milo the cat’s moonlight walk

When the town went quiet, and the streetlamps blinked goodnight, a soft golden light

glowed from the edge of Maple Street.

It was the Night Bakery. It only opened after bedtime. And no one ever saw it in the

day.

Inside, the air smelled like vanilla clouds and warm cinnamon. A whisk spun gently on

its own. Dough rose in sleepy silence. And the baker a chubby raccoon in a floury

apron was already hard at work.

He didnt bake bread. He didnt bake cookies. He baked dreams.

He scooped a spoonful of giggles into one bowl. Folded in soft pillows and twinkly

stars. Topped it all with whipped wonder and a marshmallow moon.

Outside, the customers began to arrive. Owl fluttered in with tired eyes. Id like a

dream with flying, please.

The baker nodded and pulled out a tray of cloud pies. Try one of these. Wings

included.

Next came Fox and her sleepy pups. We need something cozy. With blankets and

books.

The baker handed her a basket of hush-muffins, wrapped in a quilt of vanilla steam.

Then came Mouse, yawning wide. I want a quiet dream. One where I nap in a teacup.

The baker grinned. Perfect. We just finished brewing those.

One by one, the animals took their treats, their paws light and their hearts warm.

They disappeared into the night, dreams rising behind them like smoke from a candle.

The baker wiped the counter, washed his paws, and took one last cupcake the

softest one, filled with kindness and calm.

He set it by the door.

It was for you.

Just in case you wake up in the night, and need a little more dream.

The End.