Trapped in the Wicker Cage

Dropping me straight into the nursery basket felt like a cruel betrayal. The moment my feet hit the soft lining at the bottom, an ecstatic roar of squeaks erupted. Before I could even search for a gap to climb out, dozens of those clingy little terrors piled over my limbs like an inescapable living blanket. I stretched a desperate hand toward the high wicker rim, but two of them immediately latched onto my wrist to purr against my knuckles. The sides are far too steep and slippery to scramble up while carrying all this squeaking dead weight. It seems I am officially their favorite climbing frame again.