The sort of almost-nothing that can be something--or, as in this case, nothing. ""Me and my kitty begin our day,"" begins the nameless little-girl narrator, ineptly. (Since they're in bed, and the sun is shining through the window, we know that--and whoever says such a thing? Why not a few words with a spark of life?) Then, ""we"" go through the day: ""We play with friends. And we swim. After lunch, we have our nap. Then we paint a picture. And go for a swing."" (Actually, the little girl sits in a wading pool, and the kitty clips in a paw.) The pictures are pleasantly colored and perky--Rubel can hardly do otherwise. A butterfly appears somewhere in every picture--of late, the recurring, unnoted creature (descended from the mouse of Goodnight Moon) has become a stock device. The text, however, is utterly flat--and there isn't an iota of conceptual and dramatic structuring.