You start to read your letter:

“Dear Congress-Person...”

Ten minutes later you were on your fifth reading of the letter at Furboa’s pleas, changing between your normal voice and a weird falsetto every time you got to the “high price of cereal” part because Furboa insisted that was the only true way to read that sentence.

“You’re a good storyteller! I got goose-pimples every single time you got to the part about how sincere your name is. You should write children’s books! Do you ever eat cereal in the shape of bunnies? You should write a letter to your congress-person about bunny-shaped cereal and then get it published as a kid’s book, but the kids book would be edible, like more edible than they normally are. It could be called “Bunny-Puffs” and taste just like bunnies! We’d be millionaires!”

“Do you want to make a kid’s book with me?” Furboa asks you staring up at you with longing Furboa-eyes.

What do you do now?