Puddles

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★★★★★

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Leo tightened his grip on the handlebars of his red bike, the wobbly front wheel rattling over the gravel path. His backpack bounced against his shoulders, stuffed with a peanut butter sandwich, a slightly squished apple, and his most important tool: a magnifying glass.

Today was the day he’d find Puddles, his fluffy orange kitten who’d vanished into the Whispering Woods after chasing a blue butterfly. The trees loomed tall and shadowy, their leaves whispering secrets Leo couldn’t quite catch. He took a deep breath, tasting pine and dirt, and pedaled forward. Adventure waited.

The woods smelled like wet earth and crushed ferns. Leo stopped when he heard a sproing! sound. Peering under a mossy log, he spotted a fat green frog puffing its throat. "Have you seen Puddles?" Leo asked.

The frog just blinked, then leaped away. Disappointed, Leo pushed deeper, thorns snagging his shorts. He found a tuft of orange fur caught on a bramble bush. Puddles had been here! Hope fizzed in his chest like soda pop. He followed the trail, past a gurgling creek where dragonflies darted like tiny helicopters.

Suddenly, the path forked. Left led uphill toward dark pines; right wound down to a muddy pond. Leo’s sandwich felt heavy in his stomach. He remembered Grandma’s rule: "When lost, stop and listen." He crouched low, holding his breath.

Far off, a faint mew echoed. Not near the pond! Leo chose the left path, his heart thumping louder than his bike’s chain. Roots tripped him twice, but he got back up, knees scraped but determined. Puddles needed him.

The uphill trail opened into a sunlit meadow buzzing with bees. In the centre stood Old Man Hemlock’s broken-down truck, half-swallowed by wildflowers. Leo crept closer. There, curled in the truck’s rusted bed, was Puddles, fast asleep, tail twitching.

But between Leo and his kitten stood a grumpy raccoon, washing a stolen cookie in a puddle. It hissed, baring tiny teeth. Leo froze. No magnifying glass could scare this critter. He needed a trick.

Thinking fast, Leo pulled out his apple. He rolled it gently toward the raccoon. "Trade you for a cookie?" The raccoon paused, sniffed, then snatched the apple and scurried up an oak tree.

Leo scrambled into the truck bed. Puddles woke, purring like a motorboat, and butted Leo’s chin with his head. "You scared me half to death, furball!" Leo whispered, hugging him tight. Puddles’ fur smelled like sunshine and grass.

Carrying Puddles home, Leo noticed things he’d missed racing into the woods: the way ladybugs dotted clover like red sprinkles, how the creek glittered under the afternoon sun. Puddles napped in his basket, paws twitching as if dreaming of butterflies.

At the edge of the woods, Leo’s mom stood on the porch, her hands on her hips but her eyes soft. "Found him, huh?" she called. Leo grinned, holding up the kitten. No lecture, just a plate of warm cookies waiting on the table.

That night, Leo scratched Puddles behind the ears as fireflies blinked outside his window. The woods weren’t scary anymore. They were full of frogs, raccoons, and meadows hiding lost kittens. He’d been brave.

He’d followed clues. And he’d learned Grandma’s rule was right: stopping to listen always helped. Puddles stretched, yawned, and settled into Leo’s lap. Tomorrow, they’d explore the backyard and Leo knew just where to look first. The world was bigger than he’d thought, and he was braver than he’d known.