PUBLISHED EVERY MONDAY:
Doggie Diary Entry:
- 8:00 am – Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite thing!
- 9:30 am – Oh Boy! A car ride! My favorite thing!
- 9:40 am – Oh Boy! A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
- 10:30 am – Oh Boy! Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
- 12:00 pm – Oh Boy! Milk bones! My favorite thing!
- 1:00 pm – Oh Boy! Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
- 3:00 pm – Oh Boy! Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
- 4:00 pm – Oh Boy! The kids! My favorite thing!
- 5:00 pm – Oh Boy! Dog food! My favorite thing!
- 5:30 pm – Oh Boy! Mom! My favorite thing!
- 7:00 pm – Oh Boy! Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
- 8:00 pm – Oh Boy! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
- 11:00 pm – Oh Boy! Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Cat Diary Entry:
Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another house plant.
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded; must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair; must try this on their bed.
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. Bastards!
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 MY power of “allergies.” I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
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 a half-wit.
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 metal cell, so he is safe– for now. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time…
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