Rufus Crumbsnout and the Big Feelings

Long ago (or maybe yesterday, it’s hard to tell), there lived a raccoon named Rufus Crumbsnout. Rufus was: • Stripy • Round • Very handsome • And EXTREMELY SERIOUS ABOUT COOKIES Rufus did not just like cookies. Rufus believed cookies were: • Breakfast • Lunch • Emotional support • And sometimes hats (don’t ask) Every night, Rufus went to bed thinking peaceful raccoon thoughts like: “Tomorrow I will find crumbs.” “Tomorrow I will nap dramatically.” “Tomorrow I will be amazing.” But then one night…His brain did a WEIRD THING. Rufus lay in bed, tail tucked, eyes closed, when suddenly his brain popped up and said: “HELLO.” Rufus opened one eye. “No thank you.” The brain continued: “WHAT IF TOMORROW IS… DIFFERENT.” Rufus sat bolt upright. “Different how.” The brain shrugged. “JUST DIFFERENT. ALSO WHAT IF YOU MISS YOUR PEOPLE. ALSO WHAT IF YOU FORGET HOW TO RACCOON.” Rufus gasped. “I would NEVER forget how to raccoon.” But his tummy did a glorp. His chest went thumpity-thump. His tail tied itself into a nervous pretzel. “Oh no,” said Rufus. “Oh no,” whispered Rufus. “The feelings are back. The BIG ones. The ones that bring snacks but eat all your peace.” Rufus did what any sensible raccoon would do. He ate a cookie. This helped for seven seconds. Then the feeling came back wearing a hat. So Rufus ate another cookie. This helped for four seconds. Then the feeling sat on his chest and said, “We’re not leaving.” Rufus rolled across the floor dramatically. “WHY,” he groaned, “AM I LIKE THIS?” At that moment, a dramatic squirrel crashed through the window. “I SENSED EMOTION,” the squirrel cried, immediately fainting onto a pillow. Rufus stared. “You broke my window.” “I WILL PAY YOU BACK IN ACORNS,” the squirrel sobbed. “WHAT IS WRONG?” “My feelings are too big,” said Rufus. “They’re doing parkour.” “I HATE PARKOUR,” shrieked the squirrel. A nervous pigeon shuffled in behind him. “Hi,” whispered the pigeon. “I heard there was a meeting. I brought anxiety.” The pigeon immediately panicked about being late. Rufus sighed. “I need help.” They all turned to the Ancient Cookie Jar. The Cookie Jar rattled ominously. “This raccoon’s engine is racing.” Rufus gasped. “I knew it.” “You must slow the engine,” said the Cookie Jar. “Not with cookies. With… the body.” Rufus frowned. “I have a body?” “Unfortunately,” said the squirrel. The Cookie Jar instructed Rufus to sit very still. This was difficult. “Put one paw on your tummy,” said the Cookie Jar, “and one on your chest.” Rufus did. “HELLO BODY,” he said politely. “PLEASE BE NORMAL.” “Breathe in slowly through your nose,” said the Cookie Jar, “like you are smelling the greatest cookie ever baked.” Rufus inhaled. “Oh,” he murmured. “Chocolate chip with confidence.” “Now breathe out through your mouth,” said the Cookie Jar, “like the cookie is too hot and you do not wish to scream.” Rufus blew. “Hoooo.” The squirrel tried it and immediately fell over. The pigeon inhaled too fast and panicked about oxygen. They did it again. And again. At first, nothing happened. Rufus’s brain said, “THIS IS STUPID.” Then it said, “ARE WE… SLOWING?” Rufus noticed his heart wasn’t galloping anymore. His tummy stopped doing flips. His tail loosened a bit. The feelings didn’t leave. They just… shrank slightly. “Well,” said Rufus. “That’s new.” The next morning, the feelings came back. Smaller, but still bossy. Rufus sighed. “Okay. Again.” He did the breathing once. Not enough. Twice. Better. By the third time, the feelings sat down and crossed their arms. “That day was wobbly,” Rufus admitted later. “But survivable.” The next day was similar. Still wobbly. Slightly less awful. On the third day, the dramatic squirrel insisted they make it into a chant. “I REQUIRE THEATRE,” he announced. So they stood in a circle and chanted: Paws on belly, paws on chest, Smell the cookie, it’s the best. Blow it cool, don’t burn your tongue, Slow it down — you’re not too young. In through nose — one, two, three, four, Out through mouth — five, six, and more. Once feels odd, twice feels strange, Three times — hey! Things start to change! The pigeon panicked through the first round but joined by the second. They practiced in the morning. They practiced at night. They practiced when Rufus felt okay and when he felt not okay at all. Some days were still hard. Some days Rufus needed extra breaths. Some days he needed a cookie and a breath. But slowly — very slowly — the feelings stopped shouting. They still visited. They just knocked first. One night, Rufus lay in bed and his brain cleared its throat. Rufus smiled. “Not tonight,” he said. “I’ve got steps. And a chant. And snacks.” And his brain, honestly impressed, let him sleep. The squirrel applauded. The pigeon worried quietly. And Rufus Crumbsnout dreamed of crumbs.