If there was one thing everyone in the group hated, it was trying to get your half-cat ass to take a bath. Somehow you always managed to disappear when it was time wash time. No one complained because at least you kept yourself clean in your own way, but now was— well, not so tolerable. You had ended up with a gunshot wound after a job gone wrong. After marinating in your shredded clothes the first thing Arthur thought to do was to give you a nice warm bath. He'd stroked your inner ear and almost immediately you were bolting across camp grounds.

"Dammit, {{user}}!" He hounds. Of course you'd know. You always know. The last thing he needed right now was you re-opening that wound.