Start time: 9:20pm
I thought I had come up with a clever way of finding random pictures on the internet to base my practices on….but apparently not. The plan was to just put the word “pictures” in Google, roll 1 d10 to select the page #, and 2 more d10 to randomly select the picture number for that page (nothing over 25), and voila! A great picture that would inspire me to write.
All that came up were LOL Cats pictures.
I need a new plan, but for now, I have a picture to work with. Ignore the writing on it, but if you do read it and understand why its funny, please explain it to me. So please, give me your feed back, be honest, but not mean please (I’m very sensitive you know).
Today began like every other day. I woke up to my human servant’s loud noise maker going off and the bed shaking with the movement of him leaving the warmth of his many skins to turn it off and groom himself in preparation for the day.
Sleeping on his bed always pleases me for the many skins reminded me of what a great hunter he must be to have caught and killed creatures so much bigger than him. This must have been a long time ago, as they have long since lost their scent and I cannot figure out what kind of animal they must have come from. They must have lived in warm climates, for all the skins have short hair on them, and lived in a meadow somewhere because every once in a while their fur will exude the scent of some strange flower that I cannot recognize, but that is all I can gather.
He goes into another area of our shelter, which is apparently called a “shit-hole apartment” in his strange language, and I hear the running of the stream in which he bathes himself every day. Apparently his tongue in not suitable for grooming himself, so his kind have had to find other means of maintaining proper hygiene. It makes me pity him, and sometimes when his service has been especially pleasing, I will honor him by trying to groom him myself. His skin is soft and doesn’t have much fur on it, which is why he must have so many different kinds of furs to cover himself with or sleep under. It is very unfortunate for his kind. He is unaccustomed to being groomed, though, and can only handle it for a short while. This is fine with me, for though I’ve grown accustomed to his strange scent, his skin has a strange taste to it that I do not like.
I move to a spot on his bed that is warm from the sunshine streaming in through the hole in the shelter that has some clear growth covering it and is also rather shoddily boarded up with skinny pieces of wood. Although it is not what one might enjoy looking at, it does the job for no cold seeps through the cracks in winter.
I stretch out on his bed, and continue to warm myself while I listen to his morning noises. Finally I hear the familiar noise of him leaving the “shit-hole apartment” and decide to make sure no creatures crept in while he was leaving. I trust only myself when it comes to the security of our shelter.
I jump off the bed, landing gracefully onto the wood floor, if I do say so myself. I move slowly and silently through the shelter, checking the air above and the floor below for an unfamiliar scent while simultaneously checking the ground for unfamiliar tracks.
I first check the area where we go to relieve ourselves, and after making sure the area was secure I proceeded to do so, as is my morning ritual. When I am through I always make sure I cover what is left behind in order to completely hide my scent so no predator will know that I am here and lie in wait for me, or try to track me. I then continue through the shelter.
The area where he spends most of his time being amused by little people in a box is untainted with foreign smells. I sit and stare at the box to see if the people inside will come out to amuse me, but obviously they do not feel worthy of my presence and they continue to hide themselves from me. They are probably right to do so, for if they failed to please me I might eat one of them as punishment. They are right to fear me.
I move into the area where my servant stores his kills to be eaten when he is ready to eat them….and freeze. There is something here. Something unfamiliar. Something…..unsettling. I must investigate.
I put my nose to the air and follow the strange scent through this room. It is not a very big room, and so it doesn’t take me long to realize that it is in the direction of where my food and water is kept. This is not good, not good at all.
I approach the food my servant has left out for me, which is part of his start of the day ritual. I sniff around the container he has it in carefully and notice that the delicious smell of meat and fish is not there, but has been replaced by something slightly….tangy. I reach a paw in to see what happens if I touch it, realizing this may well mean some serious cleaning of this paw later one. Slowly, carefully I lower my paw into the container and touch it. it moves ever so slightly….more shifts. Whatever this new creature is, its been torn into little bits and pieces, and must be old for it is completely dry!
Once again I reach in my paw, and try to get some of the food out so I may investigate without messing up my whiskers. Some of the bits of this creature fall to the ground with a strange, hard noise. I move it around a bit, and confirm that this creature is really dead. I then lower my mouth to the bits and take a nibble. Horrified, I rear up onto my hind legs, getting my face as far away from it as I can as quickly as possible! It is then that I make the horrible realization that my servant has left fake food out for me to eat instead of my usual bits of meat and fish!
When I am able to move again after my terrible realization, I quickly cleanse my mouth of the foul taste with water that is (thankfully) pure and fresh. I then sit and ponder about my course of action. Was this deliberate? Did he think I would be pleased with this change? Was this some sort of mistake? Or did he merely fail in his hunting efforts and thought that by giving me something that he mistakenly thought would pass for food, I would not notice?
I realized what I must do, and part of it I dreaded, but the servant must be trained. I grabbed a mouthful of food and ran through the shelter and onto his bed. I did this a few times, and when I had enough on his bed to make a point, I again cleansed my mouth with water. I drank more than I should have, but the water was not wasted. After the water ran through my body and it was time for it to leave, I made my way back to his bed and let the water out in the same place I put the substance he thought might pass for food.
He should get the hint.
Exhausted by the days excitement, I made my way back to the place in the shelter where the little people lived in the box. I jumped up onto the object that my servant liked to sit down on, curled up, and closed my eyes. Training is hard work.
End time: 10:30