The Wet Little Sparrow

Drip, drip, drip went the rain on the garden.

Drip, drip, drip on the flowerpots. Drip, drip, drip on the wall.

Mili the kitten sat under the big taro leaf, where it was dry as dry can be. The rain could not find her there. “Ha!” said Mili. “Drip all you like!”

Then she heard a tiny sound.

Cheep.

On the wall sat a little sparrow. Her feathers were wet. Her wings were wet. Even her small grey toes were wet.

Cheep, said the sparrow. Cheep, cheep.

Mili looked at the sparrow. Mili looked at her dry, dry leaf.

It was a big leaf.

It was a very big leaf.

“Come!” called Mili. “There’s room!”

The little sparrow hopped down — hop, hop, hop — and shook her feathers — shooka-shooka-shook — and sat beside Mili under the big taro leaf, where it was dry as dry can be.

Drip, drip, drip went the rain.

But not on Mili.

And not on the little sparrow.

The rain dripped and dripped until it was done, and the sun came out to see the garden. And there they still were, the kitten and the sparrow, warm as two buns in a basket, watching the whole world shine.