These humans are stubborn. Twenty-one days, thirteen hours, thirty-four minutes. That’s how long it’s been since the water stopped.
Why haven’t they called?
I started with the toilet. A week later I flooded the kitchen. The humans complained, but still didn’t call the plumber. I’m growing impatient. It’s cramped inside these pipes.
I’d like to eat them, but that’s against the rules. I only eat plumbers. That’s my mission.
I hear footsteps.
“It started in the bathroom?”
“Yes,” says my human, “been a few days.”
“Alright, ma’am. Don’t worry. I’ll get them working.” The toilet unhooks. I see him.