Mishmish, Inès, and the List That Flew
An orange cat and a clever sparrow have very different ideas about who should count whom. When a storm sweeps their rooftop records away, they discover something better to keep together.
✨ Make a Storybook FreeA MayaLili Original · ages 6-9 · free to read and print
Every morning, Mishmish counted birds before breakfast. “One pigeon. Two swallows. Three—hold still, please!” With her tail-tip, she wrote careful marks in the rooftop dust. She wanted to count every bird that visited her roof. Beside the chimney, she left a space for somebody special. Then a sparrow landed in it. “You’re standing on my list,” said Mishmish. The sparrow tilted her chipped beak. “And you’re standing on mine.”
The whole story
Every morning, Mishmish counted birds before breakfast. “One pigeon. Two swallows. Three—hold still, please!” With her tail-tip, she wrote careful marks in the rooftop dust. She wanted to count every bird that visited her roof. Beside the chimney, she left a space for somebody special. Then a sparrow landed in it. “You’re standing on my list,” said Mishmish. The sparrow tilted her chipped beak. “And you’re standing on mine.”
The sparrow was Inès. She carried a tiny twig like a pencil. “Today’s cats,” she announced, scratching the dust. “One orange. One whiskery. One rather bossy.” “That’s three cats!” “That’s you three ways.” Mishmish sat on her paws. “I count birds. Birds don’t count me.” “Have you asked all the birds?” Mishmish hadn’t. She added a mark for Inès, then a dot beside it. A very firm dot.
All morning, their lists grew. “One cat stretching,” said Inès. “One sparrow interrupting,” said Mishmish. “One cat pretending not to listen.” Mishmish’s ear twitched. “Who is counting whom?” she demanded. “Whom is getting quite cross,” said Inès. Then wind rolled over the roof. Their dust marks shivered. Mishmish spread her paws over her list. Inès spread her wings over hers. Above them, a cloud turned the colour of a dirty sock.
Whoosh! The lists lifted together: cats, birds, dots, everything. “My whole morning!” cried Mishmish. Rain pattered. Inès hurried toward the chimney alcove, but her twig rolled away. Mishmish caught it beneath one paw. Then she squeezed into shelter, leaving the driest corner for Inès. For a while, they watched raindrops bounce off the tiles. “I counted you four times,” Inès admitted. “Was I different each time?” “A little.”
When sunshine returned, Mishmish found dry dust inside the alcove. “One list?” she asked. “Two names at the top,” said Inès. Mishmish swept a smooth patch. Inès scratched: Mishmish and Inès. Underneath, they added one borrowed twig, one shared shelter, and seven splendid puddles. A pigeon landed beside the flowerpot. “Shall we count him?” whispered Mishmish. “First,” said Inès, “let’s ask his name.” Mishmish curled her tail around their list, leaving room.