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Thelonius was not an ordinary teapot. He lived on a high shelf in a little antique shop, and while other teapots dreamed of serving fancy teas, Thelonius dreamed of being a professional whistler. He loved the sound of a good, clear whistle, the way it could rise and fall like a bird in the wind. The problem was, Thelonius couldn’t whistle. He was a teapot, and all teapots can do is steam.

He’d practice all day long, taking a little bit of water inside him and trying to force it out in a perfectly-pitched stream of air. But every time, the result was the same: a wobbly, sputtering sound that was more like a gurgle than a whistle. It sounded like a bathtub drain trying to sing opera. His shelf-mate, a very elegant silver platter, was not impressed. “Oh, do stop, Thelonius,” the platter would sigh. “You’re getting condensation on me.”

Thelonius wouldn’t give up. He spent hours trying to perfect his craft. He tried different tunes, from happy folk melodies to sad, soulful ballads. The result was always the same: a shaky, off-key burble that sounded like a tea party gone wrong. One morning, the shop owner’s little girl, Lily, came into the shop. She had been tasked with dusting and was feeling particularly glum. She looked at all the old things, not a single one bringing a smile to her face.

Just then, Thelonius, in a moment of desperate inspiration, took a deep breath of water and blew out his most vigorous, wobbliest whistle yet. It was a complete failure as a whistle, but it made a surprisingly funny, gurgling sound that was so unexpected it made Lily giggle. She picked up Thelonius and looked at him. “You sound like you’re trying to whisper a joke!” she said, giggling again.

Thelonius tried to whistle again, and again, the sound came out like a clumsy burp. Lily laughed even harder. The other teapots looked on in horror, but Thelonius didn’t care. He wasn’t a great whistler, but he was a fantastic funny sound-maker. Lily carried him to the shop counter, where she and her dad had tea. Thelonius was filled with warm water, and every time the kettle began to steam, he’d let out a wobbly, sputtering sound. Lily would giggle, and her dad would smile.

Thelonius the teapot never did become a professional whistler, but he became something better. He became the teapot that made Lily laugh.