Pepper’s New Word

I’m Pepper. I’m green, I live in a cage by the window, and this week I learned one new word.

On Tuesday a man came to fix the water under the kitchen sink. He had a big low voice. He opened the front door and said, “Hello?” I liked that word. I said it fifty times that night.

On Wednesday I said it to the cat. The cat looked at me and walked under the sofa.

On Thursday I said it to the baby. The baby said it back, but in a small high voice. That’s the wrong voice.

On Friday I said it in my big low voice, and the mother stopped in the middle of the kitchen with a plate in her hand. Good. Somebody was listening.

On Saturday night everybody was in the living room in front of the TV. It was dark outside. I waited a long time. Then I said it. “Hello?”

Nobody laughed. The father stood up very slowly. The mother took the baby. The brother picked up a shoe. They all looked at the front door.

Then the mother looked at me. “Pepper,” she said.

They put a cloth over my cage. But I’m not finished. In the dark, very quietly, I said it one more time. “Hello?”