Ah, the rascal.
See how it stares — such a curious sprite. Where spook and sparkle run amok, it skulks about the halls, making potions of bathwater and casting toppling spells on the pancake stacks at breakfast.

Ah, the elusive homebody.
Behold it in its natural habitat, all blanketed and book´d, moving through ecosystems at the flick of a wrist. They are cocooned in words and fuelled by hush and travel far without leaving the nook.

My oh my, a meemaw.
Not mortal, but oracle. Spend with it an hour or two, and discover a descendant of ancient sages. Its love is a pocket of amethysts, its comfort ten ingots of toffee, its life wisdoms bestowed over cupcakes and coffee.

Ooh, a thoughtsman.
Look at it go, tasting sounds and hearing colours. Theirs is a wordless world; they are custodians of quiet and keepers of rituals, inhabiting mind meadows and making silent sonnets of encyclopedic thoughts.

Look’ee here, a beatnik.
The artisan of inverted perspective, twisting norms upside down every chance that it gets. Find it on the fringes of society, where the bards and philosophers play, swapping shallow pursuits for soul soufflé.

Yippee, an eccentric.
Who is it today, this human hermit crab? As the dullards go about their humdrum, it scuttles a pluckier path, shedding old selves and trying new ones on for size. Dotty though it seems to prying eyes, its strange is where the sense lies.

Lookit, an impish elder.
All wise-eyed and silver-whiskered, making play the order of the day. The humour is whip-smart, the memory evergreen — listen, and from their mouth spills the nectar of yesteryear, an antidote to the avant-garde.

Behold, the wunderkinder.
Such a peculiar species. Witness their clairvoyant camaraderie, their rejection of grown-up sensibilities — they are explorers of oddity and scholars of strangeness, clever little excavators on a forage for knowledge.

Observe, a furapist.
What we have here is a healer, a happy-go-lucky chucklehound, a sneezes-for-fun silly goose with a soft spot for slumber. Its life’s work is intangible, but feels like fireflies and apple pies and honey on a drizzler.