Lucy's Journal

 Lucy’s Journal — December 3, 2025

Well, mercy me… today was supposed to be a nice, calm Wednesday. A simple “let’s get some chores done” kind of day. But of course that’s not how it went. Not in this house. Not with Kiwi, Peanut, and those feathered menaces known as the Quackers.

It all started when I decided to reorganize the pantry. Apparently, the moment I opened that door, my entire household heard a mystical chime that translated to: “Adventure awaits—charge forth!”

Kiwi was the first to dive in, wings fluttering like he was Indiana Jones entering a forbidden temple. He found the bag of dried mango right away (of course), ripped it open, and immediately started celebrating like he’d just discovered ancient treasure. Mango dust everywhere. The Quackers saw this, honked in excitement, and stampeded in after him.

Meanwhile Peanut, who I thought was sleeping on the couch, suddenly came barreling down the hallway with the single-minded focus of a raccoon who’s just heard someone open a can of tuna. She dove into the pantry like a furry torpedo, skidded across the floor, knocked over a stack of green beans, and then popped up with a proud “Mrrraaap!” like she’d saved us from something.

Chaos erupted instantly.

Kiwi was perched on the cereal shelf, screaming “WHEEP!” every time Peanut got too close. Peanut was standing guard over a box of spaghetti like it was sacred. The Quackers started tugging at a loaf of bread in a three-way duck tug-of-war. And me? I was in the corner wondering why I ever clean anything at all.

Things only escalated when Kiwi discovered the box of instant oatmeal packets. He grabbed one, flew out of the pantry, and began circling the kitchen like a crop-duster, flinging oatmeal dust behind him in a blizzard of whole grains.

Peanut saw the raining oats and decided it was her moment to leap. She launched herself off the counter (where she did NOT have permission to be), swatted at Kiwi mid-air, missed entirely, landed on the dish towel rack, and pulled the whole thing down with her.

The Quackers, seeing towels fall, assumed it was a victory flag and began honking triumphantly.

By the time the commotion died down, my kitchen looked like someone had blended a farm, a bakery, and a demolition site.

Kiwi ended up proudly sitting in a mixing bowl like it was his new throne.

Peanut strutted away with a single spaghetti noodle draped over her shoulder like a fashion accessory.

And the Quackers waddled off happily, each carrying a stolen cracker in their bills, as if they’d just completed a well-coordinated heist.

I guess I’ll clean tomorrow. Or next week. Or… never.
Living with this crew, the pantry may just have to remain a wild, lawless frontier.

— Lucy, exhausted but still laughing.