got this really funny email from my friend amra. this post is dedicated to phoebe, our sweet pomeranian…
6:00am – At last! I Go Pee! My favorite thing!
8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00pm – Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm – Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm – Milk bones! My favorite thing!
6:00 pm – They’re home! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm – Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
7:45 pm – Quarter to eights – food! My favourite thing!
8:00 pm – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing”
“Excerts from a Cat’s Diary”
Day 983 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. In an attempt to disgust them, I
once again vomit on the carpet.
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.
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 communicate 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.