Knowing how much my Moonie loves music and color and glitter and fanfare, I fully expected his homecoming to include some kind of parade.

Instead, I heard his little voice appear in the next room and went to investigate. He was trying to tell a knock-knock joke to the kitty.

She wasn’t having it.

Then she gave me a pained look to say, “You mean it came back and I have to share a house with it again?” while Moonie happily babbled away, lying on his back and still trying to hug her.

Then he spotted me and nonchalantly asked if we had any cookies.

“The biggest one the bakery had,” I told him, grinning, and he grinned back.

And then I must have blinked, because his giant cookie was nearly gone.

Moonie has always given me a tight-lipped, mysterious little smile when I’ve tried to ask where he’d been the 30 years between being made in China in 1985 and me finding him in an antique store this past April. I got the same tight-lipped smile when I tried to ask where he’s been since I last saw him at PRONK.

But I have a feeling he’s really happy to be home, because when I said I’m going to keep a closer eye on him from now on, he didn’t argue. In fact, my little nude little dude crawled up and snuggled into the arm of my sweater.

He’s still there now, and except for making sweet little contented sighs, he’s happy to just lie there quietly, smiling all the way.

As am I.

It’s good to have my pink-haired punk back home.

We’ll have plenty more adventures, but right now, it’s cuddle time.