No! You Can’t Hex A Four-Year-Old!

LEGO.

Tiny, malevolent blocks, engineered for maximum foot pain and perfectly camouflaged against hardwood floors.

I’m halfway down the stairs carrying a heavy basket of laundry—dirty laundry, which somehow, always feels heavier than clean—when my bare foot narrowly avoids one brick, only to slam directly into a second.

“Oh you mother fudger…” I hiss through clenched teeth, as I stumble forward. The basket tips, a sock threatens to make a break for it, but by some miracle…maybe actual magic… I manage to stay upright avoiding a full-blown tumble that would likely have resulted in me landing in a heap on the hallway floor.

I’m glaring murderously at the offending blue plastic when I hear them.

Tiny, high-pitched, scheming voices.

You promised, Mommy,” Ella’s voice piped up, tiny but firm with that unshakable four-year-old conviction.

“I did no such thing, darling,” Agatha replied, tone as dry as the Sahara. “I said we’d think about it. That’s practically a parental euphemism for never.”

I pause just before the living room doorway. Not because I’m eavesdropping… I totally am, but because I know this tone. I know her tone. It’s the one she uses when she’s being particularly patient with the kids. Or particularly devious. The line between the two is virtually invisible.

“…but why can’t we have a pet?” Nicki asks, his voice halfway between pleading and logic. “All my friends have one.”

Ella’s chiming in before Nicki even finishes. “I want a kitten, Mommy. A tiny one with big eyes, and a busy tail.”

I peek around the corner, laundry basket still cradled in my arms, threatening to topple with every shift. There she is, our daughter, sitting cross legged on the rug, back straight like she’s presenting her case to a court of law. Her little hands flying about for emphasis as she speaks.

Agatha sits behind her, legs tucked neatly to the side, not a flicker of magic in sight. Just her fingers, slender, precise, and uncharacteristically gentle, moving steadily through Ella’s dark hair, twisting it into a braid with the kind of patience she reserves exclusively for this tiny human who has her utterly bewitched in ways no magic ever could.

Agatha glances up at me for the briefest moment. Just enough time to flash that sideways smirk; the one that says, are you hearing this? and also yes, I’m encouraging it and no, I’m not sorry.

I sigh, loudly, and finally step into the room, setting the basket down with a thud that makes Nicki jump.

“We’ve talked about this,” I say, aiming my words mostly at Ella but with a warning glance toward Agatha, too. “You know I’m allergic to cats.”

Ella turns to me with the most devastating pout I’ve seen since the last time she couldn’t find her favourite stuffed animal.

“But you wouldn’t have to touch it,” she says, as if that solves everything.

Nicki jumps in, sensing his moment. “What about a dog then?”

“Dogs require a lot of care,” Agatha says, not missing a beat. “Walks twice a day, Grooming. Training. Pick-up-their-poop-in-a-bag kind of care. Are you two going to do that?”

Nicki and Ella exchange a quick glance, the kind that siblings somehow telepathically learn to do.

It means: we’re lying but let’s go with it.

“Yes,” they say in unison. Nicki even adding a “Totally” and Ella a “Every day… forever”

It’s cute. It’s bold. It’s complete fiction.

I snort and drop onto the sofa.

“You two can’t even remember to put your cereal bowls in the sink.”

“We can now,” Nicki promises, which is both touching and entirely unconvincing.

Agatha raises an eyebrow, looking at me. Her lips twitching in the way that means she’s enjoying this far too much.

“What about a goldfish?” I offer helpfully. “Low maintenance. Won’t trigger my allergies…”

Ella makes a face like I just offered her a wet sock. “That’s boring, Mama.”

“And it doesn’t even do anything,” Nicki adds. “It just… swims.”

“That’s sort of the point,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. “No fur. No barking. No dead mice on my pillow. Just peaceful swimming.”

They ignore me completely.

“A lizard?” Nicki says.“A hamster” Ella counters.“A snake!”“A spider!”

“Like hell that one is happening!” I snap, a little too quickly.

Agatha lets out a soft laugh through her nose, as her fingers continue to braid.

“Oh, you walked right into that one.”

“Spiders,” I say, pointing at both of them, “are where I draw the line. Eight legs? Too many. Too fast. Too… just, no!.”

“But they eat flies,” Nicki says innocently.

“So do frogs,” I shoot back. “But I’m not about to let you bring a swamp home.”

“I knew you’d draw the line somewhere,” Agatha says under her breath, her voice low and smug with amusement, just for me. She doesn’t even need to look up from Ella’s braid to land the hit, but she does, of course. Just a flick of her blue eyes, a curl of her lip, and bam… my insides do that annoying flippy thing.

Even after all these years and two children, she still manages to make me feel like I’m about to spontaneously combust with one look.

I give her the kind of glare that has no real heat behind it. She knows. She always knows.

Meanwhile, the kids are still listing off creatures like they’re conjuring Noah’s Ark, but with more questionable judgment and fewer rules.

“A parrot!”“A guinea pig”“A turtle!”“Oooh! A pigmy goat!”

Finally, Agatha claps her hands together, making Nicki and Ella jump.

“Alright,” she says. “New rule. If you both go upstairs and clean your rooms… properly, no stuffing things into the closet and calling it ‘tidy’, then maybe, we’ll go to the pet store.”

Cue the stampede.

Nicki’s halfway up the stairs before Agatha finishes the sentence, and Ella’s already shouting “I’m gonna need a box!” for reasons I just know, I don’t want to understand. I listen as doors slam and the sound of frantic cleaning erupts upstairs like a domestic hurricane.

I look at Agatha. “You’re seriously considering this?”

She shrugs. “Depends on what’s at the store. Maybe a rabbit. Maybe a two-headed snake.”

I raise a brow. “You love messing with me”.

Her lips curl into that familiar, wicked grin.

“Of course I do. It’s the cornerstone of our marriage.”

I shake my head, but I’m already smiling.

“Remind me why I married you again?”

Agatha leans in, her voice low and silky soft, all teasing warmth. “Because I make life interesting… And... because I look good in leather.

I roll my eyes, though my heart’s already doing that annoying fluttering thing it does when she turns the charm up to eleven. 

“You do look good in leather.”

“Mm.” She smirks. “I know.”

She rises from the floor with her usual grace before dropping down beside me on the sofa.

Closer than close.

Her thigh brushing mine, her perfume curling around me like a spell I never want broken. She leans in, slow and deliberate, her lips barely ghosting over mine, but just enough to set every nerve in my body on high alert. Her blue eyes flick up to meet mine, daring me to close the distance. To give in.

I’m about to…

When from upstairs, there’s a loud crash, followed by the unmistakable sound of something tumbling, a brief moment of silence, and then Nicki yelling, “I’M OKAY!” in that way that means he is definitely not okay, but doesn’t want us to check.

Agatha doesn’t even flinch. She sighs like a woman preparing to surrender to fate, which, in a way, she is.

“And just like that,” she says, dramatically, “our peaceful moment dies a noisy death.”

I laugh and lean my head against her shoulder, breathing her in. “Enjoy the quiet while it lasts. In an hour’s time, we’ll probably be driving home with a one-eyed chinchilla or a guinea pig named… I don’t know. Little Wigglebutt.”

Agatha hums thoughtfully, her fingers tracing lazy, slow circles on my knee like she’s painting some ancient sigil there. “Little Wigglebutt would be a lovely name for a familiar.”

I groan, half-amused, half-resigned.

“That wasn’t meant to be encouragement… The kids just want a nice, normal pet. No familiars, no magic.”

She pulls a face like I just suggested we live without indoor plumbing.

“Define ‘normal,’” she says, already deeply unimpressed.

“You know. Something that doesn’t glow. Or talk. Or vanish into thin air."

Agatha scoffs. “So, a disappointment, then.”

“A hamster,” I say pointedly, “is not a disappointment. It is a small, manageable creature that fits in a cage."

“But if the hamster happens to be a little… special, who are we to stifle its potential?”

I squint at her. “Define special.”

She grins, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

And somehow, I know… I just know… we’re going to walk into that pet store and come out with something absolutely ridiculous.

                                      ***

The second we step into Westviews "Pet Emporium", I immediately begin questioning every decision that’s led me to this moment. 

Who knew it was so big in here? Endless aisles of glass tanks and cages, the smell of sawdust, hay, and something that was once alive and now very likely isn’t hangs in the air. As well as the unmistakable sound of a parrot somewhere in the distance yelling something that should definitely not be repeated by a bird.

Ella darts off to a cage near the wall, gasping with wonder. “Mommy look! A rat! He has whiskers!” Her voice is pure delight and zero hesitation.

Nicki veers in the opposite direction, heading straight for the Reptiles sign. I glance at Agatha, prepared to launch into a speech about boundaries, appropriate pet sizes, and definitely no tarantulas, but she’s not looking at them.

She’s looking at me.

And then she’s tugging gently on my hand, lacing her fingers through mine as she pulls me deeper into the store. Her grip warm, steady, and just a bit dangerous.

“You’re up to something,” I murmur.

“I’m always up to something,” she replies, smiling over her shoulder. “Try to keep up.”

We round the corner into a quieter aisle, away from the chatter of other customers and the vague croaking of something amphibious. And that’s when she stops...

In front of a glass enclosure, simple and unassuming, sits a small rabbit… white with soft brown and black spots dappling it's ears and back. He’s got this sleepy, self-important look about him, like he’s judging the world but doing it politely.

Agatha crouches slightly, her expression softening in that rare way it does when something genuinely surprises her.

“He’s got attitude,” she murmurs.

The rabbit looks up at her.

Then, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, he hops closer to the glass and sits, perfectly still, one back leg twitching ever so slightly.

She glances back at me, and I already know. She’s decided. Jesus, we’re getting a rabbit.

“Kids!” she calls, her voice echoing just enough to send them skidding around the corner in under ten seconds.

Ella gasps. “He’s so FLUFFY!”

Nicki drops into a squat, staring through the glass. “He looks like he knows kung fu.”

The rabbit thumps one leg and then pauses, as if catching himself mid-showoff. I swear, he makes eye contact with me. Like he knows.

“What should we name him?” Agatha says casually, too casually.

Ella bounces on the balls of her feet. “Cottonball?”

Nicki scrunches his nose. “No, that’s stupid, it needs to be something cooler.”

Agatha tilts her head thoughtfully, eyes still fixed on the rabbit. “What about… Señor Scratchy?”

The kids lose their minds.

“Yes!”

“Perfect!”

“He’s definitely a Señor!”

I blink. One second, we were browsing. Now we’re naming, celebrating… and practically drawing up a birth certificate.

I shake my head slowly, mouth open just enough to express the internal how the hell has this happened that’s currently blaring in my brain. This was supposed to be a “just looking” trip. A stall tactic. A test of responsibility.

And now?I look down at the rabbit. He’s watching me through the glass. Not in that vague, uninterested pet-store way… oh no. He’s really looking at me. Like he knows. Like he saw straight through the sarcasm and resistance and picked me anyway.

His little nose twitches once. Then he sits taller.

I narrow my eyes at him. “We are not bonding.”

His whiskers twitch like sure we’re not.

The next thing I know, we’re outside. The sky’s gone soft and overcast, and I’m standing at the back of our car, loading in a ridiculous amount of hay, bedding, food pellets, chew toys, a rabbit-sized water dispenser, and something called a “burrow blankie.”

A freaking burrow blankie…

I sigh, rearranging the stack of items so the bag of treats doesn’t crush the box of pine shavings.

This is what my life has come too…

In the backseat, nestled in a pristine white carry box between Ella and Nicki, sits Señor Scratchy himself; regal, composed, and completely unbothered by the chaos around him, like he’s always known he would be chauffeured away from a pet store by a loving, if mildly bewildered magical family.

Ella is softly singing a made-up song, something about bunnies, stars and jellybeans, her voice gentle and oddly on pitch. Nicki, bless his heart, is reading his comic book aloud to the rabbit, as he explains plot points like “this guy’s a good guy, but he made some bad choices.”

And there sits Señor Scratchy, thumping once, not out of fear… just to let us know he’s listening.

Agatha slips into the passenger seat beside me, the door closing with a solid thunk. She lets out a content sigh, tossing her sunglasses onto the dashboard like this is just another perfectly executed scheme.

Which knowing her, it probably is.

Without a word, she rests her hand gently on my thigh… warm, smooth, and annoyingly smug in its casual claim. Her thumb strokes slow circles through the denim of my jeans, a silent told you so wrapped in touch.

I glance over at her. “You planned this.”

She smiles without looking at me, her blue eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“I nudged the universe.”

I snort. “You nudged it off a cliff.”

Her smirk deepens. “And it landed in a soft pile of hay with a bunny named Señor Scratchy. You’re welcome.”

I shake my head, turning the key in the ignition.

“You know,” I murmur, eyes on the road, “if that rabbit starts levitating or speaking Latin, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Agatha leans closer, lips brushing my ear. “If he starts speaking Latin, I’m training him to do your morning affirmations.”

I groan.

She laughs.

And Señor Scratchy thumps once, as if to say: Good luck, Harkness’. You’re mine now.

                                          ***

Later that night, the house is finally, quiet.

The kids are asleep, both of them spark out in their respective beds, sprawled in tangled piles of sheets and stuffed animals. Nicki zonked out mid-sentence while telling Señor Scratchy about the superhero rabbit team he was going to invent. Whilst, Ella had tried to sneak the rabbit into her bed and got as far as pulling a blanket halfway over the carrier before giving in to sleep, her tiny fingers still curled around the edge.

And Señor Scratchy?

He’s not just surviving. He’s thriving.

He’s made himself at home with an unsettling speed, like he’s lived here his whole rabbit life. His new indoor enclosure is set up in the basement…just for nighttime and quiet hours… complete with cozy bedding, food, a small plush carrot he's already flung with great force across the cage, and one spell I’m told is just to keep the temperature stable. I’m keeping an eye on that.

His outside hutch is on order. Agatha picked one that looked like a rustic French cottage and cost more than our first sofa.

And now, he’s curled contentedly in her lap like a tiny smug prince, his back leg twitching now and then, his eyes half-closed as she runs her fingers through the soft fur behind his ears.

Agatha is reclined across the couch, long legs stretched out, her bare feet resting on my lap. I absently rub my thumb across the top of her right one, slow, easy strokes. It’s quiet, but it’s us quiet. 

“He’s smug,” I say, watching the rabbit twitch his nose with absolute self-assurance. 

“No, actually, his judgy and I don’t trust him.”

“He’s perfect,” Agatha murmurs, eyes still on him. “He’s dignified.”

My hand slows on her foot. “You mean you used magic.”

She grins, all teeth and mischief, but there’s a softness underneath. “Nope. That one was all him.”

I tilt my head, studying her. “You’re telling me a regular, non-enchanted rabbit took one look at our family and thought, ‘Yes, this semi-responsible, unhinged bunch is exactly where I should be?’”

She shrugs, utterly unapologetic. “Maybe he’s a little unhinged too.”

I squeeze her foot affectionately, and she moves it off my lap, scooting closer with that deliberate slowness she knows drives me mad. With one hand, she gently lifts Señor Scratchy and sets him on the cushion beside her, like he’s some kind of tiny, furry chaperone.

Then she leans in and kisses me.

It’s soft at first. Familiar. Warm. But then her fingers curl into the hem of my shirt, and it deepens… her lips brushing mine just enough to send my pulse tripping over itself. God, she drives me crazy. But she’s my crazy.

I reach for her jumper, curling my fingers in the navy fabric, pulling her closer with a breathless little laugh… and that’s when we hear it.

Thump.

Agatha jerks back with a startled noise, somewhere between a yelp and a moan, as Señor Scratchy leaps back into her lap, thumping dramatically before settling into a loaf, looking very pleased with himself.

I blink, stare at the rabbit, then up at Agatha, then back to the smug little fluffball.

“Look, buddy,” I say, pointing at him like I’m negotiating with a very entitled roommate, “let’s get one thing straight…”

He stares at me.

Unblinking.

Judgy.

I lower my voice. “You may have claimed the kids, the blanket, and the best spot on the sofa, but when it comes to her?” I glance sideways at Agatha, who is biting back a laugh. “She was mine first...so you can back off with."

Señor Scratchy lifts one paw.

And thumps.

Once.

Agatha laughs, reaching for her glass of wine on the coffee table with a smirk.

“He accepts your terms.”

I narrow my eyes at the rabbit. “I’m watching you, Señor.”

He blinks slowly, utterly unimpressed.

Agatha leans her head on my shoulder, still laughing.

“You know he’s going to end up sleeping on our bed at some point, right?”

I groan. “This was supposed to be a normal pet.”

She kisses my neck, all honey and sin. “There’s nothing normal about us, love.”

And honestly?