Mickey's Mischief

Mickey, all four paws and happy tail, was practically vibrating with the leftover energy from the fashion show. He’d watched from his comfy spot by the window, his brown eyes wide as saucers, following every flash of light, every murmur of applause. He didn’t understand *what* was happening, not really, but he understood that Mary was happy, and that was the most important thing in his puppy universe. As the last of the guests, a whirlwind of stylish chatter and champagne flutes, finally faded from the shop, a stillness settled over the space. It was a good stillness, a quiet hum of accomplishment that Mary felt deep in her bones. She sank onto her favorite velvet chair, a contented sigh escaping her lips. Snowy, ever the elegant observer, hopped onto her lap, purring a soft rumble of approval. Starry, a blur of white fluff, immediately began batting at a stray sequin that had escaped the purple dress, now draped like a fallen queen over a mannequin.

“Oh, you three,” Mary murmured, stroking Snowy’s silken fur. “We did it. We really did it.”

Mickey, however, was not content with quiet contemplation. The post-show buzz, the lingering scent of expensive perfume and triumph, had fueled a brand new kind of energy within him. He was a puppy, after all, and puppies had an inexhaustible supply of “zoomies” waiting to be unleashed. He nudged Mary’s hand with his wet nose, then let out a soft whine, his tail thumping a rapid rhythm against the floor.