned seat on the bus. I didn’t know the choice I made would turn out t