sprig has a minion!

plover the Smilla

The wet moisture ring from her cup is still there. I know because I just stepped in it.

She made an iced caramel macchiato then sprinted out the door. Left her wallet on the counter. She'll be back soon. About eight minutes and counting. I know because this isn't the first time.

I'm standing on the kitchen counter, which is forbidden in this house, but I'm a sinner. How else am I supposed to reach the Bhuja mix while my owner is gone?

She's too busy these days to even notice when her snacks are eaten - she assumes it's somehow her doing when bags of Kettle chips and packs of cheese-sticks magically disappear.

Besides eating things I shouldn't, I spend most of my days window-watching. I'm a housepet now, it's what I do, I guess.

The apartment building opposite to ours can be a real treat to ponder. In apartment twelve, another Malticorn regularly stares back - their curtains an unorthodox lime green. Apartment eight has five Kumoses, which is five more than needed, if you ask me. There's an abstract painting of who I think is Ewan McGregor in apartment five, and I rarely look at number thirty-three 'cos I'm convinced the human is a nudist.

Why my owner keeps me around? I dunno. I'm not much help. Although I do eat all the crumbs she leaves on the floor.

"Lazy lazy lazy," she often chants at me, but it's never severe.

She smiles.

🌱

Four minutes to go...

If I stare at the door with enough intensity maybe time will go faster?

🌱

My owner gave up her days as a Florist to work as an Accountant - what she originally studied for, and what brings in "the big bucks".

But I miss gathering flowers with her. Riding in her minivan, now long sold, to various flower farms across the countryside. Blossoms stuck in my fur. The sweet scent of flowers freshly cut. The sneeze that soon follows.

Down the hall, we still have a room devoted entirely to flower prep, but it's seldom used now, and I rarely venture into it due to the debris. Leaves and petals stick to the room, serving as a poignant reminder of our shared past. Vases and pots line the shelves, empty and scattered. Permeated still by the rich scent of dry soil.

🌱

...

I'll tell you a secret.

I steal her things.

Sometimes it's her wallet. Other times car keys. Phone, keycard, earpods, that coffee lip balm she can't live without. Out of her bag, or pocket, seconds before she leaves.

Then she has to come back.

And I get to see her again even if for a moment.

And the first thing she sees when she enters is me. I'm the one holding her earpods, keycard, or whatever treasure she seeks.

And she pats me heavily with both hands before waving and disappearing into the dry winters day.

Then I'm alone again.

...

🌱

T-minus thirty seconds.

I'm on the floor now pretending to have never been on the counter. Wallet in mouth.

The keys jingle, and the nob turns...


additional credit
pressed flower pngs (1) (2) (3) | muttshroom © mother 3 | waving dog








flowers belong to mother gaia 🌻

LAZY LAZY LAZY