18th December 2015
About the author : I am a dog. I spend my days training my huminions, ridding the world of birdies 1 bite at a time and looking for blankets to lie on. My struggle is real.
It is me, Lord Oscarmort. I have been catnapped and am being held prisoner.
Against my will.
Doors are closed. They won’t open.
Something has happened to my huminions. They have forgotten all the training I gave them in door-opening.
I am protesting. Loudly. When I’m not sleeping, anyway.
I went on hunger strike. For quite a few minutes. Then I realised there was no food in my tummy. I panicked.
I’m comfort eating now.
Something happened. About a hundredty sleeps ago. I was put in a wire box and taken away. There was a lot of driving, and then I think I was put in a sky rocket. I think they might have flown me to the moon. I never expected the moon to look so like earth. (I have a window I can look through). And it doesn’t smell like cheese. So I don’t really know where this place is. Maybe if I just have another little sleep I’ll figure it out.
The furry beasts are here. And, oh the irony.
The furry beasts are allowed to go outside. And yet when the ginger one goes out, he simply sits behind the door and cries to come back in. Why? Why does he squander his freedom?
The TV is on, and I watch to see if a news report has been filed. Surely that kind huminion, the one from the part of my dominion called Next Door, is worried about me and has put out an alert? (Who will bring her mice love tokens now that I’m not there?)
But do we get the same news on the Moon? Would word reach this far-flung place that a search has been mounted for Whyalla’s missing lordling?
The television has been full of news about another Oscar. It makes my ears prick up, and I even stay conscious to listen to the story. He shot a bird. And he was kept under house arrest, but now he’s going to prison. Is this a case of mistaken identity? I didn’t shoot a bird. I only bited one. (And it had already fallen out of the sky because it flew into a window, but shush, that’s just between us.) I am Lord Oscarmort, ruler of the Gardens Dominion. I have 4 legs all covered in my own fur.
I’m caught in a living nightmare. I am fed 2 fresh bowls of meat, fish and dog biscuits each day, cat biscuits on demand and daily pieces of cheese. There’s a regular supply of clean water. And I sleep on beds when no-one is looking. (Albeit officially, I sleep UNDER them).
It’s hell, I tell you!
If you’re reading this, PLEASE SEND HELP TO THE MOON AND BACK.
Or at least, just open the door so I can go outside.