It was a Wednesday when the world as Athena knew it ended.
She had been basking in the glow of fame, curled up on her self-built throne of stolen blankets, eyes half-lidded like a queen surveying her adoring peasants. Obito, her enormous, floppy brother, was lying upside down nearby, his legs twitching like a dreaming pony, a rogue sock stuck to his slobbery nose.
Life was good. Life was perfect. They were influencers now. They were somebody. Athena had personally refused three brand deals because the products weren’t fluffy enough, and Obito had eaten two promotional toys before the unboxing videos could even be filmed.
Athena gave a delicate sigh of satisfaction and began lazily nibbling on a corner of her latest conquest: a fuzzy throw pillow that had once been white and was now "lightly distressed." Fame suited her.
Then she heard it.
The sound. The most cursed sound in existence.
Running bathwater.
Instantly, her entire body stiffened. Her bi-eyes, one ghostly blue and one warm chestnut, snapped open. Her fur puffed to maximum volume. Her ears stood so sharply upright that she looked like a triangle. Athena did not move. She did not breathe. She simply stared at the doorway, wide-eyed with pure, unfiltered horror.
The humans were preparing the Bath.
This was no ordinary grooming session. This was a full-scale, shampoo-bottle-wielding, towel-in-hand, slippery-bathmat-deployed Bath. It had been premeditated. They had planned this treachery.
Without hesitation, Athena launched herself off the blanket mountain in a blur of black, grey, and white, leaping clean over the coffee table, two chairs, and a highly confused cat, who spun twice and then immediately filed a noise complaint with the authorities.
Athena skidded into the kitchen with the dramatic grace of a Broadway performer during a final act. She needed reinforcements. She needed a plan. She needed the most loyal, reliable, intelligent companion she knew.
Unfortunately, she had Obito.
Obito, with his massive paws, wobbly legs, and tongue flopping out of his mouth like a festive party streamer, was in the middle of aggressively licking peanut butter off a toy shaped like a squirrel's butt.
Athena stormed up to him and barked directly into his very soul.
"Obito! Emergency! Bath Alert! Level Crimson Splash!"
Obito's eyes widened. His ears twitched. His mouth opened slightly in shock, the way only truly dense and lovable creatures can. Slowly, as if the weight of the situation was too great to process all at once, he uttered the single most profound question of his life.
"Do we still get snacks?"
Athena resisted the urge to dramatically throw herself off the counter. "Focus! We must hide! Immediate action required!"
Obito nodded so hard his whole body wobbled, then bounded off in the wrong direction, slamming head-first into the fridge with a resonating thunk. This would be fine. Everything was fine.
Athena, brilliant and resourceful, chose the sacred Laundry Basket of Invisibility as her hiding spot. It was the perfect disguise, soft, familiar, reeking of dirty socks and human failure. She expertly burrowed into the pile, only the very tip of her tail betraying her location.
Obito, whose tactical awareness could be compared to a potato wearing roller skates, decided that the best hiding place was behind the curtain.
Correction: behind half of the curtain.
Obito’s head was indeed hidden, pressed flat against the wall like he was playing hide and seek with a toddler. The rest of him, his massive, wiggly behind, his enormous fluffy tail, and his wide, tan-pawed stance, was sticking out into the open air like a parade float that took a wrong turn.
It was a masterpiece of stupidity.
The human entered the kitchen, armed with a towel, a bottle of bubblegum-scented dog shampoo, and the steely resolve of someone who had been peed on during a previous bath attempt.
Athena squeezed herself tighter into the laundry basket. She was air. She was mist. She was invisible.
The human paused. Looked at the half-curtain. Sighed heavily.
"Obito," they said. "Come on, Mr. Toe Beans. Time for a bath."
At the sound of his nickname, Obito, in a tragic act of betrayal that would go down in history, wagged his entire backside joyfully, exploded out of hiding, and galloped toward the human like a freight train made of clouds.
Athena let out a horrified gasp from within the laundry basket. Her brother had sold her out for belly rubs. The betrayal stung worse than wet paws on fresh grass.
In her flurry of outrage, Athena shifted her weight.
And the laundry basket tipped.
She tumbled out in an explosion of socks, landing squarely in the middle of the floor in a tangle of legs, blanket fluff, and the raw, steaming rage of someone who had just realised their life was about to be forcibly shampooed.
Obito, sensing a game, immediately tackled her. Together they slid across the linoleum like two seals fighting over a beach towel.
By the time the humans wrangled them into the bathroom, it looked like a low-budget action movie had taken place.
The bath itself was a tragic farce.
Athena stood on three legs, holding the fourth paw up in the air like a wounded princess demanding compensation. Every time her paw grazed the water, she would shriek indignantly and attempt to climb onto the human’s shoulders. Obito, meanwhile, decided the bathwater tasted suspiciously delicious and spent most of the ordeal slurping at it noisily, only stopping to burp directly into Athena’s face.
Soap suds got everywhere. Shampoo ended up not just on the dogs but also on the walls, the ceiling, and somehow inside the heating vent. Obito slipped and cannonballed into Athena, sending a tidal wave of water over the side of the tub and onto the bewildered housecat, who had come to witness the chaos and immediately fled.
Athena, soaked, furious, and resembling a very angry wet carpet, locked eyes with the human holding the camera.
No words were spoken. But the message was clear.
You will pay for this.
The footage, predictably, went viral in less than a day.
The image of Athena standing in the bathtub, suds piled on her head like a small hat, one bi-eyed glare boring holes into the cameraman’s soul, became an instant meme.  
The internet dubbed her "The Angry Marshmallow."  
Meanwhile, Obito, grinning like an absolute moron with soap dripping from his eyebrows, became the poster child for bath time disasters everywhere.
Merchandise rolled out almost immediately. There were T-shirts. Mugs. One company made a bobblehead of Obito mid-burp.
Athena sulked for three solid days, refusing to walk across the kitchen unless a royal procession of treats was thrown at her feet like rose petals.
Obito didn't care. He had gotten belly rubs, bath snacks, and was now an internet star.
As Athena watched her follower count climb higher and higher, she sighed deeply from her blanket throne, wrapped so tightly that only her damp nose peeked out.
Perhaps, she thought begrudgingly, fame was a cruel and ridiculous mistress.
But she was willing to suffer for it.
As long as there were snacks. And no more baths.
Preferably ever again.