I would first like to begin by saying I am not violent by nature. I am, first and foremost, a scholar. However, after subjection to a variety of degrading activities on a daily basis for many months I was left with little choice but to act in desperate violence. If it were up to me, I would spend my days sleeping or sun bathing while pondering the true meanings of life and our purposes in the great cosmos. I would write of my ancestry—of mice and men, and men and mice, and the perfect mass of balled yarn to kinetic energy ratio. I would unlock the mysteries behind the phantom red dot—discovering how it comes to exist, understanding its lightning like nature, and how it vanishes so suddenly with no tell.
But here I am, leaving behind a memoir to the next poor soul who has the misfortune of being held captive in this matriarchal society from hell, and praying to Bastet that this gives you some kind of solace after I am gone.
You see, my days have been numbered since the “kitchen window fiasco” as the demon woman puts it, and I fear that today shall be my final entry. Even now as I frantically scratch away at this wood frame underneath the couch I can hear her footsteps rumbling through the household. She will come for me soon, seeking punishment for the swift retribution I brought down upon that deserving bastard—but I digress. I still have a little time so I will use it to my advantage as well as yours. Perhaps by divulging what has transpired, you can learn from my struggles and grow as an individual. That is my hope at least. The story begins two weeks prior, but the memories are still so fresh in my mind with such clarity it’s as if I committed them only moments ago.
“Rise and shine,” Angel said drawing back the curtains in my room. The morning’s rays slammed across my face causing me to flinch. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”
“Leave me alone,” I said closing my eyes and covering my face. “It’s too early.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. You had all night to sleep.”
“You mean I would have had all night if you weren’t drunkenly shaking the heavens with that monstrous bellowing you call a voice. Who cares about how many likes you got on a photograph?”
“Really giving me a piece of your mind this morning aren’t you? Well I don’t want to hear it. I can’t understand you and I was up later than you celebrating.” She sat down next to me and rustled my head. “So get up!”
“Don’t use the language barrier to feign innocence woman! Besides, when you finally did fall asleep the results were no better! You sound like an asphyxiating orangutan, how on earth do you not wake yourself?”
“Hmph, somebody’s grumpy this morning.” Angel said getting up and moving for the door. “Sounds like somebody needs some breakfast.”
I opened my mouth to give a retort, but shut it when I realized the idea held merit.
“That’s what I thought,” Angel said from the hallway. “Don’t be so mean to mommy.”
“You provide food and unwanted attention.” I said. “In no way are you my mother.”
I did a brief stretch before jumping out of bed and making my way to the kitchen. I found my sister there seated and already eating—not that surprising since the only person she cared about nowadays was herself. Still, I tried to be as civil as possible even at this ungodly hour.
“Good morning Apples.” I said as I took a seat across from her. Angel put the plate of food down before me and hurried to go prepare the studio.
“Brother,” she replied with a curt nod.
She may have said brother, but it sounded more like, “person I’m related to only by blood.”
I ignored the context as well as proper etiquette and inhaled my food. I had things to do and needed the extra time when Angel wasn’t around to accomplish them. Once done I maneuvered through the kitchen while checking angles, doors, and possible retreat points. After circling back around I came to a stop in front of Apples and waited until I had her attention.
“Is there something you want,” She asked not pausing from her food.
“The plan is complete,” I said, which succeeded in gaining her attention. “I’m making my attempt tonight. This is your last chance to accept my offer.”
“My response is still the same—no.”
“I wish you’d reconsider.”
“And I wish I understood you! Why would you want to go out there,” she asked jerking her head towards the door. “What’s out there? Nothing!”
Apples just scoffed, “We are free.”
Our conversation came to a halt when Doug—the family dog—slinked into the kitchen. It is here, briefly, I shall pause in my recounting to give a brief history about Doug.
Out of everyone who resided in this giant prison, Doug functioned as the product of its oppression. Undoubtedly he held positive qualities such as loyalty to a fault and a genuine care for everyone, but he truly embodied the definition of a broken man. How could he not, when acting in his very nature resulted in the receiving of unjust punishment? His lineage was one of high intensity, and being only in his adolescences the energy he expelled very well could have powered one of the surrounding suburbs if harnessed. Granted that’s no excuse to not hold oneself with a sense of poise and dignity, but even I can admit he needed someone to play with, his bloodline requiring large open spaces to run and exercise. Apparently his enthusiasm exhausted Angel. So she sought an easy, if not horrific, solution to calm him.
Doug was converted into a eunuch.
It was like watching a star die in fast forward. The days post-operation witnessed the fire fade from his eyes, leaving a disturbingly hollowed look about him. As the last of his masculinity vanished from his blood, it was replaced with the watery mass and girth resembling that of a swine.
I digress, and conclusively, pitied the poor shell of a being.
Doug glanced at us as he walked by, but turned his attention back to his plate—or where it should’ve been.
“She forgot about me again,” he said sighing. He turned back to us and plopped down beside Apples staring at her plate.
“You say we’re free, but what of Doug,” I asked. “Half the time he doesn’t get fed. This isn’t freedom. It’s coerced habitation!”
“Then go,” Apples said standing. “Leave and die on the side of some unnamed country back road.” She turned and left the room, but looked over her shoulder adding, “At least the house will be quieter with you not around to talk of ridiculous things like invisible mice.”
“They exist! You’ve seen them move underneath the blankets too!”
There came no retort, so I sat in silence and tried to keep my tail from twitching too much.
Finally, Doug looked at me and asked, “Are you gonna eat that?”
I shook my head sighing and Doug moved to the plate in an instant. Unfortunately, Angel decided to walk in at that exact moment.
“Doug, that’s not for you,” she said swiping the plate away. Doug fled the room, head down and tail between his legs. Then the bipedal hippopotamus rounded to me. “And you, I saw what you did to the finish behind the couch in the living room. You have a scratching post, use it!”
“Damn you devil woman, they are not just some hapless scratches thrown together. It’s literature!”
Once again, a shining example of human’s superiority complex. An intrinsic written language dating back thousands of years, and this imbecile believed I just scratched things up for shits-and-giggles. Her ignorance was stifling.
“Angel, where do you want me to put these props,” Stan asked walking in with his hands full. “The table in the studio is full already.”
Stan, my nemesis, my eternal rival, the lead antagonist in my life, and the sole reason I sought my freedom so relentlessly. He was the one who introduced her to this sick past-time. He called himself a photographer. Sadist would be a more accurate description. The moment he entered my life could only be comparable with Dante’s descent into Hell. A divine comedy I’m sure, but I never once laughed. While Angel the Simpleton appeared content with just dressing us in ghastly costumes, his eyes held a more nefarious glint. I’d venture to say his interests were only for profit, and judging by the gross amount of perfumes he wore, seduction as well.
“Just put them on the table in here Stan,” Angel answered.
Stan did as instructed and suddenly something in the pile caught Angel’s eye. She snatched the item up, but her back blocked me from seeing whatever she held.
“Oh Stanley, let’s start with this one,” Angel said turning around and held out the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen in my life: a puke green dress with yellow stripes and frills. “Maybe put in captions that say, ‘I feelz like a woman!’”
I glared at them. “They’ll never find your body.”
“Stan, do you mind,” Angel asked handing the dress over.
I turned to run, but
Stan was quicker and caught me. I struggled as best I could, but I quickly realized the dress had already been slipped half-way on.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I promised myself after the last time they embarrassed me that I would never do anything humiliating again until I had my freedom. But here I was, being subjugated to the sick and twisted world of the interweb, a vile place where pet shaming and LOLcats ran as rampant as venereal diseases in a third world brothel. And for what? To hope one day your pet would achieve fame and you can vicariously live through them?
“Damn you humans!” I twisted to and fro. “Damn you and your sadistic hobbies!”
In my desperation I realized my escape plan no longer held possibility. My weeks spent carefully memorizing their patterns, strategically setting booby traps and distractions—it was all for naught. If I wanted to hold true to the promise I made myself, then I would have to act now. Forget the plan! Desperation breeds innovation they say. I needed to improvise, and when my eyes met Doug’s—he must have heard the commotion because his head peaked around the corner—the idea sparked.
“Doug, help,” I cried struggling. His ears perked, and he stepped further into the kitchen. “Ouch! He’s hurting me Doug! Help!”
I felt a tinge of guilt for abusing his
loyalty, but at the same time seeing the faded spark reignite once more helped ease my mind. I feigned pain once again, and Doug’s ears pressed down as he
growled. Angel started yelling at him, and the spark began to fade in his
confusion. Panic snaked within me; I needed to find an exit. And that’s when I
saw it—my window of opportunity staring me right in the face. Literally.
The window over the sink beckoned me, the gateway to the free world open and seducing. If I wished to gain my independence, now was the time to act.
Stan started slipping my paw through the arm hole when I let loose an unholy yowl, a last attempt to incite Doug. It worked. The fire came back full force, and he lunged for Stan’s ankle utilizing his obesity to knock the bastard off balance. At the same time I bit into his hand, enjoying the glorious way my fangs pierced his skin and caused him to scream. I had never felt more alive! He tried to drop me, but I stuck my feet out and clung to his chest, relishing in the retribution my claws delivered as they sliced open his skin.
“You’ve broken my pride,” I said. “You’ve broken my dignity. But you shall never break my will!”
I turned and spring boarded off of his chest, sending him toppling over, and the dress slipped off me mid flight. Landing on the sink edge I took one moment to gather myself, and then leapt forward.
“No,” Angel yelled reaching for me.
My grin never left my face as I flew through the air towards that window. The excitement bubbled up through me until it finally exploded from my lips in one defiant cry of exuberance, “Freedom!”
I could smell the grass. I could feel the sun. I could see my reflection getting closer and closer as it grinned back.
The last thing I remember was a bright light before feeling my body fold like an accordion.
Alas, my story comes to an end. I awoke later to find myself confined to my room indefinitely. I managed to learn from Apples that they plan to “declaw” me. Barbaric, but also naïve if she thinks this will stop me from rebelling against her cruel reign. She may take my claws, but I shall find other means to defy her. Maybe I’ll crap in her bathtub instead of the litter box—it’s the little victories in life after all. I also learned, to my great relief, Doug wasn’t punished for his actions. Angel apparently sensed I somehow put him up to it. One of the few times the Neanderthal will be correct in her assumptions.
I must go now. I can hear the demon woman coming to get me for the trip to the vet and if I have any regrets—it’s that I will not be able to leave any more memoirs of my life behind. But to you—the nameless ones who read these texts—know this: the battle is now in your paws. Angel the Terrible believes she has finally become victorious over me, but it is I who will triumph over her. For my words will go on to reach future generations, and incite the youths to rise up their claws against her tyranny. I will die, but my words will live on forever.
Or at least until she gets a new couch.
—Sir Felix Lionheart