At home, she is chaos. A force of nature. An uncontainable honking whirlwind.
In public, she becomes the shyest creature alive. She hides behind me like I'm a shield. She tugs my sleeve when I'm too loud. She dies of embarrassment at least four times per outing.
I cross the street when I see an opening. She waits for the signal. Every time. She watches me from the curb like I've just walked into traffic on purpose — which, from her perspective, I have.
But she can never quite stop herself from laughing.
"Burrito dance! Burrito dance!"
When she eats a good burrito, something takes over. A rhythm. A calling. She sways side to side and nothing else in the world exists.
Saturday mornings are the same — she wakes up, remembers it's not a workday, and the dance begins again.
"Saturdaaay… Saturdaaay…"
Same dance. Different song. Same joy.
"It's cheese. How spicy can it be?"
Ghost pepper cheese. She said it with such confidence. Such certainty. She looked at me like I was the fool for hesitating.
What followed was ten seconds of silence, then a noise I can only describe as a teakettle gaining sentience and regretting it.
She has not looked at that cheese since. The cheese remains in the fridge. It has won.
She watches more reality TV than any living creature should. I will never understand it. I have tried. I cannot.
But sometimes I sit down next to her anyway. And she lights up — like I've given her a gift just by being there for it.
"CAN YOU BELIEVE HER?!"
She points at the screen like the contestants can hear her. She is furious. She is invested. She is the most passionate person in the room, and the room is our living room, and it is 11 PM on a Tuesday.
I don't understand the show. But I understand her face when she watches it. And that's enough.
It starts small.
"mew."
A tiny sound from the doorway. Easy to miss, if you didn't know better.
"mew mew."
"MEW MEW MEW"
"HONK HONK HONK HONK"
It never stays small.
She has three rats, and she is their queen.
Peach is round and content and wants nothing more than to be held. Misty is fearless — she perches on shoulders, explores new rooms, leads expeditions. Winky is trouble. Beautiful, unrepentant trouble.
She knows exactly how to love each one. Peach gets belly rubs. Misty gets adventures. Winky gets chased.
She never confuses what each one needs.
My phone lights up. She's always thinking about me.
"Did you eat lunch today?"
She knows when I've forgotten. She always knows.
"I miss you <3"
And that's when the other memories come — the ones that aren't funny. The ones that are just… her.
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