The Little Ribbed Gourd

I hopped toward the bottom sandstone step of a front stoop and froze, waiting until the hum of a distant car faded away. Resting in a bright patch of sunlight was a miniature cream-colored pumpkin, perfectly round with deep, smooth ridges. I took three cautious little hops forward on my belly. Reaching out with both front paws, I gave its plump side a timid push. It gave a quiet, heavy scrape against the sandy grit and rolled half an inch, settling firmly into a warm dip in the stone. I tucked my paws beneath my chest and nestled my chin against its smooth, sunlit groove.