← Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Sleep Tight Stories - Bedtime Stories for Kids
Margherita and the Great Pumpkin Heist 🍕
00:21:09
A Halloween mystery that only a cat who loves pizza could create!
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A Short Message for Grown Ups as parents, we know how quickly family time can slip into scrolling time. Everyone on their own devices After a long day, wouldn't it be great to share something active and fun? Instead? Meet Next Playground, an active game system powered by your body. No controllers, no wearables, just natural motion driven play. Join Bluey and Keepy Uppy. Fly with how to Train youn Dragon, Dance with Barbie, Pop Bubbles in Gabby's Dollhouse, or Train with Kung Fu Panda. All from your living room and it's totally kids safe. No ads, no in app purchases, no mature content, just clean active fun to bring the family together this fall. Want to learn more? Visit nextplayground.com that's nexplayground.com to explore active gaming today. A Short Message for Grownups if your little one loves Bluey, here's something new that might spark hours of joyful, imaginative play. Bluey Chatmates with just a press of the nose, these beloved characters come to life chatting with 10 fan favorite phrases including some of the most iconic lines from the show. There's Bluey, Bingo and Muffin, plus some extra fun versions like Bingo with her scooter and helmet and Rita with her granny mobile, glasses and grabber. Each chatmate is 6 inches tall, just the right size for little hands, and comes with movable arms and legs for easy posing and storytelling. Whether they're recreating favorite scenes or dreaming up new ones, kids will love growing their own Bluey world one giggle at a time. Bluey Chatmates is available at all major retailers. Hello friends and welcome to Sleeptight Stories. Libby and her mom are getting ready for Halloween and decide to carve some pumpkins. Libby finishes her painting and goes to help her mom in the kitchen. Margarita comes in to see what they are doing and seems very interested. Margarita and the Great Pumpkin Heist Libby, would you like to come out and help me with the pumpkin carving now? You could take a break from painting and try something else for a little while. Taking off her headphones, Libby replied, um, sure mom. Let me just finish this part and clean my brushes and I'll be right out. It was Saturday and Libby was home painting for the afternoon. Many of Libby's new friends had sports stuff to do on Saturdays and those that didn't were like her doing art stuff. Libby didn't like sports much, though she did fairly well in gym. But painting. Painting was different. When she painted, the world got quiet in a good way, like when she used to listen to music in her old room before the move, except better because her hands were creating something instead of just her imagination. After finishing and cleaning, she left her room, calling out to Margarita, who was having some quiet time somewhere in the house. She had her own hiding places where she would go and relax. Libby figured even cats needed some alone time. She certainly did. Walking into the kitchen, she said to her mom, I guess Margarita must be having a serious nap because she hasn't been in my room since early this morning and she's always around when I'm painting. Maybe she doesn't feel like being painted today, libby's mom said with a laugh. The kitchen table was already covered in old newspapers and three bright orange pumpkins sat waiting. One was big and perfectly shaped, one was medium with a funny flat side, and one was small. The practice pumpkin, as her mom called it. I thought we could each do one and use the small one to test out designs, her mom explained, handing Libby a marker. What are you thinking for yours? Libby picked up the medium pumpkin, turning it in her hands. The surface was smooth and cool with those weird vertical ridges that made it look like someone had drawn lines from top to bottom. I want to do a cat face, obviously. Her mom smiled. Obviously. Let me guess. Orange cat with big eyes. Well, I can't exactly carve orange into an orange pumpkin, libby said, already sketching whiskers on the pumpkin's surface. But yeah, big eyes for sure. Margarita's got the best eyes. They worked in comfortable silence for a while, the kind Libby liked best. Her mom carved a classic Jack o' lantern. Triangle eyes, triangle nose, big toothy grin. The kind that looked friendly in the daytime and just spooky enough at night. When they lifted the lids off, the smell hit Libby immediately. Earthy and slightly sweet. Sorta like fall concentrated into a scent. Not terrible, but not great either. Ugh, this is the gross part, libby said, reaching in to scoop out the stringy insides. The gross part is the best part, her mom corrected, elbow deep in pumpkin guts. Look at all these seeds. That's when Margarita appeared in the kitchen doorway, her nose twitching. Before Libby could say hello, Margarita hopped onto the chair next to her and peered into the hollowed out pumpkin. Margarita, this isn't pizza. Libby laughed as the orange cat stuck her whole head into the pumpkin, then pulled back quickly shaking her ears. A piece of pumpkin string was stuck to her whiskers. Not a fan? Libby asked, gently pulling off the strand. Margarita sneezed a tiny, dramatic cat sneeze, but she didn't leave. She sat nearby, watching them work with weird intensity, like she was taking notes or something. After they finished rinsing the seeds, her mom tossed them with olive oil, salt, and garlic powder, then spread them on a baking sheet. Fifteen minutes, she said, sliding them into the oven. The timer beeped and suddenly the kitchen smelled amazing. Toasty and salty with that hint of garlic. Her mom scooped most of the golden seeds into a container but left a small handful in a bowl. Let's leave some out. They make the house smell nice. She grabbed the practice pumpkin, the one with a moon design, and dropped the handful of seeds inside. There. Festive and aromatic. Margarita, who had been lounging in a patch of afternoon sunlight, immediately sat up. Her nose twitched. She padded over and sniffed, sniffed at the pumpkin intently. Libby watched her, feeling that weird tingle you get when you know something's about to happen but you're not sure what. See? I told you she was interested. But her mom was already looking at her phone. It's almost five. Let's get these on the porch before it gets dark. They carried the jack o' lanterns outside and arranged them on the front steps. The battery candles flickered to life, casting warm shadows through the carved faces. They look perfect, libby said. Behind them, through the front window, Margarita sat watching. Her tail swished slowly back and forth, eyes fixed on the pumpkins. But Libby didn't notice. She was too busy thinking about how the orange glow looked against the purple gray sky, like something she'd want to paint later. The next morning, Libby was eating cereal when her mom called from the front door. Libby, come see this. Her mom's voice sounded serious. She hurried to the door. Their porch looked like a crime scene. Jack o' lanterns knocked over lids scattered, pumpkin guts spread everywhere. One pumpkin had rolled down the steps and was sitting upside down on the walkway. But the weird thing was, the pumpkins weren't really destroyed. Just searched. Must have been raccoons, her mom said. Libby crouched down, studying the mess. That's when she saw them. Small paw prints in the scattered pumpkin guts. She knew those prints. She'd seen them in the flower beds when Margarita stalked bugs on the windowsill when she watched birds tracked across Libby's sketchbook that one time when Margarita had walked through spilled paint. Cat prints. But that was impossible. Margarita had been inside all night, right? Morning, Mrs. McDonald from next door called, walking over. Did you see what happened to the pumpkins? Same thing at my house. Within minutes, half the neighborhood was standing around comparing pumpkin disasters. Everyone agreed it must be a particularly clever raccoon. Libby stayed quiet, her brain working through possibilities like she was solving one of those logic puzzles in the back of her math book. Small paw prints. Multiple houses. Nothing actually eaten. Just searched. After the neighbours left, Libby went straight to the kitchen. Margarita was sitting by her empty breakfast bowl, washing her face, looking innocent. Morning, you silly cat, libby said, bending down to pat her. At least you had a peaceful she stopped there. Stuck to Margarita's whiskers was a tiny shred of orange pumpkin gut and faint orange stains on her white paws. Oh no, Mom, Libby called. I think Margarita did it. Her mom came into the kitchen, eyebrows raised. Libby, that's ridiculous. She was inside all night. Libby pointed at Margarita's whiskers, then at her paws. Then explain that. Her mom leaned closer. Her eyes went wide. Oh no. Your bedroom window. You left it cracked last night, didn't you? Libby had just a few inches, maybe enough for a determined cat. They both looked at Margarita, who was staring at her empty bowl like food might appear through sheer willpower. But why? Her mom asked. She doesn't even like vegetables. Libby's brain was already working it out. Margarita only ate pizza, everyone knew that. But yesterday, yesterday she'd been so interested in the pumpkin. And then the roasted seeds came out of the oven, smelling toasty and salty and kind of pizza adjacent. And Margarita had sat up immediately. And the seeds. Libby said. Mom, you left roasted seeds in the practice pumpkin. They rushed to check. The container on the counter was untouched, but the practice pumpkin they'd taken outside, completely empty. She ate them and wanted more, Libby said slowly, the whole ridiculous night playing out in her mind. Margarita squeezing through the window, investigating each pumpkin on their porch, finding nothing, then moving to the neighbors houses, searching and searching for more of those delicious pizza adjacent seeds. Our cat burglarized the neighborhood, her mom said. Literally, libby whispered. Despite everything, the mess, the embarrassment, the fact that they'd have to explain this, Libby couldn't help but smile a little. It was so completely, ridiculously, perfectly Margarita. An hour later they were apologizing to Mrs. McDonald while sweeping her porch. So it was your cat, Mrs. MacDonald said, more amused than angry. They moved from house to house. Mr. Casey. The Kowalskis. At each one, Libby explained what happened, feeling her face get hot but pushing through it anyway. This was her responsibility. Well, margaritas, but still. Everyone thought it was hilarious. A cat burglar. Mrs. McDonald had laughed. Literally. Better than raccoons, Mr. Casey said. At least cats are cute. But Libby still felt bad. Saying sorry didn't seem like enough. That afternoon they spent hours in the kitchen roasting batch after batch of pumpkin seeds, cinnamon sugar, spicy chili lime, garlic, parmesan Plain, salted, the house smelled like fall and apology mixed together. Margarita supervised from her chair, watching each tray come out of the oven with great interest. No, libby said firmly when Margarita stretched toward a cooling tray. You've caused enough trouble. They packed the seeds in small bags with notes that read, Sorry for the Halloween hijinks from Margarita and Libby and Mom. That evening they delivered them to every house. Everyone loved them. These are delicious, Mrs. McDonald said. Your cat has excellent taste. Walking home in the twilight, past houses decorated with cobwebs and ghosts, Libby felt more relaxed being responsible for mistakes, even funny, ridiculous, completely cat like mistakes felt better than she'd expected. That evening they carved three new pumpkins. This time her mom was very careful about the seeds. All of them, her mom said firmly, are going into the container. We're not taking any chances. Libby carved another cat face, this one with a slightly guilty expression. Her mom did a jack o' lantern with a surprised look, like it had just discovered a cat burglar. When they finished, they carried the pumpkins outside. The battery candles flickered to life, casting warm glows across the freshly swept porch. They look good, libby said. And this time they're staying put, her mum replied. Before bed, Libby made absolutely sure her window was closed and locked. She even checked it twice. Learned your lesson? She asked Margarita, who was already curled up on a pillow. Margarita yawned and closed her eyes. Libby climbed into bed, pulling the covers up. Through her closed window, she could see the soft glow of their jack o' lanterns, safe from pumpkin seed hunting cats. You know, libby said quietly, for a cat who only eats pizza, you sure caused a lot of trouble. Margarita's purr rumbled, steady and content. Libby was just starting to drift off when she heard it, a soft thump against her window. She cracked one eye open. Margarita was sitting up, staring at the window, eyes forward, tail swishing through the glass. The jack o' lanterns glowed on the porch. Not a chance, libby mumbled, pulling Margarita back down. Margarita let out a long, dramatic sigh, the kind only cats can make when deeply disappointed by the world's unfairness. But she settled back into her spot. That's what I thought, libby whispered. Outside, the October wind rustled through fallen leaves. Their three jack o' lanterns sat safely on the porch, seeds long gone, faces glowing cheerfully into the night. And in Libby's room, an orange cat who ate only pizza but who had briefly considered a career in pumpkin seed theft purred softly as she drifted off to sleep, already plotting next year's Halloween adventure. And that is the end of our story. Good night. Sleep tight, Sam.