This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. This is one of those stories, those rare stories that I wrote in a single day. This does not happen a lot. It usually

takes a few days. But it feels like magic when it does. This one is sweet and hopeful and perfect for bedtime.

So cuddle up and let's hear it.

It's called Franklin the Cat's unusual hobby.

Take it away, Murphy.

Remember, there are no pictures.

You have to imagine them in your mind.

You can imagine them however you want.

Okay, here we go.

Franklin began taking things apart at three months old

when he was just a scrawny kitten living in an alleyway with his mother,

his father, his aunt, his uncle, and his older cousins in the middle of a city.

One afternoon, a child toddling down the city street, hand in hand with his mother, perhaps overwhelmed

and distracted by the countless scenes unfolding all around him, dropped something bright white on the sidewalk. Franklin and his cousin, Amos, saw it happen,

and Franklin wanted the item immediately. But when he made the slightest hint of a move,

Amos nipped at his ear and hissed.

Franklin, don't even think about it.

So Franklin waited until the sun disappeared from the sky and the city darkened when a small cat had a slim but real chance at venturing out and not being seen.

I can go now, can't I? Please.

Oh, Amos murmured, looking up and down the street, there were still some people walking around,

but nowhere near as many as during the day.

Fine. Even at that young age, Franklin was stealthy in his movements. Every city cat is.

...