9. A Little God of crumbs (h/t to Snazzbee on Twitch)

We all remember the advertisement from when we were kids right? Explaining to young Canadians the habits of the North American House Hippo and telling them they're not real. The idea was to teach media literacy and remind Canadian children that not everything they see on TV is real.

Well, in the same way My Neighbour Totoro imprinted and now allows cats to turn into buses from time to time, the North American House Hippo is so engrained in the Canadian psyche that they've come to life.

I've named mine Jeffrey, and he has a thing for ice cubes, vegetable scraps, and of course, crumbs from my sandwiches. I used to leave them in a special corner of my kitchen floor for him to find. Then a guest came over once and told me you're not supposed to feed them, or else they get too used to humans and can't fend for themselves.

So now I make sure to eat lots of muffins and naturally crumbly foods, right in the kitchen, so he can still find them :)

8. A Little God of softness

The small god was out of place among the pouring rain on that darkened road. It wore children's pajamas, soaked through, but its arms were raised, fists up, daring me to come no closer. It was shaking, a wet towel of a body standing against the cold of the night. It was the size of a child's teddy bear overzealously filled with fluff. It shouldn't be out here all alone. I shouldn't have either, but how often do you come across a helpless god?

I took a step forward, black boots splashing the pooled water between us. I felt the soft exterior of its fist on my face, and for a moment I laughed. Then the rest of the fist hit me, and I don't remember the rest, except for...

"Don't mistake softness for weakness jackass." The god spoke, as it helped lower my body to the wet cement sidewalk with its cotton soft hands.

I woke up with a pillow and blanket in a dry alleyway.

7. A Little God of tangled things.

The train car lurches into motion, the doors closing a crowd together in silence. Standing room only, I hold myself steady with the overhead bar. It's too busy to be this quiet.

I reach into my pocket for my headphones, taking the jumbled wires into my free hand. Resting in the centre is a small fuzzy black ball, nestled in the coils of white-wrapped wiring. I gently set to work undoing the makeshift home.

"Hey Jack, how you doing?" Whispering to the small ball in my hand draws stares from strangers. It's not the quiet car, but it might as well be with their disapproving glances.

"I'm nice and cosy." Jack, my God of Tangled Cords doesn't react as I slowly undo his pocket temple, still warm from my thigh. I swear they had been fine when I pocketed them a few minutes ago.

"That's good, you ready to get going?" Asking the god as a courtesy just feels right. He's always been a good sport, except for the time I had tried to shake the cords loose. One of my earbuds didn't work the rest of the day.

"Yeah, there's someone building a computer nearby I need to visit." Jack and I see each other most days but it's still hard not to get a tad jealous. I wonder what blessings he gives for a larger untangling.

I let go of the bar, focusing on my personal ritual with both hands. My body shakes as we pull into another station, nameless strangers jostling me as they leave my world for their own.

Finally, the last loop rests on my palm. Jack is holding on to either side with tiny soot-coloured hands, staring expectantly.

I close my eyes, and undo the twist. The sun is in my eyes when they open, and a seat opens up beside me. The first song on shuffle is one of my favourites.

6: A Little God with claws

cat, noun,

spoke the puny god, and it saw that it was good.

Smallest of a litter of gods, born of two strays, surely of great lineages and dignities once upon a time. I picked up you my mewling god, your eyes still closed to the world you had created, shivering in the cold you had brought down from the nearby mountains.

The world was yours but oh, how you challenged your followers to thrive in it! You would not have survived the cold, my god, but you knew, in your own way, that your priest would learn the lesson of caretaking - their heart scorched to action by your cry! Truly only the greatest of pantheons could give the world such a magnificent godling that they could speak and be heard for the truth - help me, priest.

I knew you amongst the rest of the litter, my god, and know that you had chosen me. Your birthplace was ordained, the space beneath my back porch cool and dark, unknown to the god hunters that would hurt you. You chose me, my god, and I did not have to choose you. Providing alms of blankets and wet food, I practiced the rites, and paid good coin for the oracles to tell me what I already knew - you were in fine health, all things considered.

I sat in vigil for the long months my god, watching your kin recover and grow. When it was time you entered your church through the door I left open and you surveyed your domain and you saw that it was good. Your kin was quickly adopted out to good homes, but this holy place was only yours, by right of awakening its sanctuary. You had brought me to you my god, and so I was yours as you were mine.

I named you "Salvation", for that is what you were.

Now please, stop knocking over your holy relics, my god.