He had found a box, containing a letter with a strange poem and a very specific set of instructions detailing that he had somehow been cursed, he’d been provided with a diaper in the box, and then almost immediately after he had put those two things away he had completely and utterly wet himself, without any sign of him needing to relieve himself whatsoever.
The fox leaned over, peeking around the doorframe of his laundry room and gazed into the living room, suspiciously eyeing the corner of the brown box just visible from his point of view.
He spoke aloud, his voice quavering only a little bit as he said indignantly, ”I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’m not finding this funny! If you’re drugging me or cursing me or whatever this is not cool!”