The Plumeria is Heavier Than It Looks

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"Mom, the plumeria's heavier than it looks," the cat says, paws braced on the iron table. Its green harness pinches where it's clipped too tight, but it tilts its head so the flower won't slip—part of the job, it thinks. "Customers like the pretty kitty with the pretty bloom," it mutters, though its nose itches from pollen.

You reach to adjust its collar, and it leans into your hand, quicker than it meant to. "Tired?" you ask. The cat blinks. "No," it lies. "Just practicing my statue pose for the garden party. Humans pay good tuna for stillness, you know."

But later, when you're inside, it shakes the flower onto its bed, curls around the petals. "Maybe a little tired," it admits to the empty air, purring soft. "But they smiled. And you put the flower in my fur. That's worth a few sore paws."