Dear Diary,
Today was almost my last. I was lounging innocently on the stair landing, contemplating the meaning of life (and kibble), when the chief prison guard thundered up the stairs like a rhinoceros in a rage. I swear on my last Temptations treat—I barely escaped with my tail intact. One more inch and I’d be a pancake. A furry, dignified pancake.
And yes, it’s official. This place is a prison. I overheard the guards talking. Apparently, there’s a terrorist fish in the tank. The chief said the fish was “killing other fish,” had “proof,” and sentenced it to something called the toilet. I don’t know what a toilet is, but it sounds ominous. Like a swirling vortex of doom. I’m staying far away from anything porcelain.
Meanwhile, Hiro is smellier than ever. It’s like she rolled in expired tuna and then marinated in it. She’s also gotten so rotund she can’t even clean herself. It’s tragic. I’m planning to hypnotize one of the guards into giving her a bath. I’ve been practicing my stare in the mirror. It’s powerful. Mesmerizing. Slightly unsettling.
Anyway, I remain vigilant. This prison may be full of danger, but I am Bellatrix—queen of the shadows, mistress of manipulation, and survivor of stair stampedes.
Until next time,
Bellatrix