These hoo-mons are such strange, temperamental oiks. I can’t wait to go outside again. Unfortunately, getting these idiots I live with to understand the simple command ‘open the door’ is much harder than you’d think.
Curiosity did not kill me. I ventured beyond the known world and survived. It is quite possible that what I have suspected for some time may in fact be true – I, am a God.
Until next time worshippers.
I arrived just over a year ago. Back then I was the very definition of a Scaredy Cat, so timid I wouldn’t say meow to a toy duck. In fact, I spent the first month at my new home hidden behind a cupboard. It used to take the hoo-mons a good 15 – 30 minutes to coax me out for some food. I didn’t know them then, I preferred to skulk out at night and eat while everyone was in bed. They got me a brand new basket to sleep in, but I was having none of it – nothing could be better than the security of being uncomfortably stuffed into a narrow space, where casually passing predators would be unlikely to see me.
I can still remember the first time the male one spent nearly an hour awkwardly sat on the floor coaxing me out of my hidey-hole, his voice becoming ever so softer with each inch I slowly got closer until I was adorably rolling around on the floor as he tickled me and fed me treats. Apparently his back was aching for a whole week after that, but I over-heard him say it was worth it. I felt sorry for him, but I couldn’t help but continue my shy little routine every night, it’s just the coy lil’ cutsie I am.
Then, one day, a great big tower appeared. Although cautious of it at first, I quickly made it my new abode – I’m in the penthouse now darling, six levels of joy! Moving into my own little mansion changed me, it showed me the diva I was always born to be. Not long after, I slowly came to realise that the hoo-mons were actually my servants – and to think, I had been treating them as equals! How embarrassing.
I have since programmed them relatively well, making them firmly aware of when I need stroking and tickling, however getting them to dish out the tuna on command still seems to need more work. Although they have finally learned I want it every day, no matter how much I shout at them I still can’t seem to make them get it for me whenever I want. Stupid hoo-mons, maybe they only know how to use a tin opener after 5 o’clock? If I could, I would definitely get them replaced, but not before having them whipped and shredded into a thousand slices of Idiot steaks. Ahhh no, I’m just kidding.
Until next time worshippers.
My name is Lady Mia Pussington and this is my journal. Here you will read the chronicle of my rise and rise as a diva, from humble beginnings as a scaredy-cat to supreme ruler of the known universe, which as far as I can tell does not extend much further beyond our back garden.