Kiko’s Quiet Rescue — Every evening, Kiko raced the clock to the top perch before supper, paws thumping up the carpet ramp while the room smelled of fern leaves and dust-warmed cushions. Read the full story →
Every evening, Kiko raced the clock to the top perch before supper, paws thumping up the carpet ramp while the room smelled of fern leaves and dust-warmed cushions. He wanted the highest seat when the first porch light blinked on. Until one day, halfway up the rope post, a papery flutter tickled his ear.
A silver moth had tangled one wing in the string of the hanging mouse. Because of that, Kiko stopped climbing and hooked his claws into the rope, swinging while the toy bobbed and squeaked. Because of that, his back paws slipped, and the top perch seemed to sail away above him. “Hold still,” he puffed, teeth working gently at the knot.
At last the thread loosened. The moth shot toward the window in a dusty sparkle, and nobody in the chair, on the shelf, or beyond the curtains saw Kiko miss his supper-race. He climbed down slow, whiskers full of rope fuzz, just as the porch light blinked on; next time you spot that dangling mouse, see if it remembers the papery flutter.