Redhawk Caldera snickerdoodle

When he wasn't sleeping, Fidget was moving. That was a lie. Even when he was sleeping, he was moving. It was, after all, how he had acquired the nickname from his godmother. Something bumped into him, stirring the twitching Phox into some semblance of consciousness. His thoughts were few and far between, considering his pea-brain wasn't exactly developed just yet. Head wobbling precariously on his neck (or lack thereof, considering how pudgy he was), Fidget attempted to investigate what (or whom) had awoken him with what little sense of smell he had.