By Hannah Christensen
Back to Choose Your Own Adventure stories
More Stories by Hannah Christensen
This is a “Choose Your Own Adventure” story. Do not read from top to bottom. Start at the top, but when you get to the bottom of the section, click on your choice from the options given. You will be brought to the next section in that storyline. Keep making choices until you reach ‘The End’, at which point you must choose whether to stop or go back to the top and try for another outcome.
One Day
Your kitten looks fat. When you got it, it was the fluffiest ball of fur you’ve ever seen. Now, though, the size is more than fur, and you cannot call it just plump. From its round stomach to its thick legs and wide face, your kitten is definitely fat.
Will you…
The first thing you do when you get home is to start a blog for your pet. You start by posting all the pictures you’ve taken so far, but soon are posting proofs that this is not a cat, such as measurements and closeups of toenails, and are posting results of experiments such as finding out what your Woolly Midget Hippopotamus prefers to eat. It takes a while to get a serious audience—there’s a movement to convince you that your pet is a dog, for example—but you persevere.
Soon you move on to presentations and exhibitions: the fair, parades, library programs. It is exciting when the local news asks for an interview. You brush up your furry pet and tuck a flower behind one ear before entering into the studio. The flower is promptly shaken off and eaten, but everyone at the studio is delighted with your pet. They bring you in and introduce you to all the the staff and local experts gathered for report, and then it is time to get in front of the camera.
You look around for your pet, but it is gone. No one can find the Woolly Midget Hippopotamus or recall exactly the last time it was seen. The only possible clue you find is the cut end of the leash. Your publicity becomes a mystery news report. The reporters are disappointed not to get any actual footage of a Woolly Midget Hippopotamus, but appreciate the extra airings the mystery gives them. Eventually the splash of the Missing Woolly Midget Hippopotamus dies away, but you never find out exactly what happened to your pet. Your really miss that fuzzy little kitten you used to have.
THE END
You cut your kitten’s rations in half. Your kitten does not approve. It whines and cries incessantly.
Never mind. Give the poor kitty her food.
It’s all for the best. Stick to the diet.
Maybe there’s a better way. Go to the vet.
He thanks you and gives you his contact information. In the weeks that follow he proves to be a wealth of help in adjusting to a new care for your hippo. When it gets sick a month later, he even figures out a good way to heal it. Your pet seems to be thriving, the talk of all who meet it.
A few months later you are in the neighborhood of the lady who gave you your pet in the first place and you stop by to let her know how well things are going.
The house, when you get to it, is deserted. It is not just empty, but everything is gone, down to barren patches where flower bulbs were dug out. You stand in front, puzzled. A neighbor sees you.
“Oh, she hasn’t been here for months,” he says. “She just pulled up and left, something about disaster and emergency. Didn’t even take time to put the house up for sale.”
What a mystery. You’re glad you found on expert on your pet when you did.
THE END
This is the type of situations earplugs were made for. You doggedly continue the diet. A few days later, your kitten has stopped whining, but now it is just lying around all the time.
You want some advise here. Go talk to the person you got the kitten from.
Something here is wrong. Go to the vet.
You wander around the room, hands behind your back, looking for signs of where your hippo might be hidden. You’ve made note of a panel and a second door and are headed for the one with the window when a loud thump comes from behind it. Your captor frowns and goes over himself, blocking the view. He whistles, and out from under the desk he had been working at darts the crocodile. He opens the door and it flashes through. After watching for a bit, he turns to you.
“I had hoped to conclude a few matters first, but it seems we must leave post haste.”
“Leave? Where are you taking us?”
“Oh, don’t worry. Your Midget Woolly Hippopotamus will be well cared for in its new home, better than anything you could have done for it. I’m afraid you’ll have to take my word for it, though. You won’t be there to see.”
The crocodile slinks back in, and you stare at it with growing dread.
“Oh, no, no, no, I don’t feed my Greater Painted Caiman humans. Dreadful for the diet. But I believe there is an opening in my Malaysian center. I can drop you off before bringing my new treasure home. It’s a little isolated—the few people who do visit I’m afraid won’t be able to understand your speech, but you’ll soon grow to love the wilds of the jungle. I’m sure you’ll grow to be a devoted worker in my research.”
THE END
You and your kitten can make it at least a week. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. On the seventh day, though, you hear a crash and come running over to find most your plants decimated. An empty pot lays broken on the ground. Your kitten is chomping down the last bit of your geranium.
How do you respond?
That’s it. It’s time to see the vet.
My plants! Bad kitty! Get out while I sweep and mourn for the plants.
He is disappointed, but is able to advise you to try introducing fruits to your pet and offer water to bathe in.
“Understand, I would be able to help more if I could meet your pet in person, and in any case there will be a degree of trial and error. If you change your mind, please do call me.”
A few days later while you take a video of your pet splashing in a kiddie pool, something smacks you in the head from behind. You go sprawling and the camera goes flying.
You rush to the bathroom, pop the kitten into the tub, and turn the faucet on. Thankfully, your kitten’s mouth is quite wide, because it does not co-operate very well. It is too busy rampaging through the water. Well, maybe not quite rampaging because the noises it’s making are more cheery than angry, but there is still a lot of splashing going on.
The queer thing is, the soggier the kitten gets, the more it looks…well, uncatlike, at any rate. Its muzzle looks enormous as ever, its legs are still fat, and its tummy looks more saggy than slim after the week of less food. The wet fur even changes the appearances of its ears. Evidently, the only reason they looked pointed instead of round was because of ear tufts. The more you look, the less certain you are that your kitten is actually a cat at all. But if it isn’t, then what is it? You want to find out.
Take a picture and post it online to see if anyone can tell you what it is
Go ask the lady you got the kitten from
Try visiting the zoo for advice
You visit the zoo and try to snag a zookeeper. They’re all too busy to do much listening, and the few that pause to hear you out don’t seem to take you seriously. You are just about to leave in frustration when you see the booth of a visiting attraction: a collector of rare animals.
You decide to…
Your kitten continues to put on weight. Still, it looks adorable and while it has never exactly been frisky, is just as playful as ever. There’s no real problem until the day your kitty decides to jump into the lap of a visiting Great-aunt. The weight proves to be too great for her—for the chair too, but it was always a little rickety—and she crashes to the ground with two broken thighs.
You leap up and say…
Bad Kitty! You go outside and wait while I take my Great-Aunt to the hospital.
He doesn’t bat an eye at your answer of finding a free kitten while visiting garage sales, just gives you a business card and urges you to keep him up to date on progress. You do call from time to time to let him know which foods seem to go over best and ask for advice when your hippo gets diarrhea.
Then the day comes when there are squeals and mewling roars from outside when you leave your hippo one day while it is lounging in the kiddie pool. By the time you get outside, all that is left is an upturned pool and a giant hole in your fence. He can’t help then. Neither can the police. Neither can the animal control the police refer you to. When you finally get around to hiring a private detective to help you look, the only clue he can find is what might be a scale. When you try calling the rare animal collector to help identify it, you get a message that the phone number is no longer in use.
Someday the detective may piece together what happened to your precious pet. But you personally doubt you’ll ever be reunited.
THE END
When you get back to your cat, there’s a big hole in the fence and your cat is gone. Your brother says the hole is the same size as your cat, and that it looks like an escape.
You’re sure there’s no way your cat could have made a hole that big in a fence, though, and besides, everyone knows cats can climb out of fences. They wouldn’t need to crash through.
You look and look and put out ads and lost cat posters, but never hear anything from your kitty again.
THE END
You look up in time to see a crocodile crashing through your fence, headed right for your hippo. You look wildly around, trying to find a way to protect you both from this fierce animal, but before you can move, a pair of wings whips your face.
“I do hate doing this,” a deep voice murmurs in your ear. “Please understand I never wished you involved.” Slender fingers pinch against your neck and you black out.
When you wake again, you are bound in a chair. The rare animal collector sits nearby.
“Again, I apologize,” he says. “But you have no idea how long I have been searching for a Midget Woolly Hippopotamus. They are so rare that only a few have even heard rumor of their existence, and those who have—” His face hardens. “—make it their goal to be a hindrance. But please, do not consider yourself a prisoner.” He pulls a knife from his boot and cuts your ropes. “As long as you stay in this cabin, you should be perfectly safe.”
From the corner of your eye, you see what looks like a furled umbrella brandishing beyond the window in the steel door behind your captor.
Wait and look for a chance to rescue your hippo
The vet examines your kitten for a very long time, growing quieter the longer she goes. You are getting very nervous when she finally finishes and comes over. You try desperately to read the expression on her face, but it’s not like any you’ve seen before.
“Have you noticed anything unusual about your pet?” she asks.
“It’s tail is shorter than most cats,” you admit.
“What about behavior?” she says.
“Well…my kitten is a picky eater. But that may be because of its teeth. They’re a little larger than normal. I keep expecting her to grow into them. And she doesn’t climb much. In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen her use her claws at all.”
The vet nods.
You wait.
“I’m not sure how to tell you this…but your kitten isn’t a cat. In fact, it looks a lot like a hippopotamus.”
“A what?!” you say.
“A hippopotamus. Maybe a pygmy hippopotamus, it’s so small.”
“A pygmy hippopotamus is furry?”
“Maybe not. And under all that fur it has a very dainty muzzle and feet for what I think of a hippopotamus. I’m not an expert in wild animals. I can say for certaint, though, it is not a cat. I could give you a referral to an exotic animal veterinarian clinic, but a zookeeper might be a better bet.”
Go to a vet for exotic animals
The lady you got your kitten from lives just across town. You saw the “Free Kittens” sign when you were out garage saling. You remember her as quite nice and very concerned about the kitten going to a good home. She asked a lot of questions before letting you pick one.
Today you have questions for her.
You find her in her watering hanging pots in front of her house. She listens very closely, and bites her lip.
“I suppose I shall have to tell you,” she says eventually. “But you must keep it a secret.” Glancing around, she scurries to the gate leading to the backyard, waving for you to follow. In the back, half a dozen very fat cats lounge about or poke through the grass.
“I wish I could keep them all,” the lady admits, “But they do eat so much. And once they’re adults, they can be quite loud. You see, they aren’t actually cats. They’re Woolly Midget Hippopotami. They’re very rare, and considered to be a myth by the few scientists who have heard of them. Well, mostly. There are a few individuals who know better, but encourage that belief. The poor dears have enemies in high places. You must help me keep them safe from such scoundrels.”
Absolutely. You will keep your not-cat a secret to protect the precious thing.
“Amazing. Never seen anything like it,” says the vet.
“You mean you don’t know what it is?” you ask.
“Nonsense! You told me yourself it’s a hippopotamus. Now, time for a shave.”
“Wait—what?” you stammer.
“Hippos are not hairy. Therefore, this hippo needs to be shaved.”
“But it is hairy. Does that mean it’s not a hippo?”
The vet waves his electric razor. “Make up your mind. Is it a hippo or not?”
Go ahead. This hippo needs a shave.
No, don’t! I don’t know what kind of animal it is, but it is hairy
“I’m curious about what you do,” you tell him. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“Ah, well, it is not so different from a zoo, really. Or a conservation program, you might say. Besides collecting rare animals, I endeavor my best to continue their heritage. For example, I have had partial success in breeding snow leopards. None have managed a live birth yet, but I hope to soon. Overall, a greater success rate than normal programs. Since it’s a private venture, I have freedom to be selective after my own tastes and avoid a good deal of red tape.”
As he goes on about the contributions he’s made to preserving species and the expeditions he’s made into remote regions in search of specimens, you continue to look around. Every time you turn your head, something new catches you eye: a globe marked with such unfamiliar names as ‘Ropen’ and ‘Mbeses’; an interwoven feather hanging over a plaque promoting humane harvest of feathers from living birds of paradise; a coelecanth in formaldehyde in a display on discovering species thought to be extinct. Under a seat made from the ivory of narwhales excavated from the sea bottom and cloth made from Spruce Fur Moss Spider silk, you even see a stuffed crocodile with shiny green marble eyes.
The collector is wrapping up his spiel by telling about the videos he posts online for the learning and enlightenment of the public.
The vet scratches his beard. “I see your point. Start with what you know. And it is hairy.” He grins. “A hairy mystery. Tell you what. This pet of yours would make a great addition to science. Just think—a new species, available to study. I know a scientist group that would pay you for your hairy mystery. They might even let me post a video first on my rarest cases YouTube channel. What do you say?”
Contribute your pet to science
You dash indoors and jump into a shower to hide. The only sound you can hear there is the drip-drip-drip of the showerhead slowly soaking your shirt. When you finally come out, the only thing left in the yard is a giant hole in your fence and a trampled kiddie pool. You never do figure out what happened to your hippo.
THE END
His comment about a video does give you an idea, though. You start recording un-cat videos of both your pet’s cute behavior and your own investigations—what it likes to eat, what it can do, all the proofs you are seeing that it really is something besides a cat. Your start your own YouTube channel. It hits off. Not quite viral, but close.
One night you hear a noise at the door. Someone is breaking in! You rouse your pet, which is roughly the size of a wagon now. “Get him!” you whisper. It charges toward the intruder, mouth open just like you trained it. You barely get your camera out in time to catch some footage of an intruder fleeing, your hairy mystery in pursuit all the way to the edge of the road. This will be a great addition to your channel!
THE END
You bring him home and introduce him to your pet.
He squats down down and gently runs his hands over the curious creature nuzzling him hello.
“An authentic Woolly Midget Hippopotamus. I have searched the Orinoco many times, but never been able to see one.” He smiles up at you. “You are very fortunate.”
After inspecting your hippo, he declares it in decent health for its current diet and starts prescribing proper foods and baths. “Of course,” he says, “You realize there is some speculation, but knowing what the animal is and where it comes from will help finding the proper balance. You must take notes on everything and adjust accordingly. Now if only we could find a breeding pair. Wherever did you come by one in the first place?”
Tell him about the lady across town who gave you a ‘free kitten’
Be vague and congenially part ways
The responses you get range the gamut: baby dinosaur, hairy hippo, large muzzled grizzly, genetically engineered dog. Soon, a whole online community springs up over speculating over what your pet is and how you should be caring for it. The sensation is exciting, but exhausting. Almost every day brings threats to report you to animal welfare, and even more offers to buy the mystery animal off your hands. You are beginning to wonder if it would be better to turn of your internet and lock the door on the world—or better, move to a deserted island to recuperate. You wait too long, however, and one day wake to find your pet missing. You never find out if the thief was an overzealous animal lover or someone who got tired of angling for a sale.
THE END
You are worn out and frustrated from your fruitless day. Your precious pet comes up to where you’re flopped on the couch and nuzzles your hand. A slight rumble sounds deep inside it. Its first purr! After a few minutes of petting, you feel better, but realize you haven’t solved anything.
Everything is on the internet. Post a picture online and see if anyone recognizes what your pet is
No one else appreciates pussy properly! They don’t deserve to even know about your pet.
Your pet quickly catches on to the idea of hiding behind the couch. You make sure anytime someone comes over, you give the command to hide. Occasionally someone will try to bring up your cat, but you quickly turn the conversation.
In time the chubby fuzzball grows too large to fit behind the sofa, and is not quite a comfortable fit in the closet. That’s okay, though, because by then you have managed to discouraged all but the most necessary visitors from ever stopping by.
The poor creature does seem a bit droopy from being cooped up inside all the time, but you’ll fix that. Extra plants and a full-sized skylight in the living room will make it so you never have to miss being outdoors again.
THE END
Contribute Your Pet to Science
You are allowed to tour the scientist’s facilities when your bring your pet in. The tour is reassuring—the living quarters look comfortable and spacious, and the staff promise the only experimenting will be along the lines of what food to feed this new animal and what types of actions it is capable of performing. They promise to allow you to visit. Sad but hoping for the best, you say goodbye.
The scientist stay true to their word, keeping you up to date with their discoveries and letting you visit as often as you can make the trip. Your former pet seems in good spirits. In time, they discover that it is not a completely new species, but one whose existence is greatly disputed among the few who had heard of it: a Woolly Midget Hippopotamus. From studying your former pet the scientist hope to be able to locate more in the wild. They plan on giving the species a Latinized form of your name in honor of your generous contribution.
THE END
You step inside the cloth booth and blink at the displays there. Glass cases hold glossy newts and salamanders, frames filled with photos of creatures and displays made from butterflies line the walls, and a pair of blue flamingos guard a pedestal with the oddest looking skull you have ever seen. There are protrusions poking out of it at almost every angle.
“Cousin to a warthog,” says a soft, deep voice. You look over to the side of the tent and see a gaunt man securing a large golden eagle to its perch.
“That one’s alive,” you say, pointing to the bird.
“Most of my collection is,” he says, a smile wafting across his face. “For the sake of simplicity, though, I travel mainly with the exceptions.” He glides over and pats the skull. “Collected from the skeletal remains I found in Southeast Asia.” He strokes the pale fur beneath it. “Kleng here died of old age. And these,” he gestures to the butterflies , “I raise from caterpillars. Now tell me about yourself. Do you have any special interests, or did you stop by from general curiosity?”
Tell him about your unusual pet
Find out more about his collecting
Your pet doesn’t want to sit still for the safety razor, but you hold on, whispering reassurances and eventually good manners win the day. When at last the fluffy cuteness is removed, you stare with amazement. Your pet really is a miniature hippo! A bit more delicate across the features than usual, and with skin altering pink and pale bluish white where its fur was different colors, but a hippo nonetheless. You feel embarrassed for not noticing this much sooner.
“Now, I don’t have much experience with hippopotomi, but I can tell you that they need water. Water and mud baths. Also, you’ll need to make feeding changes. Try fresh fruits and vegetables supplemented by rabbit food to begin, until I’ve more opportunity to do some research. I’ll be keeping in touch.”
Your—hippo—is relieved to finally get back home, and is delighted to take the baths you prepare. Feeding goes fairly well, but your pet does not appreciate the hole you dig in the back yard and spray down. In fact, it rarely steps outside at all any more. You decide it needs help getting used to the change in the backyard. Picking it up, you carry your pet out into the sunshine and dump it into the mud. The mud explosion that follows leaves you as muddy as the hippo, and the hippo cowering under the porch.
By the time the vet calls back a few days later for an update, the poor hippo’s skin has broken into a painful rash. After listening carefully to your explanations, the vet says, “Interesting. That sounds like a sunburn. It’s on account of not taking mud baths, but perhaps that type of hippo relies on its fur to protect it instead. Never worry, I have a lotion that should help with that.”
The lotion does help with the sunburn, but causes skin discoloration and itching.
“Not to worry,” he says when you call again. “I have something for that, too.”
You wonder how many counter remedies you will need before your hippo’s fur grows back. You hope it will not take too long.
THE END
His eyes gleam with interest and he strokes his chin as he listens.
“I have heard rumors about such things,” he says, “But have never seen one in person. A real, live Woolly Miniature Hippopotamus,” he murmurs. “Would you give me the honor of meeting it in person?”
Yes, come and see for yourself
No, I’m just looking for information
Your captor pays you no mind once delivering his speech, so it is easy to sneak over to the door. Your heart pounds as you ease it open.
Someone snatches you from the other side, pulls you through, and slams it shut.
“Quick, it won’t stay down for long.” You stare in disbelief at the lady who gave you a free ‘kitten’ and started all this. She is leaning the point of her umbrella into a flipped monitor lizard that seems slightly stunned. “People like him put on a good show, but they’re only interested in personal gain. This time we’ve caught red-handed in kidnapping, though. If you hurry and file abduction and theft claims, we may be able to nab him before he sneaks away with poor little Cocofiber.”
Cocofiber? That is NOT what you named your pet. “How did you find me, anyway?” you whisper as you duck and sneak out the exit.
“I heard Dr. Zesiro was in town, and took a walk by your place just to make sure you and little Cocofiber were okay. When I saw the wreck outside, I immediately borrowed a friend’s pig to track you down.”
At the police station you fill in paperwork as fast as you can. There is no way to speed up the questioning process before they head out. By the time they finally go armed with search warrants, the air pod Dr. Zesiro brought you to is lifted. Eventually he is brought to trial for his crimes against you, but is let go due to lack of evidence. You wouldn’t mind so much if only your pet could have been recovered.
“Never mind,” your new friend comforts, patting you on the arm with her umbrella’s handle. “We’ll get him yet. What you need to cheer you up is a sloth glider.”
THE END
Octopencil 