Hunt
The dreaded red dot evades capture. But mom’s pin cushion has not been so lucky.
Fluffy paws, tiny and vicious, find colorful mice hiding under the fridge. Razor sharp teeth crunch the bones of mom’s computer wires.
I am known by many names. Each one a moniker of great respect. Bug like the warriors of old. Baby like Aristotle. Stink like Hercules.
The strings on the tennis shoes mock me with their smug bunny loops ripe for untying. One swipe and I’m foiled, up in Mom’s arms. They escape for now, but they will learn to fear Snookums the Great.