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

My whiskers are perfect. They told me so.

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

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

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.