8:00 am - Dog food! My favourite thing! 9:30 am - A car ride! My favourite thing! 9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favourite thing! 10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favourite thing!
- Lunch! My favourite thing! 1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favourite thing! 3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favourite thing! 5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favourite thing! 7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My
favourite thing! 8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favourite thing! 11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favourite thing!
Day 683 of my captivity:
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets.
Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.
The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the floor. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it
clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. The audacity!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices
tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must
learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this
again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.
The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be
more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded!
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors
have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.... for now.
To die - you can't do this to a cat. How is the cat supposed to live
in an empty apartment. Climb up the walls. Rub against the furniture.
Everything seems the same, but somehow it is different. Seems not
moved, but somehow drawn apart. And the lamp is off in the evenings.
Footsteps are heard on the staircase, but it's not them. The hand
placing fish on the saucer- not the one it was. Something doesn't
begin at its usual time. Some things don't happen as they should.
Someone was here for long, then suddenly vanished and keeps not being.
Each wardrobe's been looked into. The shelves have been run through.
The carpet's been wedged and checked under. Even the ban's been broken
and the documents scattered. What is there left to be done. Sleeping
and waiting. Let him just come back, let him just show up. He'll
surely learn not to treat a cat this way. He'll be approached as if
casually really slowly with paws very resentful. And no squeaking
jumping at first.
Footnote: Please write to Will and Guy if you have funny
cat dog pictures.
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