Ronaldo sat on the edge of the tiny wooden chair, his round belly pressed forward and his bright eyes locked onto the plate of pumpkin dessert cooling on the counter. The warm, sweet smell drifted through the room, and every time the breeze carried it closer, he let out a tiny chirp—as if begging the scent itself to come back. His little hands kept opening and closing, unsure whether to stay patient or climb up and steal a bite like he usually tried to do.
Mom noticed him staring, his lips puckered in a curious pout, and she couldn’t help but smile. Ronaldo wasn’t usually this calm when food was involved. But today, something about the pumpkin seemed to cast a spell on him. His head tilted from side to side, eyes following the dessert like it was the sun and he was the planet.
As Mom sliced the dessert into tiny squares, Ronaldo stood up straighter, toes curling in excitement. His tail flicked against the chair legs, each flick louder than the last. He didn’t blink; he didn’t move; he only watched. It was as if the whole world had gone quiet and only the pumpkin existed.
When Mom finally turned around with a tiny spoonful, Ronaldo’s mouth dropped open before she even reached him. He leaned forward, eyes glistening with pure hope. The moment the sweet bite touched his tongue, he froze—wide-eyed, overwhelmed, amazed. Then came a soft, delighted squeal that echoed through the room.
He clapped his hands, bouncing in tiny hops, demanding another taste. Mom laughed, giving him one more small spoonful before taking the plate away for later. Ronaldo whined softly but settled down, licking the last bit from his lips.
For the rest of the morning, he stayed close to Mom, hoping she’d forget and bring the pumpkin back out—but she didn’t. Still, the taste lived in his mind like magic, and Ronaldo knew he’d be dreaming of it tonight.
