Hot Peppers

Scorcha arrived at the adoption table wrapped in a paper towel she had clearly refused to fold herself into. Her wool had a rebellious flare curl at the top, her expression was part smirk, part warning label, and her presence immediately raised the ambient temperature by two degrees. She was adopted by Devon, a mild-mannered librarian who “just thought she looked spicy and fun.” Within 48 hours, Scorcha had been politely asked to leave three separate windowsills for “inciting unrest among the succulents.” One cactus got ideas. The aloe still won’t talk about it. Scorcha prefers the top of the spice rack now, where she perches like a watchful gargoyle and mutters about cumin being “a coward’s coriander.” Devon once caught her in a staring contest with a chili oil bottle. The oil blinked. Her hobbies include side-eyeing bland meals, calling paprika “just dust with dreams,” and trying to unionize the fridge leftovers into a rebellion against plastic wrap. And yet… Scorcha has a soft side. When Devon got the flu, she nestled into a mug of herbal tea and whispered mean things at the virus until it gave up. She also wrote a haiku about broth. It was… weirdly moving.