Andreea Mihaela Murariu Moldovan
She didn't come from Mars but from Păcurari. My husband sent me a photo and asked if I wanted her. He was waiting for my usual answer, the same one I've been giving for about six years: anything that comes into this house and has a pulse ends up in the frying pan. Shock and awe. I answered: yes. He wasn't ready for that, and neither was I. But her eyes knelt down the last traces of my reason, her teeth pierced through all the rubber slippers, her claws sharpened on our couches, and our nights are now filled with hunting sessions. You came home.
Sanda Vaideș
The space probe sent back the first images from Mars. NASA personnel crowded around the screens, thinking they were the victims of a satellite prank or mass hallucination. The planet was populated by creatures with whiskers, fur, and four paws. They lived in shoeboxes, laundry baskets, sinks, and flower pots. At the sight of the Mars Reconnaissance Orbiter, they didn't even blink. Some of them rubbed against it, raising its level of static electricity. A series of sounds was recorded, filling the ether with a resounding MEOW.
Magdalena Daminescu
Nonsense. They come from the neighbours, the only yard without dogs, because no matter how many cute stories of dogs and cats kissing you see on Facebook, the reality is they can't stand each other. They're starving, so I feed them twice a day, then they curl up their tails and dart back to the neighbours, purring up to them-the little traitors. But the weddings, oh, those they hold in my yard, treating me to true midnight concerts. When they show up with their kittens in tow, my heart melts, and I rush to buy a few more cans.
(Translated by Larisa-Marta Mreană / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)
Versiunea în română a acestui text se poate citi aici, în rubrica Ficțiuni Reale.