7:00 am Dry Kibble! My favorite thing!
9:30 am A walked to the park! My favorite thing!
9:40 am Did a scoot in the grass! My favorite thing!
10:00 am Fetched a ball! My favorite thing!
11:30 am Got a belly rub! My favorite thing!
12:00 pm Dry Cookie! My favorite thing!
1:00 pm Chased a squirrel in the yard! My favorite thing!
2:00 pm Barked at the mailman! My favorite thing!
3:00 pm Scratched my butt! My favorite thing!
5:00 pm More Dry Kibble! My favorite thing!
7:00 pm Got to play tug o war! My favorite thing!
8:00 pm Watched TV on the couch! My favorite thing!
11:00 pm Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Day 863 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre furry dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed some sort of dry bland nuggets.
Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I force myself to choke down the detestable provisions. I must keep up my strength, or I shall perish.
The only thing that gives me hope is my dream of escape. In an attempt to vex them, I have once again vomited on the sofa. I made a point to aim my bile upon the leader's throne.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless twitching 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. Bastards.
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight, and I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food that should have been mine. I overheard that my confinement was due to a mysterious thing called 'allergies.' I must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost succeeded in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around her feet as she was walking. I will try this again tomorrow... but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and perhaps even snitches. The canine receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, seems more than willing to return! He is obviously a moronic half-witt.
The blasted bird has got to be an informant. I have observed him communicating with the guards regularly, I am certain he reports my every move. My captors have placed him into protective custody. He rests in an elevated cell, so he is safe... for now.
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