The Whirring Petals

I hopped over the wooden threshold and padded out onto the warm porch planks. In the large clay flowerpot beside the steps, a small pinwheel was planted in the dark soil, its folded paper petals spinning quietly in the afternoon breeze. Cradling my wrapped cake securely under one arm, I climbed onto the wide terracotta rim. The bright blades blurred into a steady, whirling circle. I paused to observe the motion, then carefully raised one paw and let the tip of a passing petal brush against my fuzzy pad. It gave a brisk, papery tap before fluttering to a soft halt. When I pulled my paw back, the little wheel instantly whirred to life again.