Pigeon had learned to open drawers, and how to pull things out of them. Soon he learned he could also open the doors in the kitchen, like Mother. And then nothing was safe. (Including Pigeon.)
Father bought latches to keep Pigeon out of the dangerous doors. But they didn't fit. So Mother ended up moving Pigeon out of reach of the doors just as many times as he could open them. (Which was a lot.)
When Pigeon found the spinning door, they feared for his little fingertips. (Which got pinched.)
But it's a good skill, to be able to get to things, Mother said. And she tried not to interrupt him unless absolutely necessary. Meanwhile, she watched closely in case the absolutely necessity came suddenly upon them. Sometimes she forgot to blink.
It so happened that the spinny cabinet held a very shiny bowl. Pigeon thought it might be fun to play with it.
Maybe even more fun, thought Mother, than opening and closing the cabinet doors.
She gave him the bowl, and a pan, and a spoon.
And mother had a chance to blink, to clean up, and even to make some memories.
She thought about Pigeon's birthday, just a few weeks away. Wouldn't you like a cabinet of your own? she asked him. And some Pigeon-sized pots and pans, and a spoon?
His smile said yes. And with all the people who loved to see Pigeon smile, there was a good chance he would have a kitchen of his own before too long--a nice safe kitchen. (Cabinets and all.)