Zippy

Oh my gosh, okay, I don’t even know where to start with Zippy. He was like a fuzzy flying bean with ADHD. He LIVED to jump. He’d launch from the curtains to my face without warning. I got so used to little claws gripping my hoodie that now I twitch every time something brushes my neck. He slept in a pouch I wore around my neck. Like a living necklace with eyeballs. And he would hiss if I sneezed. Literally hiss. Bananas were his favourite. Like, obsessed. If I didn’t give him a slice, he’d sulk in the corner like a furry goth. Zippy was loud, hyper, hilarious and so, so cute. But one morning, he didn’t glide to me. Just stayed curled up. Cold. I knew. I bawled. I had to cancel brunch. Now I still wear the pouch sometimes, just empty. Dumb, I know. But I miss him. He was chaos. He was joy. He was Zippy.