Taming the Pinwheel

A metallic pinwheel stuck in the flowerpot was spinning in frantic, noisy circles, churning up the quiet morning air. I marched along the low brick border, hopped onto the rim of the pot, and dug my heels into the damp soil. Waiting for the right gust, I lunged forward and clamped both front paws squarely onto the whirling foil petals. The spinning stopped dead with a sharp plastic click. Standing tall over the conquered whirligig with my chest puffed out, I surveyed the empty walkway and let out a haughty chirp, followed by a warm, vibrating purr.