Pip’s Ribbonmaker Dare — Behind the wrapping table, where paper smelled like cinnamon tape, Pip tucked himself into an empty box and made a dare: before the clock clicked twelve, he would tie one bow big enough to make the old spruce blink. Read the full story →
Behind the wrapping table, where paper smelled like cinnamon tape, Pip tucked himself into an empty box and made a dare: before the clock clicked twelve, he would tie one bow big enough to make the old spruce blink. His paws could bat bells and chase ribbon curls, but tying was trickier. The satin slipped. The star paper crinkled. “One loop, one secret,” he whispered.
Pip climbed out, padded past the tree, and tugged a green ribbon from under a tiny present. A holly leaf pricked his paw—just a pinprick, but enough to make him hiss softly. He almost dragged the ribbon back loose. Then he spotted how the garland looped from branch to branch, each circle holding the next. Pip copied it: loop, cross, pull, puff.
By the time footsteps thumped in the hall, he had not made one perfect bow. He had made a wonderfully lopsided one, knotted by his own sore paw, and it sat on the box like a secret grin. If you ever see a kitten popping from a present with both paws high, check the bow first—Pip may still be showing you how he made it.
