MY FAVOURITE THING

It’s not original – it’s done its endless rounds on the internet, but it’s still one of my all-time favourites.

EXCERPTS FROM A DOG’S DIARY . . . 

8:00 am – Dog food.  My favourite thing!

9:30 am – A car ride.  My favourite thing!

9:40 am – A walk in the park.  My favourite thing!

10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted.  My favourite thing!

12:00 pm – Lunch.  My favourite thing!

1:00 pm – Played in the yard. My favourite thing!

3:00 pm – Wagged my tail.  My favourite thing!

5:00 pm – Raw, meaty bones.  My favourite thing!

7:00 pm – Got to play ball.  My favourite thing!

8:00 pm – Wow!  Watched TV with the people.  My favourite thing!

11:00 pm – Sleeping on the bed.  My favourite thing!

EXCERPTS FROM A CAT’S DIARY . . .

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet.  I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of.  However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am.   The Gits !

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight.  I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event.  However, I could hear the noises and smell the food.  I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies.’  I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking.  I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.  The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return.  He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant.  I observe him communicating with the guards regularly.  I am certain that he reports my every move.  My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

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