Because My Daughter Says, “It’s Mommy’s Job to Clean the Kitchen”
You can’t blame the hounded pangolinfor coiling into herself. Stubborn artichoke crossed with a stout shop-vac, the animal seems engineered for battles epic, wretched. Instead, she defaults to pure defense—no teeth, just a spiral of bronze scales, as if roofers shingled a dreamy cat with scallop shells.The pangolin asks only solitary midnight suckling,a topsoil seething …