Redhawk Caldera you teach me and i'll teach you.

It wasn't that Fidget was particularly unhappy. He wouldn't even know what that word meant, considering he had little to compare it to. Fidget was just... well... fidgety. As soon as he'd been thrown into this messy world, his limbs had been raring to go. And go they had. Every waking moment was spent squirming and thrashing about. It was probably making it more difficult for his guardians to take care of him, but he had no real sense of who they were, other than their faint smell and warmth. As for the other five wriggling (or not wriggling) bodies, Fidget didn't pay them much attention unless he was fighting them for food.

When booped on the head, Fidget began to crawl slowly toward the large mass of warmth and fur that was his godmother.