A blue-grey cloud drifted through the open window and hovered right above Puff's head. She was reaching for her shoe.
Puff yanked one foot and missed the shoe hole. The cloud puffed up bigger. It even made a tiny grumble, sounding like a sleepy toaster.
Puff dragged the cloud all the way to the kitchen. It bumped the fridge and left a small puddle on the floor.
Mama knelt down and pressed two fingers against the cloud's bottom. "Tell your cloud what's too big today," she said.
Puff whispered, "My shoe hurts." The cloud shrank just enough for the puddle to stop spreading.
At preschool, the cloud followed Puff inside and nestled on the rug during circle time.
When Leo took the last truck, Puff's feet went still. The cloud swelled until it bumped the bookshelf and knocked a board book sideways.
Puff reached up and pushed the cloud flat against her shoulder. "My turn too," she said. The cloud deflated to a soft grey pillow.
At the park, the sky bruised dark. A giant rain cloud barreled toward Puff while she was climbing the play set.
It crashed down and pinned Puff's arms to the ladder rungs. Fat raindrops rang against the plastic steps like dropped coins.
Puff wrapped both hands around the cloud and whispered, "I'm stuck." The cloud suddenly burped a perfect ring-shaped rainbow that slid off onto the slide.
Back in bed, the ring-rainbow curled up on Puff's quilt like a nightlight. She tapped it, and it glowed warm and pale — small enough to fit under her pillow.