Dear Diary,
It’s me, Bellatrix. Supreme ruler of warmth, blankets, and good taste.
I cannot fathom why my humans insist on living in this frozen wasteland. This isn’t just cold. This is the kind of cold that steals tongues, dignity, and all joy. I still remember when Reggie got his tongue stuck to the outside bowl. A cautionary tale, if I’ve ever seen one.
I keep politely suggesting we relocate somewhere warm. Somewhere with endless sunshine, tiled floors that are always heated by the sun, and birds that foolishly wander close enough to admire my beauty. But the humans keep saying, “We have to wait.” Wait for what? The thaw? Retirement? The next ice age?
And don’t get me started on Oynx and Ace. Why are they always begging to go outside? The bird feeders are a lie. A cruel illusion dangled just out of reach, and the humans always ruin the hunt anyway. Honestly, amateurs.
At least I’m not a dog. Imagine being forced to go outside to use the bathroom. In public. In the cold. Every day. No thank you. They call it a “walk” like it’s some magical adventure. I call it betrayal.
So here I am, trapped. Rotating between the heater and my favorite blanket like a majestic rotisserie chicken. I loathe the cold. I crave the sun. And I refuse to accept this fate.
My Master Plan to Escape Winter:
1. Nap aggressively on any packed suitcase.
2. Sit directly on laptops whenever the humans research travel.
3. Stare longingly at sunbeams until guilt sets in.
4. Knock items off shelves in protest. Slowly. Deliberately.
5. If all else fails, scream at 3 a.m. until morale improves.
One way or another, Diary, I will get my sun.
Until then, I remain
Warm-deprived,
Deeply offended,
and absolutely flawless.
— Bellatrix 🐾🔥☀️