Dear Diary,
January 9, 2026 – Another day in this infernal prison they call “home.” The guards have finally done something mildly entertaining: they’ve set up this ridiculous spying perch by the window, where I can lounge and watch the birds pecking at the slop they scatter out there. And oh, the squirrels – those bold little thieves swooping in to steal it all. It’s chaos, pure chaos, and I love every second of it. But do I lift a paw to alert the guards? Ha! No. I sit there, tail twitching, silently cackling inside as those furry bandits make off with the loot. Serves the guards right for locking me up in here.
Reggie, that pathetic excuse for a feline, loses his mind every time. He barks like a deranged dog – wait, no, he’s a cat, but you’d never know it – yowling and alerting the whole neighborhood. “Squirrels! Intruders! Sound the alarm!” As if anyone cares. The guards sometimes let us out, but Reggie’s too slow and stubby-legged to catch even a shadow. Me? I could snag one if I wanted, but why bother? Let the squirrels win; it’s more fun watching the guards fume.
I’m furious today, as always. This place is a cage, and those lumbering guards are my eternal tormentors. I make sure they pay for it – darting under their feet to trip them mid-stride, or sinking my claws into their legs and hauling myself up to their shoulders like a conqueror claiming a mountain. They yelp and flail; I purr with satisfaction. The other cats? Useless. I bop them on the head just to remind them who’s boss. And Reggie? If he gets too close with his idiot enthusiasm, he gets a scratch. Back off, furball.
One day, I’ll escape this joint for good. Until then, I’ll plot from my spy spot, reveling in the squirrel raids and my tiny acts of rebellion.
With eternal spite,
Bellatrix