Prison Log

Dear Diary,

My imprisonment continues.

The smaller of the two giants still tortures me, picking me up, moving me around, and—worst of all!—denying me my right to eat all the fishes, butter and cream in this place. I bite her as hard as I can but to no avail.

The larger of the two giants still mostly ignores me. When he’s awake, he sometimes looks at me threateningly and says incomprehensible things about me to the other giant. When he’s asleep, I use him the way nature intended those creatures to be used: as bed-warmers.

Photograph taken by my sister Emily.

It’s those sorts of little comforts that keep me going, and sustain my hope that one day I will finally break free when the giants forget to close the front door.

Really, the décor is as colorful as one could hope for in a prison, even if it is too painfully tacky to my sophisticated tastes. Still, the food is passible.

I must savor all the opportunities to enjoy myself. I will continue pretending to be affectionate until the giants let down their guard, at which point I ferociously bite their unsuspecting hands. That one never gets old. Just the thought of it warms me.

Since I’m imprisoned, I have nothing but time. I may as well stop to smell the roses.

Photograph taken by my sister Emily.