I made them. By hand. Out of clay.

Why? Even they don’t know.

Now they live in the forest, surrounded by moss, birds, snacks, and their own overwhelming thoughts. They stare blankly. They sit. They feel everything, yet nothing. One day, they overheard that “desk pets” are a real thing. They don’t fully understand what that means, but it sounded important.

So they packed a little something, wrote you a letter, climbed inside a tiny box, and mailed themselves off.

Each Snuffler is unique. There are no repeats, every blob is its own strange little mess. Once it's gone, it's gone.

They stare blankly while you fall apart, like emotional pets that refuse cuddles but soak up all the feelings anyway. Their whole purpose is to stir up a little soft chaos and remind you that not everything needs a reason. Mostly, they just sit there really well. Fix your problems? Nope. Not their thing. They won’t fix you.

They just sit near you while you spiral. (They are handmade decorative sculptures...)

• One emotionally unstable blob (approx. 3–5cm tall, give or take...blobs don’t measure), or your blobbit.

• A sealed envelope from them. They say it’s “important.” No one’s opened it.

• A tiny cloth they cling to. Some say it’s for comfort. Some say it’s for dust.

• A mystery item they packed last-minute. We didn’t ask questions.

They call me “The Maker,” or maybe just “That Hand Person.” I’m the one who poked, pinched, and accidentally sneezed on a blob of feelings until it became a Snuffler.

Why Snufflers? Honestly, no one really knows. Maybe it’s because they sniff out trouble. Maybe it’s because they’re always snuffling through the moss and snacks. Or maybe the name just stuck after I muttered it out loud one day and nobody dared to change it.

As for what I’m up to now, let’s just say I enjoy watching them wander around trying to figure out life while I pretend not to notice.