This is a piece I wrote for a flash fiction anthology called Faux Paws (Mannison Press, 2023). I was inspired to share it here by a friendly follower on social media whose daughter just had all four of her wisdom teeth removed. Wishing you a speedy recovery, kiddo!

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Her bedroom was the wrong blue. This blue was orange. It was blorange. Someone had come in and painted her room blorange while she was out, and she was furious! Her father had insisted that her bedroom was the same color it had always been and that blorange was, in fact, not a color, but she knew better. It was probably that scheming little brother of hers, the brat. She’d paint his room blorange, too, that would show him!

“Maybe tomorrow,” chuckled her father, “when you’re feeling better. Now, let’s get you into bed.”

“Are my feefs bworange, foo?” she garbled, scrutinizing the pillowcase.

“No, baby, your sheets are not blorange. Aren’t they soft, though? They must feel so nice!”

She smiled broadly, a Cheshire chipmunk, and giggled playfully as she shimmied her feet into the cool sheets. “Foh foft! Foft feefs…f-f-feefs…” She scowled. “Oh, no! I can’t fay ‘feefs’!”

Her father chuckled again as he got her all nestled down under the covers. “You don’t have to say ‘sheets’ right now, pumpkin, or anything else for that matter. Shh-shh.” He kissed her forehead and removed her glasses, setting them on the nightstand. “You just get some rest and sleep off that anesthesia. I’ll be out watching TV if you need anything.”

Her eyelids fluttered under the weight of her busy morning. “Okay, Vavvy. I’ll feep now.” But despite the effects of the dentist’s cocktail, sleep she could not. She was hot. She was cold. She was nauseated but hungry. The color of the walls kept shifting in the midday sun, and the cotton in her mouth was dehydrating her bones from the inside out.

“Vavvy? Vavvy, I’m firffy.” Her swollen face was now buried in the covers for all her thrashing, doing her clarity no favors. “Vavvy!” She kicked off the blankets and flung herself onto her back, then stared blankly up at the ceiling for several moments, trying to determine its mysterious hue. She decided it was blurple, and that her brother was a jerk.

With a sigh, she swung one leg out of the bed. Her foot thumped heavily to the floor and she giggled at the silly sound it made. Still lying on her back, she tried to reproduce the sound. Thump. She giggled again, then winced as a bolt of pain shot through her jaw. This drew her attention back to the cotton currently desiccating her oral cavity. Reminded of her thirst, she drew herself up to full height, wobbled momentarily, then redirected her body toward the hall.

Having neglected her glasses, she blindly teetered down the narrow corridor, dragging a single finger along the wall for orientation. She paused, however, as she passed the bathroom. The bathroom has water, she thought, swaying in the open doorway. She didn’t have to go all the way to the kitchen. But everyone knows kitchen water is better. She resumed course, concentrating on the blurry outlines of counters and cabinetry just at the end of the hall.

The lights were all turned off in the quiet kitchen, but they were unnecessary. The abundance of early afternoon sun pouring in through the large windows of the breakfast nook was more than sufficient. She took a moment to center herself before tenuously detaching her finger from the wall, carefully assessing the state of her equilibrium. Not entirely satisfied with her stability, she considered calling for her father, although the sink was right there. She glanced toward the living room where the television was playing, but before she could call out to its lone occupant, something out-of-place caught her eye.

There was some dark object underneath the breakfast table. Even without her glasses, she could tell that the little black blob didn’t belong there. It looked fuzzy. But was it simply uncorrected eyes-fuzzy, or was it furry-fuzzy?

She cocked her head to the side—eyebrows knitted together and cotton-packed mouth agape—to further assess this indistinct intruder. She shuffled closer and half squatted in order to peer, squinting, beneath the table.

It was furry-fuzzy. And whatever it was, it was caught under a chair.

“Oh, no!” she whispered. “How’d you ge’ in here, li’l fella?” She lowered herself into a full squat (catching herself before she accidentally sat) then reached out to stroke the mysterious little bundle of fur. It was all black except for one white-tipped ear and was absolutely frozen in fear.

“Shh-shh, iss okay,” she cooed. “Here, lemme help you.” She squat-walked herself closer and then tipped the chair back ever-so-slightly (or, she thought ever-so-slightly) until the chair bumped the wall behind it with a thud and she bumped her head on the table with an oof. She flinched as pain shot through her entire face, but shook it off quickly in order to further aid the helpless creature.

“Okay, you’re fwee now,” she whispered. But the poor thing didn’t budge. “Go on! Ge’ on back’oo your mama.” She gave it a small nudge to prod it along but, again, it refused to move. “Aww, poor fing. You fo fcared! C’mere, baby.”

Now it was time to sit. The tiddly teen flumped down onto her bottom and scootched herself fully under the table. She tenderly scooped up the quivering floof and drew it close to her body, humming softly as she cradled it for warmth.

“Li’l bay-bee,” she sang, “li’l bay-bee.”

“Is that you, pumpkin?” came her father’s voice from the living room. The volume from the television decreased sharply only moments before his large frame came lumbering into the kitchen. He jumped at the sight of his daughter under the table. “Baby, baby, what are you doing under there?!”

“Look, Vavvy! A kitten!” She tipped her arms outward to reveal the furry black bundle snuggled against her chest.

The imposing man stood dumbstruck for several seconds before erupting into hearty laughter.

“Oh, sweetie!” he exclaimed between peals of delight. “Oh, I love you so much! Come on, silly, let’s get you back into bed.”

She started to protest. “But the kitten—”

“You can bring the kitten with you.”

“Oh, vank you, Vavvy. It was fo fcared and all alone!” She nestled her new pet fondly and tickled its white-tipped ear as her father ushered her back to her blorange bedroom and tucked her back into bed. Another light chuckle rumbled in his chest as he kissed her on the forehead and, with an adoring sigh, he tickled the small white tag hanging off the side of his missing slipper.\

Thanks for reading.