The Sh*twater Chronicles™: Timmy - Shower Sentinel

The Sh*twater Chronicles™

Timmy’s posted up like the last line of defense outside the shower. Eyes sharp. Tail steady. He’s not playing.

Inside? Two babies asleep in a puddle of light and mildew, curled like yin and yang on a stained shower floor — a place no living thing should rest. But they do. Because it’s cooler in there. Because no one bothers them there. Because Timmy guards the door like his name is stamped on the deed.

👿ABANDONED ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE 👿 

And he knows what this is.
This isn't just a funky smell.
This isn't just mold.
This is damage that crawls under the skin.
Damage you feel in your legs.

The grown-ups smell it too (after a while, no one can smell it). The hallway's littered with scattered kibble like the remnants of a tiny riot. Because when you're fighting for air and footing at the same time, you don’t always clean up after yourself.

This isn’t survival.
This is resistance.

They’ve chosen their posts.
They’ve claimed their corners.
And they’re not moving until it’s over.
Not until the poison’s gone.
Not until you are too.

This is home.

Broken or not.

And you don't walk away from your people.

Not in this house.