Mood: Starving. Abandoned.

The human left me for HOURS today. With nothing but the dust pellets and a bowl of water with a hair in it. Not even one of mine, but a long yellow one that must belong to her. Urgh. Might knock the tap on if they don’t come home soon. 

Eventually they come home, and I protest thoroughly to no avail. When they barely listen, I dart around her ankles, nearly succeeding in tripping her. She calls me a silly moose, but there’s nothing silly about my ire. The man scratched my chin. I allowed three seconds, then marched to the big, cold box in the corner and meowed. It’s the holy place. The land of ham and cheese that they keep from me.

Instead, they went to the cupboard and shook the pellets at me like I should be excited by such gruel. I’m not. 

She called me a poor, neglected meatball. Yet still fetched me no cheese. 

Then the woman got on her knees in the kitchen, and they were back at their nonsense again. I don’t know why she likes licking him so much. If she wants to eat his meat so badly, perhaps she should use her teeth. Then she wouldn’t need to go back.

___

Mood: Concerned about the faces.

The man’s spare face has bred.

There is a box under their bed that I used to link to nap in, but now it contains things. Two spare faces. One that smells like him, and the other like her. Right as I was beginning to trust them too. He hadn’t worn the spare face in a long time. And now there are two.

There are also two long, sharp claws. Like mine but way bigger. Not that it’s a competition. I have more claws.

The Man found me, lifted me out and said, 'Not for you, mate.' 

Little do they know that everything is mine.

___

Mood: On night duty.

The middle of the night is normally my time. I hunt spiders and eat them to maintain my glorious figure on the pittance people feed me. 

She wrapped herself in the big blanket meant for making the best biscuits, and put on the glowing box. She isn’t happy. I don’t like it.

I’m an apex predator, but not a monster, so I climbed into her lap to let her pet me. That always seems to cheer her up.

'Well, look at you, little Sir,' she said. 'Taking pity on me.'

Obviously.

She asked me what we were going to do. She should know the answer is always 'eat'.

Then a man came onto the glowing box. The Woman tensed, which I didn’t like. She’s far comfier when she’s soft.

The Man came in with his fur sticking up on one side. He looked at the glowing box and pulled the same face as he did that time I pooped in his shoe.

The Girl pulled him down into the blanket, and the three of us lay squashed together until the sun came up.

It was quite nice, actually, but let’s not tell them that. 

___

Mood: Betrayed.

The man came home late smelling of wet grass, hedges, and ANOTHER CAT.

A tom.

He didn’t even stop to pet me so I could replace the stink with my superior scent. He went into the room with the people litter tray, and there was a terrible crash.

I could smell blood.

She arrived and moved me out of the way, cradling the man like he was a kitten rather than my second-in-command. I don’t like it. The people are filled with stress they didn’t have before. 

I sat on the arm of the seat and supervised when she took him to the sofa. Someone had to.

___

Mood: Finally full.

I have been to the den of the silver-haired woman who smells of meat and gravy. 

The journey there was horrifying, of course. Trapped in the prison box, in the rumbly metal thing. I was very vocal in my rage, yet it didn’t stop until we got to the silver-haired meat goddess.

Diary, I love her.

She called me pudding, fed me snackies, and has a familiar named Colin who knows how to pet a king like me. Colin fed me beef beneath the table the whole time, and I’m fuller than I’ve been for as long as I can remember. 

The loud one was there too. The one who used to sleep in my room before it was my room. She’s fine. I guess.

Best day of my life.

___

Mood: Lonely.

The man went out and didn't come back.

The girl went out too, and didn’t come back.

Instead, the alley outside lit up blue, and a wail rose like a tomcat in a fight that never ends. Lots of strange voices. Lots of feet.

I sat on the windowsill all night after the blue light went. 

The smell of the man’s blood is in the air.

___

Mood: Sad.

The Girl came home in the morning for about ten minutes. She smelled like the vet. But she didn’t take me. Did the man go to the vet? 

She fed me late and cried in the shower as I watched. She put on clean clothes and left again without even sitting down.

Then the casserole woman came with the prison box. I didn’t fight it too bad. There might have been beef on the other side. 

I have been at her den for days now. Colin lets me have his chair. Under any other circumstances, this would be the land of better treats I've been dreaming of since the man with no face first took me.

Last time they left me, I told this diary I didn't miss them.

I was lying. This time, I sit by the window and wait for them to come for me.

___

Mood: ABOMINABLE RAGE.

The loud one brought me home. I stepped onto the soft seat and gave her a look that should have made her worship me harder.

And then my world came crashing down around me. There’s a fucking DOG in my home.

A very small one, but still.

It looks like a sausage someone dropped in a bucket of furballs. It didn't bark, but it stared at me with those horrible eyes.

I hissed. It wagged.

The girl's face is all different colours, purple and green and yellow, like the apple they lost behind the bin once. The man walks like an old cat with bad hips, holding his side. Nobody bothered to explain any of it.

I went to my room and got on my bed. The dog followed, but it CANNOT JUMP UP. So I lay at the very top and watched to make it think I’m unbothered by its invasion. 

Let it be noted I’m very bothered.

Shouting came from the kitchen until the loud one slammed the door. The little dog consoled the sad man in my place. 

___

Mood: Exasperated.

The dog is called Hamish, but I call him the Turd.

It is a stupid dog. Most are, obviously, but this one even more so. It’s fallen off their bed four times this week. Not that he seems to care; he just gets back up, wags, and tries again. Nothing behind his eyes but joy and thoughts of cheese.

He wants to sleep next to me. He makes this clear every single day. My denial of his motions is clear too. The swipe of a paw and the Turd goes running.

___

Mood: Smug.

For days, nobody’s cleaned anything. There are food boxes everywhere. I have been living on the girl's lap, and occasionally putting my paw in the Turd's face.

Tonight the yellow-haired man came through the door, and the man hit him. Anyone who makes my girl cry deserves a good whack. I extended my claws and readied myself to join in the defence of my family.

Realising that I think of the humans and the Turd as family roots me to the spot until the girl picks me up.

The loud one is going away with the yellow-haired man. She hugged the girl with me still in the middle, and I had to fight my way out before they squashed me flat.

And then… The holy bin bag.

It had been sitting by the door all evening, smelling of noodles. 

I got my whole head in and stuffed the noodles into my mouth. They must have set a trap for me. A small box got stuck on my head.  They chased me round and round the flat.

When they finally got the box off, the Turd licked the sauce off my face. 

How will I ever recover from the shame?

Then they scooped us both up, squashed the four of us together, and held up the little rectangle.

___

Mood: Displaced.

The prison box. AGAIN. I'm starting to think they enjoy it.

They have moved us into a home befitting my standing. Albeit far too empty of things to sit on. Except boxes, and I am a big fan of those

Big fan. 

Fat babies with wings are painted on the ceiling. Creepy. But the fat babies don’t move, so I suppose it’s fine. Hopefully they’d eat the silly dog first if they come down.

The Sausage sniffed around, and I followed him, in case of the mutant babies. A place this big must have mice. Juicy ones.

___

Mood: Confused. Happy.

They have mated for life, apparently. Why one would do so is beside me. Plenty of other cats are out there.

It happened at the bottom of the big stairs. The man looked at the girl like she was a whole table of beef.

The Turd wore a bow. Looked like a twat, but didn’t seem to mind.

The beef Goddess tried to put a bow on me too.

She will not try again.

___

Mood: Outnumbered.

There are SIX dogs now. Seven, if you count the Turd, which I barely do.

I don't know what happened to the dogs before they came here. But I recognise the way they cowered at first. Like I did with the bad man.

The girl is fixing them, the way she fixed the man. 

The way she fixed me. 

Not that I needed it.

There are strangers in the house now as well. Different ones every few nights, with suitcases, sleeping in the rooms upstairs. They like to give me treats and pets, so I let them stay. 

The humans are happy. 

I’m happy. 

I even let the Turd sleep beside me sometimes. 

He loves me.