The flower thief

I saw him on the sofa, dancing his way into the house, and then, I knew that I was deeply mistaken. The culprit was found.

Who is the flower thief, after all?

The tiny white petalled flower had bloomed, reaching out towards the sky, experiencing the warmth on its fragile wings. It was the most delicate little thing, swaying with the breeze, its puny sepals curling downward. I had watched it for long, and now, I retired to my room, to the flustering comfort of my textbooks.

About an hour later, I plodded back to the balcony, to find my mother standing above the plant, looking down. I looked down at the pot and realized the flower was gone. All the while, we had been hearing a loud teet-teet-teet from the tree opposite the balcony. That chitter, I knew, belonged to none other than Lilliput – the tiny squirrel. Pesky little brats, so incredibly cute, and yet so mischievous. “The flower has been stolen by none other than one of the squirrels,” my mother said. The teet-teet-teet suddenly stopped, and we saw a flash of fur, a twitch of a fluffy tail, and he was gone again. Nettlesome little fellows. I smiled and retired to my room yet again.

That afternoon, you see, brought about a twist of events unlike any other. I was at the dining table, eating, and I heard a tiny trill from the living room. I dismissed it as possibly a ringtone outside our house. After a few seconds, I heard a louder chirp. That was the most wonderful chirp I’d heard. Then, an entire chain of warbles began, and I staggered out of my chair, hid behind a wall, and peeped.

That was my first meeting with him. I saw him on the sofa, dancing his way into the house, and then, I knew that I was deeply mistaken. The culprit was found. Lilliput, for all his naughtiness, could be excused this time around. The real flower thief was none other than the wide-eyed little prankster, the sweet-voiced tresspasser. He was none other than the sunbird. He was tinier than my palm, a fluffy yellow furball, with a chirrup so melodic. At first, I was extremely fascinated by him and his companion, who’d found their way into our hall.

It was then that I heard another loud chitter from the tree, a warning call from the squirrels. ‘The flower‘, I thought. I remembered that the sunbird was known for his long beak, and his love for the sweet, sweet nectar of flowers. ‘The flower thief has been found’, I smiled. Sunbird, the flower thief. Now that I thought about it, it had a rather nice ring to it.

I did, albeit, catch one plump squirrel running from the pipe in our balcony the very next day, but I think that we can safely lay the blame off him for the theft of the little white flower; for that, we have found our jailbird – quite literally.


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