It began with a tragedy. A betrayal so deep, so outrageous, so scandalous it could only be classified as a war crime in Athena’s book. Her blanket. Her blanket. Her blanket… was gone. Not just any blanket, but The Blanket. The sacred fleece, the fluffy throne of dreams, the one she had lovingly pawed into the perfect shape with years of rotational nesting. The blanket she dragged to every room like a royal train, the one that absorbed her sass, her snuggles, and 74% of her shedding fur. Vanished. Athena, the elegant, intelligent, emotionally dramatic one-and-a-half-year-old husky with bi-eyes, one ice-white blue and one rich, molten chestnut, froze in place. She stood on the exact square of carpet where the blanket had once lived, her eyes narrowed into tiny slits of judgement. Her tail swished behind her like a fluffy metronome of rage. She sniffed once. Twice. Then threw her head back and howled in righteous indignation. Obito, her Malamute brother and full-time walking cuddle tank, came galumphing into the room like a bowling ball in a bathrobe. He had peanut butter on his nose, his left ear was inside out, and he was wearing a toilet paper roll like a bracelet. “What’s wrong?!” he barked, already wagging his tail as if someone had just yelled the word “chicken.” Athena glared at him. “It’s gone.” Obito blinked, then sniffed the carpet. “What’s gone? Did we lose a meatball? Did you hide a toy? Is the neighbor’s gnome back?!” She growled softly, like a kettle slowly reaching rage boil. “My blanket.”
Obito gasped. It was a long, dramatic, soap-opera worthy gasp that left him winded and briefly concerned he might be pregnant. “No,” he whispered. “Yes,” Athena snarled. Without hesitation, she sprang into action. First, she checked under the couch. No blanket, just five dog biscuits, three socks, one potato chip (half eaten), and a toy that looked like it had survived three apocalypses and a blender. She flipped a pillow with the precision of an angry raccoon. Obito followed, but not to help. He was now convinced the Blanket Monster was back. The imaginary creature he’d invented to justify why things moved around when he wasn’t looking. He dropped into a crouch and barked at a pile of laundry as if it was about to explode. Athena stormed the hallway like a furry SWAT team. She sniffed. She searched. She glared at the ceiling for dramatic effect. Then she found it. The laundry basket.
There it was, right on top. Her blanket. Folded. Folded. Folded like it was any ordinary blanket. Like it didn’t have years of history, dreams, emotional fur bonding. The audacity. Athena launched herself into the basket like a missile. In her royal rage, she forgot physics. The basket tipped. It wobbled. It began its slow, inevitable slide. Down the stairs. Athena, now tangled in socks, a sports bra, and one very confused pair of boxers, rode the basket like a snowy wolf queen on a plastic sled of vengeance. She did not scream. She howled. With dignity.
Obito, watching from the top of the stairs, screamed. “IT’S THE BLANKET MONSTER! AND HE’S TAKING HER!” He threw himself after her like a fluffy wrecking ball with no brakes. The humans, hearing the chaos from the kitchen, turned in time to see Athena skidding into the living room in a laundry basket, draped in undergarments and blanket glory, with Obito hot on her heels, howling, eyes wide, and carrying an open jar of peanut butter. No one knew where the peanut butter came from. No one asked. Athena landed, rolled twice, and emerged upright. A goddess. A legend. Blanket wrapped around her like a cape. She stood tall, majestic, and growled at the air as if daring the universe to defy her. Obito, meanwhile, slammed into the overturned coffee table, faceplanted into a decorative pillow, and came up wearing it like a helmet. His nose was in the peanut butter. His eyes were full of love. “I saved you,” he mumbled. Athena turned slowly to him, bi-eyes gleaming. “You nearly ate me.” “I tasted safety.”
The humans stared at the chaos, broken decorations, overturned plants, socks fluttering in the breeze, a peanut-butter-drenched Malamute licking the carpet, and Athena perched on the blanket like a lioness returned to her throne. Then the smallest human clapped. “Athena’s a superhero!” The room burst into applause. Athena did not move. She simply blinked, tucked one paw under her chest, and closed her eyes. Justice had been served. Later, once the room had been cleaned, the blanket refolded (by Athena), and the peanut butter extracted from Obito’s left eyebrow, the two curled up in a sunbeam. Athena wrapped herself in her blanket with all the grace of a duchess in silk robes. Obito sprawled next to her, snoring and occasionally twitching with dreams of laundry monsters and flying peanut butter jars. It was perfect. Until someone mentioned bath time. Then the real chaos began.
Intwined 