the little tabby with soft gray fur and bright green eyes, woke up to a peculiar smell in the air. It wasn’t the usual scent of Mrs. Maple’s morning tea or the freshly baked bread from the bakery down the street. No, today smelled different—sweet, like something delicious was just around the corner.
She stretched lazily, her tail flicking in excitement, and padded to the kitchen where Mrs. Maple was humming as she worked at the counter. A small cake sat on the table, decorated with tiny icing flowers.
Whiskers blinked and meowed softly. “What’s that?” she asked, her voice barely a squeak.
Mrs. Maple looked down and smiled. “It’s for you, dear Whiskers. Happy birthday!”
Whiskers tilted her head. Birthday? She had never heard of such a thing before. But she liked the sound of it—especially if it meant cake.
Mrs. Maple carefully set the cake down in front of her, along with a little plate of fish. “I made your favorite, of course.”
Whiskers’ tail flicked in delight. She took a small bite of the fish and then ventured closer to the cake, sniffing the frosting. Mrs. Maple giggled and sang softly, “Happy birthday, dear Whiskers, happy birthday to you…” After the song, Whiskers gingerly licked a bit of icing off the cake. It was sweet and smooth, just like a dream.
As the day went on, Mrs. Maple showered her with extra attention—more treats, a new cozy bed by the window, and a shiny bell for her collar that jingled as she walked. But the best part of the day was when the sun began to set, and Whiskers curled up in Mrs. Maple’s lap, purring contentedly.
It was a simple celebration, but for Whiskers, it was the perfect birthday—a day filled with love, treats, and, most importantly, cake.
