Pipoca spotted a golden shop window on the cobblestone street. Inside: a curly brown wig piled high like a little cloud. She paused and tilted her head.
The wig bounced when she moved. "Look at me!" she thought, and let out a proud squeak.
With a flick of her tail, she marched out into the sunshine. The curly wig wobbled on her head.
Down the path, the breeze lifted the curls, and a streak of yellow peeked through. Pipoca stopped and licked a bead of sweat from her nose. She shook once, and the curls settled back into place.
At the corner stand, a mango ice cream waited. Pipoca reached for it — and a squirrel swooped down! "Hey!" she cried. She scrambled after him, but her wig tumbled off onto a bed of red hibiscus petals.
Pipoca looked up. The squirrel was stuck high in a jacaranda tree, the melted cone dripping onto his paws.
Pipoca climbed. Her claws scraped the bark. When she reached him, she nudged the squirrel onto her back. They slid down a leaning palm frond and landed in a soft heap of rose petals.
Pipoca licked a smear of mango from her whiskers. Something tiny and white was tucked into her wig. She trotted home, the sun warm on her fur, already plotting her next adventure.