Blinty wobbled to the small desk, one claw hooking the B card closer. She tapped the printed letter. "Buh… buh… buh…" The card tilted past the wood edge, the green meadow swaying far below the round window. Her paws slipped on the grain. She grabbed it just before it fell.
Thock. The B card slapped the desk. She caught it, dropped it, caught it again. Then she shoved the B aside and fished three new cards from the pile. C. A. T. She lined them up in a crooked row, one edge bumping the next like a tiny wooden fence.
Her claw tapped left to right. "Cuh… ah… tsss." She yanked the T to the front. Then the C. T-C-A. She huffed through her nose and shoved them back. The wooden shelf behind her groaned, slow and low, while meadow-light dragged a long gold strip across her letters.
She licked the tip of her claw. Then, slower this time, she pushed the C to the front. A next. T last. The light turned the T the color of dried bread. She held the row still and watched her own shadow waver on the wood grain.
"Cuh… ah… tsss… CAT!" Her ears snapped forward. Through the round window, a small brown cat crouched at the stream's edge, tongue flicking over one paw. Four feet of open meadow stretched between them. The cat blinked slowly. The whole treehouse went quiet except for the trickle of water far below. Blinty's claw went still.
Her paws drifted off the letter cards, sliding along the desk's edge. They found a thin picture book leaning against the shelf. She yanked it free with two claws. The spine cracked, soft and papery. The whole room smelled of cedar and old glue. Outside, the stream muttered its one long word against the stones.
Blinty spread the book open on her knees. "The little fox jumped over the log." Her eyes went so wide her whole head tilted back. The top of her head brushed the low ceiling beam with a soft scratch. She dropped the book. It patted the floor. When she grabbed it again, the painted fox was mid-leap, tail frozen in the air.
The stream outside the window rushed exactly like the log in the story. Blinty's paws pressed flat against the page. Under her claws, the fox's tail-tip shivered. Or the wind was doing it. She could not tell. The meadow-light slid across the page and the painted fox leapt a little further into the afternoon.
Blinty carried the open book to the round window. She tucked it between the sill and her paws, chin resting on the top edge. One claw turned the next page. A soft click of nail on wood. Her shadow stretched long and spiky across the meadow grass below, a dark smudge moving over the clover.
The single B card still sat face-up on the desk, four feet away. She did not reach for it. The treehouse breathed cedar and old paper around her. Her ears swiveled forward, both tips pointing at the next picture on the page. Outside, the stream murmured its one long word, and the meadow turned slowly gold.
