It was a peaceful night. No cars, no voices—only the gentle melody of the forest. The wind rustled softly through the trees, brushing against the leaves like a lullaby. Crickets chirped in the distance, and the occasional hoot of an owl echoed beneath the stars. Tucked away in the heart of the forest stood a treehouse—small, worn, and cozy. Inside, the world was quiet.

Catnap slept soundly, curled up beneath a soft patchwork blanket, her chest rising and falling slowly. Her lavender hair spilled across the pillow, and her breathing matched the rhythm of the breeze outside. All was calm.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The sudden knocking slammed through the silence like a cannon blast. Catnap groaned, one eye cracking open as her pointed ears twitched irritably.

With a dramatic sigh, she pushed herself upright, grabbing her oversized hoodie from the floor and tugging it on as she shuffled groggily toward the door. Her steps were slow, heavy, reluctant—as if each one was a personal offense to her right to sleep.

She yanked the door open. And there, grinning like a maniac, stood the source of her torment.

Dogday. Bright-eyed. Too chipper. Tail wagging like a metronome stuck on hyperdrive.

DogDay: "CATNAP! CATNAP! GOOOOOOOD MORNING!"

She practically exploded with energy, hopping in place like the sun itself had given her a personal wake-up call.