The Mabreet

I was four when my mom told me I couldn’t have a guinea pig. Or a mouse. Or a hamster. I was distraught for about ten minutes, and then she told me to go play outside, and I got distracted.

I was poking holes in the ground with a stick when I saw it. Not a mouse, or a rabbit, or any usual creature. It wasn’t even remotely recognizable, but I knew what it was. The word just sort of popped into my head: mabreet. It was a mabreet.

I picked it up off the ground and held it cupped in my hands. It was small, like a mouse, but so much softer than any animal had any business being. Its fur was bright pink, and it snuffled around the folds of my hands with a long, friendly snout. It had big green eyes, the kind that stare at you in just the perfect way so that your heart melts a little.

I gently ran a finger over its fur, marveling at how perfectly soft it was. It was better than a guinea pig, better than a mouse, better than a hamster. As I watched, it squeaked endearingly, almost like it was happy to see me. 

I took it inside to show my mom. She was talking on the phone.

“Mom! Look what I found!”

She glanced down at my hands. “Mm, that’s nice, Annie.”

“Can I keep it? It’s called a mabreet!”

“Mhm, go ahead.”

And so the mabreet was mine.

***

I took it with me everywhere I went, carrying it around in a purple purse. When I was bored, it would come out and play. It would crawl up my arm to lick my face, its soft fluff tickling my skin, and I would laugh. Sometimes my mom would give us strange looks, but we didn’t mind.

I made it a home in a shoebox, too. It had a bed of shredded toilet paper, and a place to run around, and a bowl of water that I would dump out at the end of every day. Sometimes I let it run around my room, or we would have tea with my stuffed animals. Our favorite was when my mom would make us brown sugar sandwiches, but that was only for special occasions.

***

When I started kindergarten, I brought the mabreet with me, too. My mom wouldn’t let me bring the purple purse, so it shrunk down to fit in my pocket.

The first day of kindergarten was scary. I clung to my mom when she dropped me off, and it took a piece of candy and the promise of brown sugar sandwiches when I got home to make me let go. Even still, I held on to the mabreet all day. It could tell I was upset, so it crawled up to my face and nuzzled its snout up against my nose.

Finally, when I though I couldn't stand any more sitting and being quiet, the teacher told us it was "recess." There were kids running and laughing and playing. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat on a swing and clutched the mabreet like a life preserver.

I don’t know how long I sat there, swaying dejectedly forward and backward on the lonely swing, before the mabreet decided it had had enough. It jumped out of my hands with a squeak, taking off across the crowded playground. I let out a cry and chased it, sprinting between clusters of laughing kindergartners and pieces of playground equipment. I was so focused on my runaway pet that I wasn’t looking where I was going, and -- 

WHAM!

The other little girl and I ended up in a tangle on the ground.

“Hey!” she yelped.

“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!” I didn’t know what else to say.

“It’s okay,” said the other girl. “I just hit my arm. See?” She held up her elbow, now covered in dirt. “And Ronald’s okay, too.”

“Who’s Ronald?” I asked, confused. There wasn’t anybody around us.

“He’s my dog,” she said. “My parents won’t let me got a real dog, so I’ve got Ronald. He’s got black and white spots, and he comes with me everywhere.”

“Oh!” I said. If I really thought about it, I could see the black and white dog standing next to the girl. The mabreet ran up to him and licked his paw.

“I have a pet, too,” I said. “It’s called a mabreet, and it’s small, and it’s got soft, pink fur, and it has a snout. And a long tongue.”

The girl scrunched up her face for a moment, staring intently at the ground. Then her eyes brightened, and I could tell she understood. “I see it! It’s really cute! And I think Ronald likes it too!”

I grinned.

“Oh! My name’s Kacey,” said the girl.

“I’m Annie,” I said. It felt a little weird, since I had never introduced myself to anyone before. Before Annie, the only people I ever really talked to were my mom and the mabreet.

“Do you want to be friends?” Kacey said.

I looked down at the mabreet, which was happily playing with Ronald. It looked up at me and squeaked.

“Yeah!” I said, and smiled.

***

Over the course of that year, and many years to follow, Kacey and I became best friends. We’d run around and play tag, or jump rope, or just chase around Ronald and the mabreet. Sometimes I’d go over to her house, or she’d come over to mine, and we’d have tea parties with brown sugar sandwiches.

Occasionally, the kids on the playground would see us playing with our pets, and they’d laugh at us. But we didn’t mind. We had Ronald, and the mabreet, and most of all, we had each other.

***

I was seven when my mom surprised me with a guinea pig for my birthday. It was small, and brown, and soft, and I fell in love immediately. I named it Fluffball. My mom wouldn’t let me take it to school, or to the store, or outside, but I loved it all the same.

The mabreet disappeared after that. I didn’t notice until Kacey asked me about it at recess.

“Where’s the mabreet?”

“The mabreet? I have a guinea pig now.”

Kacey looked a little confused. Then a realization crossed her face.

“Oh,” she said. “Like, if I got a real dog, I won’t need Ronald anymore?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said again. “Can I come meet your guinea pig some time?”

“Yeah! Ronald can come too.”

A couple months later, Kacey got a black lab named Jet, and Ronald disappeared too. Maybe he’s with the mabreet, in that strange, shadowy place where made-up pets go when they’re no longer needed.