I sat in the window today, the sun tickled my nose.

I brushed Violet’s fur today. She purred softly, and I pretended not to cry.

I tripped over a ribbon. It tied itself to my tail.

My fur brushed velvet today. It whispered: remember me and I know I will.

Shadows hum lullabies if you listen long enough.

My whiskers are perfect. They told me so.

The sunlight caught a dust mote. I swore it was a fairy.

Everyone forgets their mittens. I keep track of them.

I sketched a dress that looked like clouds then I stitched it together.

I climbed the tallest chair and declared myself king.

When I pounced too far, the rug slid across the floor. Best ride ever.

Strawberry cream makes me brave. I sip, then skip to do what I couldn't.

If your head is clear and all sadness is in the right spot, then sure,” Loulou said. “We can look around for the missing scissors.”

They learned the old arts because the old arts were waiting. They learned to press fabric with a cat’s patience, to fold corners until they

Normally, Juju Bee was raring to go to Design Class. But this time she lingered. Something felt odd.

Cherie added, “If you want to enjoy extra, you can always bring a basket just for you. But at the tea table, we share.”

Maddie shook her head. “But we’re not sick, and we’re not dead.”

That’s the thing about me — I stumble, I spill, I drop. But when I do, something new appears. A crooked spoon becomes a magic wand, a topple

Crooked,” said Violet, wrinkling her whiskers. “Magical,” corrected Poppy, her eyes sparking.