I, Cosmo [antikvár]

1 This year I am a turtle. I do not want to be a turtle. "His tail's between his legs," Max notices, cocking his head. Worry spreads across his wonderful face. "You think the hat's too tight?" We are on the porch, and the strange pumpkin is smiling at us - the one Max carved last week, scooping out its guts. I ate the seeds, even though he told me. No, Cosmo, no. I find it difficult to stop myself when something smells so interesting and so new. Max's father, whose name is Dad, readjusts the turtle vest on my back. "Nah, he's fine. He loves it! Look at him!" This is one of those times - those infinite times - when I wish my tongue did not loll in my mouth. Because I would say, in perfect human language, that 1