Sour Grapes

Merlotta was adopted on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, which she insists was “fitting for such a tragic occasion.” She arrived as a plump little cluster of wool and gloom, her felted pout permanently caught between “judging” and “yearning.” Her new family, the Parkers, placed her gently on a bookshelf between a self-help book and a ceramic owl. Merlotta immediately toppled onto her side and announced, “This shelf is beneath me.” She has since claimed the entire top row as her chaise lounge. Merlotta is not unhappy—she’s just very, very committed to the art of being put-upon. She sighs when you turn on the lights. She groans at upbeat music. She whispers, “must be nice” whenever someone pours sparkling water. But secretly, she hums along to the kettle and wiggles happily during late-night snacks. Her favorite hobby is glaring at raisins, which she calls “traitors of the vine.” She also critiques charcuterie boards with brutal honesty: “That cracker looks bored,” she once muttered. Despite the theatrics, Merlotta has brought surprising warmth to the Parker household. She makes everyone laugh at her exaggerated sulks, and her habit of flopping over dramatically has become a running family game. (“Where did Merlotta faint today?”)