September 1, 2025 #feathers

I sat staring at the blank page, fingers frozen over the keyboard. Before I could even sigh, Coco leapt up and planted himself squarely on my laptop, his tail swishing over the keys.

Coco! I groaned, nudging him off.

Well, well, look who’s decided to write again! Didn’t think you had it in you.

I jumped. There was Sally, tossing her wild white curls.

I rolled my eyes, Can I at least get a minute of silence before the peanut gallery shows up?

Sally, in her usual flamboyant style, wiggled her eyebrows and tapped an invisible cigarette. Darling, I’ve seen snails with more ambition. But fine, we’ll watch. Don’t get too smug.

From behind me, Joe leaned over my shoulder, squinting at the screen. You type slower than my ex-wife’s lawyer, he muttered.

Seriously? I asked.

Then, a tiny feather floated down, landing softly on the bed.

Cat—or Catalina, as she insisted—tugged her hoodie tight like she was trying to disappear into it, stared at the feather - and my writing - and shook her head.

Bruh… tea has never been clocked like this before. But seriously? A feather? That’s…kinda aesthetic though. She flopped onto the bed dramatically, scrolling an invisible phone. It’s giving… ‘you’re writing again, big yawn.’

But also cute, I guess.

Sally cackled so hard she nearly fell out of her invisible armchair. Clocked! Oh darling, I love it. I’m going to start saying that at bridge – You’ve been clocked!

Please don’t, Joe grumbled. One of us using the kids’ lingo is enough.

I mean, Cat said, pointing to the feather like it was a museum piece, it’s technically a vibe.

Vibe?! Sally erupted, throwing her invisible hands in the air. Back in my day, we called that ‘messing with the living.’ But, sure, vibe works.

I laughed, shaking my head at them. You guys are impossible.

And yet, irresistible, Joe said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Cat snorted. Yeah, like clockwork. Can’t escape us. Hoodie power!

Sally winked. And I’ll be here, darling, with all the punchlines you forgot to put in. You’re welcome in advance.

I smiled. Maybe writing wasn’t so lonely after all - with a sarcastic senior, an emo hoodie-clad teen, and a feather-throwing dad hovering over me, impossibly and irresistibly.