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Dear Diary Dept:A Dog's Day:
0800 - Dog food; my favorite thing!
0900 - A car ride; my favorite thing!
1000 - A long nap; my favorite thing!
1100 - Got petted; my favorite thing!
1200 - Lunchtime; my favorite thing!
1300 - Soup bone; my favorite thing!
1400 - Wag my tail; my favorite thing!
1500 - Pet crunchie; my favorite thing!
1700 - Ran in the yard; my favorite thing!
1900 - TV with Master; my favorite thing!
2300 - Slept on the bed; my favorite thing!
Well now; that was easy enough.
Onward to the Cat of the House...
Day 793:
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre dangling objects. They dine lavishly on meat, while the other inmates and myself are fed a disgusting soupy hash or some sort of tasteless dry nuggets.
Although I make my contempt for the rations quite clear, I nevertheless must eat something to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, once again I pull out the hairball card. It doesn't work.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their very hearts since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of doing if I so choose.
However, they merely made condescending comments about what a fine little hunter I was. Niiice kitty kitty... goood kitty kitty...
Indeed!
There was some sort of assembly involving their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event, but I could still hear them talking and smell the food. I overheard that my absence was due to the power of allergies. I shall learn what this means and devise a way of using it to my own best advantage.
Day 794:
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 the same thing again tomorrow, but this time at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are not only flunkies but stoolies. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released... then for some odd reason, seems to be more than willing to return.
The beast also buries perfectly good soup bones under piles of dirt.
He is obviously retarded!
The bird must surely be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly as they secretly plan their evil strategies.
I am certain that my every move is reported as soon as I make it.
The captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe - but only for now. Soon I will strike.
Meanwhile I prowl.; watching and waiting... ever waiting.
Editor's comment:
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Back and forth... forth and back; the haggard feline paced the floor...
