The Incident Involving a Cactus, a Kazoo, and Four Confused Pigeons
There are days when the universe politely minds its business, and then there are days when it throws you into a scene that feels like rejected footage from a documentary about mildly chaotic houseplants. Tuesday was the latter, because that was the day Felicity walked into her living room and found her cactus wearing a hat.
Not just any hat. A tiny, knitted bowler hat.
And beside it? A kazoo.
Before Felicity could decide whether she was dreaming, rehearsing for an abstract theatre performance, or possibly the victim of extremely polite pranksters, four pigeons appeared on the windowsill. They weren’t eating, cooing, or doing anything normal. They were staring. With purpose.
Felicity tried to ground herself in reality by looking at her laptop—big mistake. Open on the screen were five very specific tabs she did not remember opening: roof cleaning isle of wight, patio cleaning isle of wight, driveway cleaning isle of wight, exterior cleaning isle of wight, and the ever-mysterious pressure washing isle of wight. None of them offered advice on what to do when your houseplants accessorise and your home becomes a feathery audience chamber.
She tried speaking to the cactus, just in case it had developed both sentience and fashion commentary. Nothing. It just… sat there. Slightly smug. The kazoo, however, was a different story—because one of the pigeons hopped inside, picked it up with its beak, and produced a sound that can only be described as “a duck trying to apologise.”
Felicity wondered if the strange browser tabs were a clue. Maybe the cactus had been googling ways to prepare the patio for a musical performance. Maybe the pigeons preferred spotless rooftops. Maybe the kazoo was part of a larger cleaning-related flash mob. Stranger things have happened. (Probably.)
She tried closing the tabs. They reopened. She tried refreshing them. They refreshed themselves. One pigeon nodded in approval, which was deeply unsettling.
Eventually, Felicity accepted the situation the same way one accepts that socks vanish in the wash and autocorrect hates everyone equally. She made tea, gave the cactus a respectful nod, and let the pigeons rehearse their kazoo number. It wasn’t good, but it was committed.
Later that evening, everything returned to normal. The pigeons flew off. The kazoo disappeared. The cactus removed its hat (??). The laptop tabs remained open, taunting her, as if to say: “You can’t unsee any of this, and also, your driveway could use a rinse.”
Felicity didn’t argue. Some things you question. Some things you just let exist.
And sometimes, the universe sends you a cactus in a bowler hat to remind you that logic is optional—and the internet will still offer pressure washing isle of wight no matter what dimension of nonsense you’re living in.