Micia’s adventures in the vegetable garden, the hayloft and the farmhouse attic.

• 20 October 2026 #16 The Sprig That Tickled Micia After resting beneath the cherry tree, Micia had discovered how pleasant it was to walk without hurrying. When autumn arrived, she returned to the path behind the farmhouse with a small basket. This time she was looking for a few sprigs of butcher’s broom to decorate the windowsill. Leaves crunched beneath her paws in the woodland. A fern grew among the mossy roots; a little farther on, red berries gleamed against the green. Micia crouched down. “There you are!” She picked a short sprig and laid it in her basket, but its tip caught on the handle. She tried pushing it farther down: the sprig bent and brushed one of her whiskers. Micia wrinkled her little nose. “Have you come to tickle me?” She turned it the other way. This time the tip stuck out over the rim and caught on her overalls as she stood up. Micia stopped at once. She crouched again and gently freed the fabric. For a moment she looked at the basket as though it had caused the trouble. Then she noticed that the sprig was simply too long to fit across it. She laid it along the rim, tucking the stem beneath the handle. At last it stayed still. She picked just one more, smaller sprig, leaving the other berries on the bushes. Before setting off, she removed a dry leaf from her paw: it had stayed with her throughout the whole job. Back at the farmhouse, she put the two sprigs in a little vase on the windowsill. One leaned slightly toward the window. Micia smiled. “You can look outside. Just leave my whiskers alone this time.” Read the tale →

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