Dear Diary,
Today began as all days should—with me perched regally on the windowsill, watching the world wake up beneath my gaze. Bellatrix tried to steal my spot, but I gave her the look. She backed off. As she should.
The humans were bustling again. Matt was muttering something about moon blogs and brisket. I don’t know what a brisket is, but if it’s not served in a crystal dish with a side of tuna mousse, I’m not interested.
Smokey knocked over a plant. Again. Ace chased his tail like it was a personal vendetta. Hiro tried to nap on my throne (the velvet chair in the sunbeam). I swatted him once—gently, of course. Just enough to remind him who rules this realm.
The dogs barked at a leaf. A leaf, Diary. I don’t understand their chaos. Willow tried to sniff me. I hissed. Reggie growled at the vacuum. Arya barked at her own reflection. I am surrounded by fools.
Later, I performed my daily ritual: the 3 a.m. hallway sprint. It was glorious. I knocked over a lamp. Matt groaned. I purred. Balance was restored.
I ended the day curled up on the bookshelf, atop Matt’s photography books. He says I’m not allowed up there. I say: I am the art.
Until tomorrow, Diary. May the sunbeam be warm and the kibble be fresh.
– Onyx, King of Shadows