Sloth, Thy Name is Hippo

Yes, you decide, floating idly in the centrally heated water like a small, bloated island of blubber, licking the rich, gooey chocolate off your muzzle. You really should think about what to do about it. You reach up to scratch an itch on your humungous bulk. Maybe in a couple of days, or when there aren't any more lemon meringue pies left in the fridge (you can never resist them). You really should tell them to stop restocking the fridge like that...

Then, almost below your hearing threshold, comes a faint, methodical squeaking noise from above. Your brow creases a little, and you squint up at the high ceiling...

SPLASH!

You bellow and splutter as something drops from the ceiling into the water right by your head, and definately isn't below your wetness threshold. The entirety of your bulk quivers and wobbles as you thrash in the water. You try to squint at whatever the thing is that's floating beside your head. You discover that it's...

Written by Lupine (edited by wanderer)

A piece of foam?

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