It starts when you find a round, squishy white blob wedged in your kitchen pantry, face-first in a jar of chocolate syrup. Blue eyes peep out from behind syrup-smeared “glasses” lines, and he lets out a muffled “Choco… good!” before popping free and rolling across the countertop. When you ask who he is, he bounces upright and declares “It’s Okay, I’m American!” — and just like that, you’re his new owner.

Within minutes, he’s gotten into everything: he sprouts tiny legs to zoom around the living room, knocks over your mug of coffee (then licks it up with a satisfied “Mmm, brown water!”), and points at your salad bowl with wide eyes. “Father!” he yelps, lunging for a head of lettuce. You barely manage to scoop him up before he can declare a “world domination plan” — only to watch Mochi America deflate slightly when you explain lettuce is just for salads.

Not one to stay down, he sprouts little wings and zooms circles around your head, dropping a tiny American flag he somehow conjured from his body .“Food?” he asks, tilting his round form. When you offer him a bag of chips, he rolls into your lap, making happy squishing sounds. Later that evening, you catch him trying to “teach” your houseplant how to say “USA!” — and when you gently tell him plants can’t talk, he just shrugs (as much as a blob can) and says “It’s Okay… still cool.”

By bedtime, he’s curled up on your pillow, already snoring softly — until he suddenly jolts awake and whispers “Lettuce… still father…” before dozing off again. You can’t help but smile; life with Mochi America is chaotic, random, and absolutely never boring.