child_alerted: false
treats_eaten: 0
--
[CSS]
config.style..font: "Palatino/serif 18"
config.style.page.color: "gray-6 on orange-1"
config.style.page.link.lineColor: "blue-4"
config.style.page.fork.divider.style: dotted
[continued]
You're a beautiful cat. White fur, sleek body, cute pink nose, you have nothing to envy to the five house mates with whom you share the house.
You're also a very curious cat, and your humans have been laughing and playing in a closed room all day. It's unusual for any area of the house to be closed to you. Something special is happening inside, and you want to know what and be a part of it. You've perched on the windowsill opposite its door, bathing in the sunlight as you kept an eye on the door. Your only clue, besides the laughter, is the strong pungent smell.
Finally, the door creaks open. Your ears perk up as the smallest human runs out, grinning, his entire body covered in a multi-coloured substance. He is followed by a tall person with short blonde hair; the older sibling, and his primary caretaker. They are recent arrivals in your house and have both been generous with their attention for you and the other cats.
> [[You're more interested in the room behind. Watch them pass by quietly.]]
> [[Humans are very good at scratching your sweet spot. Make your presence known.]]
You stretch up with a loud hrm? that immediately catches their attention and earn yourself a squeal of delight from the child. He diverts his trajectory towards you with a gleeful "Zephyr!" His hands are a rainbow and as smelly as the room they just left.
Before he can run to you, his older sibling catches one of them.
"No touching anything until you're clean," ol says, dragging him away.
That's too bad. You make a mental note to seek them out later, to receive what you're due.
As they walk down the corridor, you hop down to the wooden floor. It, too, has been warmed by the sun, and you relish the sensation as you paw your way into the room.
> [[Into the Mysterious Room]]You tuck your tail in and remain immobile, a piece of furniture in a well-decorated corridor. It helps that with six cats in the household, all the humans are used to taken no notice of you. They don't think to close the door, either, and as they walk down the corridor, you hop down to the wooden floor. It, too, has been warmed by the sun, and you relish the sensation as you paw your way into the room.
> [[Into the Mysterious Room]]This room used to be where your human tinkered for hours, locking everyone out, but it has been a very long time since she has used it that way. There are still a bookshelf with its adjoining cushioned sofa, as well as a high work desk with a stool from those years. The ground is covered with an old bedsheet. You remember it being all a soft grey, but it has all manners of stains now.
The pungent smell is overwhelming in this room, but it seems to come mainly from three sources: the stains on the floor's bed sheet, the big colourful cans in a corner, and the paint brushes strewn about.
> [[Investigate the bedsheet]]
> [[Investigate the cans]]
> [[Investigate the paint brushes]]You trot towards the bedsheet, following your nose to the freshest stains. The glisten in the light, red and blue and purple, and the texture under your paws is familiar. Once, those sheets where on your human mom's bed. You've walked them countless times, pushing and prodding at them until you'd found the perfect spot, all your own but close enough to feel the human's warmth.
You look at her now, humming to herself as she gathers paintbrushes in a large bucket. She is a large human, wider at the hip, very comfortable to sleep upon. She's unlikely to lay down on the bedsheets, so you circle around your spot, the colours sticking under your paws, which now leave their own prints.
You wonder if the bedsheets are as comfortable now as they used to be, and the thought alone is enough for you to let your body fall on it with a heartfelt thump.
Your mom swivels around with a gasp.
"Zephyr, no!"
> [[You immediately know you're in trouble.]]You watch as your human mom brings another can to the corner, placing it on top of the other two to form a small pyramid. She is a large human, wider at the hip, very comfortable to sleep upon.
You trot towards the cans, You're higher on your legs than Gaia and Sol, your orange-furred fellows, but even so, your chin is barely high enough to clear their rims. The two at the bottom are close, so you climb on one to examine the top. Inside is the pungent, colourful liquid. It's curiously thick, and you can't help but extend your paw and dip it in. It sticks to your fur, slick and a little cool, and you're considering whether or not you like the sensation when your mom's voice startles you.
"Zephyr, no!"
You jerk away. In your haste, you push the can and it splashes over your back.
> [[You immediately know you're in trouble.]]There's quite a few paint brushes around the room, most of which are in front of your human mom. She has her back to you at the moment, gathering objects on the work table. She is a large human, wider at the hip, very comfortable to sleep upon, but you don't think she'd be happy to see you in here.
You silently pad towards a pile of paint brushes on the ground. Their tips have a variety of colours and are still humid. The liquid is thick and shines in the light, and its strong scent is an assault on your nose. You push and prod at the brushes, exploring the texture of their bristles against your fur and the way the liquid sticks on it. You're considering whether or not you like the sensation when your mom's voice startles you.
"Zephyr, no!"
You slam your paw down in your surprise, and one of the paint brushes flips over, landing on your back.
> [[You immediately know you're in trouble.]]"Oh, no. That's so much paint…"
There is pain in your mom's voice, but it is not entirely for her. It's also a promise to you. You're a white cat. This strange liquid is coating your beautiful fur, and the last time you did something like this, she forced a bath upon you.
You hate being soaking wet, and the experience—still fairly recent—is vivid to your mind. You do not want a bath.
But how to escape?
You can dash towards the low seater to hide in the narrow space between it and the floor. Or you can run out and into the corridor, seeking another option.
> [[Hide Under the Furniture]]
> [[Dash Down the Corridor]]You bolt towards the low seater, your claws digging in the bedsheet spread across the ground as you sprint. Before your mom can react, you're squeezing your head in the tight space, and the rest of your body follows. You can feel the seater's wood frame scrape off the excess paint as you squirm against it. Perhaps that'll be enough for your mom to leave you be?
You make yourself as small as possible, pressing your butt on the wall as your mom's bare painted feet stop in front of the seater—immediately followed by her knee as she leaned down. Soon enough, her hands are reaching under the seater for you.
"Come here, you," she says, exasperated.
You try to pad away, but she is wise to your tricks and her hands encircle your lean body. You know better than to claw her, but her grip isn't strong yet. Perhaps you could wiggle out of it as you emerge from under the seater, before she can reaffirm it.
> [[Wait and see.]]
> [[Wiggle out!]]child_alerted: true
--
This is your chance to escape. You bolt down the corridor, weave through the legs of the small human, and then dart into a half-open door. You're immediately rewarded by the sight of a high wardrobe on top of which you can flatten yourself. Even if your mom realises this is where you went, she can't reach that high. No one in the household can.
Confident in your plan, you leap from the soft floor to a wooden desk, and from there to the top of the wardrobe, then lay down flat, curling your tail around you so it won't hang over the edge.
In the corridor, the humans are discussing your whereabouts. They don't know which room you've hidden in, and this is a big house with many of them.
"Why is he hiding?" the young one asks.
"He got paint in his white fur, and knows he needs a bath."
You disagree with this statement. You know she thinks you need a bath, but you can handle yourself. Even if it stinks, and likely tastes just as bad. Do they taste different by colour, you wonder? It all smells like something you shouldn't put your tongue on, but your curiosity is insisting a little lick won't hurt.
You don't know how long you've been lost in your internal debate when your nose catches another smell. Salty, shrimpy, and utterly delicious.
Your ears perk as you catch the tell-tale rustle of a bag. This is one of your favourite sounds, to go with one of your favourite scent and, on top of it all, your favourite taste.
Your mom has taken out the special treats.
You can try to resist the temptation and stay here, on top of your perch, still undiscovered, or you can seek the unequal taste of dried shrimp treats.
> [[Resist the temptation.]]
> [[Seek out the treats.]]You let your mom drag you out from under the furniture. Her grip is firm and gentle at once, and she scratches the eternal itch at the back of your ear. You almost forget her intentions as she carries you out of the room full of paint … and right into the bath room, with its sleek white walls and floor.
Panic surges through you, but the door closes with a final click. It's too late.
> [[You're trapped in the bathroom.]]As soon as you're out of your insufficient refuge, you wiggle as if your life depends on it (and, really, doesn't it?). You're sleek and slippery, and the vigorous squirm takes your mom by surprise. In an instant, you've escaped her grip, climbed over her shoulder, and leaped to the ground. Nothing stands between you and the door.
> [[Dash Down the Corridor]]This room is a nightmare. Everything is slippery white tiles, and a faucet spits a rush of water in the bath. The sound echoes off the walls, promising an horribly wet time. There are only two saving graces to this room: the small bag of your favourite shrimpy treats, and your mom. But the latter has rather betrayed you, or will if she gets her way.
There might still be time to escape the bath, though your situation looks more dire than ever.
Perhaps the best bet is to appeal to her sense of pity and convince her to spare you. Or you could wait, lulling her into a false sense of victory while you bide your time.
> [[Meow Like the World is Ending]]
> [[Bide Your Time]]
_resist_temptation: random.d8
--
[if _resist_temptation > 5]
Your nose, stomach, and heart all want you to hop down the wardrobe, but they are traitors to the cause. You know this is a trap. If you go get your treats, your mom will get a hold of you, and there'll be no escaping the bath.
No. No matter what sweet things your mom promises, you must stay firm. You hunch in your hideout, squeezing farther against the wall, and stay strong.
The long minutes of bag shaking and drifting shrimpy aromas are torture, but you refuse to budge an inch. Eventually, your mom roams the house looking for your, calling your name, pretending that "this is very important, even if you don't like it."
You're more stubborn than her, however, and in time you hear her stop right outside your mom, sigh loudly, and declare "Fine. Have it your way. I'm hungry and tired and you'll have to come out for dinner sooner or later."
You've won. Through quick thinking and incredible force of will, you've escaped your mom-ordained bath … for now.
> [[You've escaped the bath]]
[if _resist_temptation <= 5]
Your nose, stomach, and heart all want you to get your tasty, tasty treats, and they drown out the voice warning you of a trap. Of course it's dangerous to walk right up to your mom mere minutes after escaping her, but the shrimp treats are worth the risk. They might even be worth the dreadful bath.
As soon as the treacherous thought crosses your mind, you hop down the wardrobe. Where the shrimpy goodness is concerned, resistance is futile.
> [[Seek out the treats.]]treats_eaten: treats_eaten + 2
--
You hop down from the wardrobe and follow your nose towards the irresistible aroman of shrimp treats. Your mom is waiting for you further down the corridor, and she smiles when you emerge from the room.
"Ah, there you are. Here, Zephyr."
She places not one, but two treats on the ground, and you can't help the excited hop in your steps as you approach. By the time you crunch down on the first treat and the salty goodness washes over your tongue, you can't even remember what you were worried about. You eat the two in quick succession, then lick your lips to make sure you missed none of it. The pleasure was immense but all too brief. You look up to your mom for more.
"There can be more, if you're good," she promises.
Then she summarily lifts you up, carrying you into the adjacent room.
Too late, you recognize the bathroom and your earlier paint crimes. Panic surges through you, but the door closes with a final click. It's too late.
> [[You're trapped in the bathroom.]]treats_eaten: treats_eaten + 1
child_alerted: true
--
You let out a deep, plaintive meow to let your mom know how you truly feel about this. She immediately stops in her preparation and turns towards you, crestfallen.
"I know, baby, but we can't let the paint stay."
She sounds guilty, and that's a crack in her armour you intend to exploit. You meow again, modulating your call into the most pitiful sound you can make. With a sigh, your mom grabs the bag of treats and offers you another one.
"I'm sorry about this."
Sorry won't stop it, but you chomp down the treat nonetheless. It's a small victory, so you continue, your tail swishing as you meow. She offers sympathetic noises, but returns her focus to the bath and places a small mat at the bottom.
Desperate, you try again and again. Surely, if not her, someone will take pity on you and rescue you.
But within minutes, the bath is ready, and your mom has grabbed you firmly. You start squirming, but it's too late.
> [[You get put into the bath.]]What will a few meow do except alert her to your plans? No, you instead spin a few times where you are, then hop onto the counter to sniff at the treats. She stops her preparations to grab the bag and place it out of reach.
"There'll be a lot of them for you after, I promise," she says.
You offer a discontent mrow but let it go, and sit, waiting. Within a few minutes, the bath is ready, and your mom has grabbed your firmly. Despite your decision to wait, fear grips you as the water approaches, and you can't help but squirm. It's too late now.
> [[You get put into the bath.]]Water touches your sweet little paws. It's wet and horrible, and your claws come out as if you could hurt it. Your mom lowers you onto the tiny mat, and you at least manage to grip its fibers. Better that than smooth ceramic. Her hand pushes you down, gently but firmly, and the water soaks your fur. Every fibre of your being hates this already, and then she uses a little cup to pour down more over your back.
> [[PANIC]]
> [[Stay calm]]You can't do it. The water seeping down to your skin, the fur clinging to you, the slight smell of soap being rubbed into your coat mixing with the paint. It overwhelms your senses. You must get away.
You squirm and struggle and hiss and splash water all around. Your mom shushes you, but for all her supposed concern, she sets both hands on you to keep you down in the low water. Her grip is strong, and it hardens at the slightest squirm from you.
> [[Suffer the indignity of the bath.]][if child_alerted]
A voice calls from the other side of the door. "Auntie Em, I want to help!"
It's the human child, and before your mom can answer, he turns the doorknob and opens the door. It's enough to distract her, and she releases the pressure on your shoulders holding you in the bath. You're soapy and wet, but now's your chance, if you want it.
> [[Bolt for the door]]
> [[It's too late anyway]]
[else]
The water seeps down to your skin, your fur clings to you, you can smell the soap mixed in with the paint. Every minute in this bath is a horror show of stimulation, and you wish very hard you were away from it, eating delicious shrimp treats. You cling to that sweet memory to calm yourself, waiting for your chance. But your mom's hands and firm, and there is no way to escape.
> [[Get your reward?]]Your mom takes her time rubbing the soap in and rinsing you. Every new step feels like an eternity, and you can't help but fight her hold on you. You're a beautiful white cat and you deserve better than this.
The bathwater around you is tinted purple from the paint by the time your mom pulls you out and wraps you in a towel. She never lets you go, so you get her flowery shirt all wet, but she doesn't seem to mind as she vigorously dries you. You meow at her, hoping to strike pity in her heart. Aren't you clean now? Can't you go?
Finally, she sets you down on the white floor. You dash for the door, rubbing and pawing at it, eager to disappear into the house and lick yourself until you feel better. Only the crinkling of the treats' bag manages to break through your desire to flee.
"Don't you want a treat?" your mom asks.
She's sitting on the ground, the dry shrimp treat in her palm. It's a peace offering.
> [[Accept the treat]]
> [[Deny her and yourself]]At the slightest release, you slip out from your mom's grasp. It's hard to leap out of the bath when your front paws slide on its strange material, and you're thankful for her little mat, which at least gives your back legs some grip. You manage a scramble out, splashing soapy water all over her and the floor, and dash for the open door.
The child screams in surprise, as much fear as joyful laughter, but by the time he reaches to catch you, you're already slipping past his leg. You make sure to get him wet, too, and maybe spread some of the paint. That'll teach them.
By the discouraged sigh your mom gives as you sprint to a new hiding place, she's not about to pursue. You've escaped. You're wet and half clean, and made a mess of it, but you've escaped, and that is a victory in itself.
> [[It's not total victory, but...]]What's the point of running when you've already suffered through half the wet bath? Besides, you were promised a lot of treats if you were good. You greet the child with a plaintive meow but otherwise hold still, clinging to your hopes of a delicious future as you endure the indignity of a bath.
> [[Get your reward?]]treats_eaten: treats_eaten + 1
--
Reluctantly, you pad over to her, sniff at the treat, and then gobble it. You love these things, and your mom loves you. And you love her, despite the ignomity of what just happened. She seems relieved as she opens the door.
You're still rather humid and you need a moment to recoup. It's time to find a nice corner to lick yourself.
> [[It's not total victory, but...]]No way you're giving her the satisfaction of eating out of her hand after this. She needs to understand how much you've suffered, and that you won't forgive her so easily. You turn up your nose, then look pointedly at the door handle and offer a firm meow.
With a sigh, your mom closes the bag and stands up to open the door. It's obvious she's hurt and it twinges at you, but it's an important lesson.
You're still rather humid and you need a moment to recoup. It's time to find a nice corner to lick yourself.
> [[It's not total victory, but...]]treats_eaten: treats_eaten + 2
treats_eaten (child_alerted === true): treats_eaten + 5
--
[if child_alerted]
After the soap comes a long rinse, and you're not sure how much longer you can hold it together when your mom finally pulls you out of the bath to place you on a dry towel.
The human child is ready with the bag of treats and quickly places two in front of you. "It's for you!" he declares, even though you're already diving for them. They're everything you were hoping for, and they help forget your recent ordeal and your mom roughly drying you out with the towel.
When she stops, you turn your gaze on the child and meow. He has lived with you long enough that you know he is generous with treats—and indeed, he spreads five more before you!
You eat the first one quickly, savouring it, but your mom turns around and lets out a gasp that's half laughter.
"That's a lot of treats, Alain," she comments.
Fearful she'll have them removed, you gobble the rest of them down, snatching the last directly out of the child's hands. He laughs and tells you that your tongue is rough, as if that's a surprise. You wonder, briefly, at the texture of human tongues, but then your mom opens the door and freedom is yours once again.
You're still rather humid, and with no more treats forthcoming, it's time to find a nice corner and spend a quiet time licking yourself.
> [[It's not total victory, but...]]
[else]
After the soap comes a long rinse, and you're not sure how much longer you can hold it together when your mom finally pulls you out of the bath to place you on a dry towel.
You consider bolting immediately, but a treat is placed in front of you. Its delicious saltiness helps you forget your recent ordeal and your mom roughly drying you out with the towel.
As soon as she stops, she places another treat, which you promptly devour.
"I'm sorry for all that," she says, "but you've got to stop going into the paint." She opens the door with a sigh. "Here. Freedom."
Freedom indeed! You're still rather humid, and with no more treats forthcoming, it's time to find a nice corner and spend a quiet time licking yourself.
> [[It's not total victory, but...]]Sure, you're wet, and the bath sucked, but you can console yourself. Through this ordeal, you've managed to eat {treats_eaten} of the 10 available.
[if treats_eaten < 3]
It's not much, but you cling to their sweet, sweet taste as you lick yourself clean. Perhaps you could get more. The house's small human is quite generous. Would he give you more, if he knew your predicament?
[if treats_eaten === 9]
You've gotten so many treats out of this! It helps soothe you. You wonder if you could've extracted another by making more noise about your disapproval? After all, the humans are often quick to use treats to assuage their guilt.
[if treats_eaten === 10]
That's many, many, many more treats than your humans would normally give you. All in all, you feel pretty good about this little adventure.
{restart link} It takes great willpower and cunning to avoid the bath entirely, but you've done it.
Still, those treats haunt you. Would the bath really be so bad, if it let you eat many? After all, you have eaten {treats_eaten} of the 10 available.
{restart link}