Pipo sat on the soft rug and watched his family. Mama read by the window. Papa stretched his long legs. The house was quiet and warm.
Pipo stood up. He patted his pockets, his ears, his belly. He frowned. He held out his paw, waiting for a tug. Then the kettle whistled.
Pipo followed Mama into the garden. She bent down and wrapped her arms around him. She hummed against his fur. A butterfly landed on her shoulder, then fluttered away.
Pipo stayed very still, trying to feel what Mama felt. A blue butterfly landed on a petal beside him, flapped its wings, and drifted toward the rosebush.
Papa charged across the grass, doing a wobbly dance. His arms shot up. His belly bounced. One foot slipped in the dirt and he wobbled side to side.
Pipo giggled until Papa fell backward onto the moss. Papa offered a muddy paw. When Pipo took it, a worm popped up between their fingers and wiggled away.
Pipo tried catching love himself. He ran to the fencepost and hugged it tight. He cupped his paws around a sunbeam. He even tried hugging his reflection in the birdbath.
Nothing gave anything back. The fencepost stayed completely still. The sunbeam slipped right through his paws. His reflection in the birdbath just rippled and slid away.
Rain tapped a steady rhythm on the roof. Mama pulled a thick blanket over all three of them on the couch. Papa's knee bumped Pipo's knee.
Mama's chin rested on top of Pipo's head. The house filled with the smell of tea and wet wool. The three of them sat close together.
It was a quiet tangle of limbs and warmth. Pipo leaned into Mama. Papa let out a soft sigh. The rain kept tapping against the window.
Pipo's ears twitched at the sound of rain. Mama's hum had started again, low and steady. Pipo pressed closer and didn't move for a long time.
