The odd duo

Chapter 9: Mochi's view

Mochi didn't know much about the world yet. But she knew that the world, as it appeared to her, was full of strange shapes and confusing sounds. It was a world that didn't always make sense, where things felt different from how they were supposed to feel. But there were two things she knew for sure: Olive and Max were her safe spaces, and they were always there when she needed them.

Her tiny, delicate paws padded softly on the floor as she ventured through the house. The world felt a little too big, and a little too loud, for her small frame, but Olive was always nearby—her gentle, calming presence that grounded everything. Olive smelled like sunshine and the soft scent of fresh laundry, and when she picked Mochi up, everything in the world made sense again. Olive's touch was the softest thing Mochi had ever known, like a warm, familiar blanket that swaddled her up in comfort.

Mochi's world was full of colors, but they often seemed to blur together. Shapes felt too close or too far away, and sometimes she couldn't figure out where things ended and where things began. She liked the soft carpet by the window, where the light from outside shone through and warmed her little body. But even more than that, she loved it when Olive sat down with her, curling up into a ball on the floor to let Mochi rest beside her. Olive's soft paws would gently stroke her fur, smoothing down the little tufts that stuck out awkwardly.

But then, there was Max.

Max was a blur of energy, a constant whirlwind that swept through her world with a force she didn't always understand. His scent was different from Olive's—he smelled like fresh air and wild fields, like the outside world that Mochi sometimes found overwhelming. His tail wagged so fast that it was like a blur, and when he barked, it was like thunder in the distance—loud, but not scary. Max was always moving, always running around, and his excitement sometimes made Mochi's heart race.

She had learned to love Max, but it had taken some time. Sometimes, he would play too rough—he would nudge her too hard, or jump around her in ways that made her feel dizzy. She would hide behind the couch, her little body trembling, and Max would stop, his big eyes filled with confusion, as if he didn't understand why she was scared.

But over time, he had learned. He had learned to approach her gently, to give her the space she needed. He had stopped trying to play too fast, too soon. Max didn't understand everything, but he tried.

The world seemed simpler when Max was around, even if it was also more chaotic. His energy was different from Olive's calmness—it was wild and unpredictable, but there was something comforting about it, too. Max was always there when she needed him, even if she didn't always know how to tell him.

Mochi didn't know what it was like to have a real family, but she could tell that Olive and Max were her family now. They had chosen her, and that was all she needed to know.

There were other things about the world that made it hard for Mochi to understand. She would stare at her food bowl, confused by the way the kibble didn't make sense to her. Sometimes she couldn't figure out how to hold the toys, and they would slip from her paws, rolling away just out of reach. She often bumped into things she couldn't see clearly—shapes that were blurry or hidden just beyond her perception. The floor felt different under her paws at times—too slick, too rough, and sometimes she didn't understand why things felt so disorienting.

But Olive and Max, they didn't seem to mind. Olive always picked her up, giving her a soft, gentle nudge when she couldn't find her way. She would softly say words that didn't mean much to Mochi, but the tone was comforting, like a song that made everything feel right.

Max, with his boundless energy, would sometimes nudge her toward a toy and encourage her to play. But he never pushed her too hard. He would wait, tail wagging, patient, even though she wasn't always ready. And sometimes, when the world was too much, he would nudge her gently with his nose, reminding her that he was there.

Mochi didn't know how to explain it, but she knew they loved her. In their own ways, they had figured out how to make her feel safe. They didn't try to change her, even when she didn't understand the world the same way they did. Olive would patiently make sure her food was in the right place, and Max would give her space when she needed it, even if his energy wanted to pull her into a game.

But Mochi could tell something else. They didn't always understand each other. Sometimes, Olive would get upset when she didn't want to eat or when she knocked over her water bowl, and Max would get confused when Mochi hid from him. But neither of them gave up on her. They never yelled or forced her to be something she wasn't. They would just try again, patiently, without judgment.

Mochi didn't know if she would ever fully understand the world the way Olive or Max did. Sometimes, the letters on the wall looked jumbled to her, and the words felt out of order. She didn't understand the written language that Olive sometimes pointed to, the words that appeared on pages when Olive read aloud. And Max, well, he didn't quite get the way the world moved in shapes and patterns. But together, they made sense of things. They worked through their own differences, their own struggles, without forcing each other to be something they were not.

And Mochi realized, as she curled up in her cozy corner by the window, watching Max chase his tail and Olive quietly sipping tea, that her family wasn't perfect. But it was hers. And in that moment, as the warmth of the sun bathed her fur, Mochi knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

She was loved. And that was enough.