By: Cornelius Thruster ~Guest Writer~

I don’t have much time to write. Nixon has us paired up two by two and Is calling each group into the living room one by one. Who knows why? I presume it is some kind of meeting to determine our worth. Things have deteriorated quickly. Within an hour he had whipped the rest of the gang back into shape. They followed him around with wide kaleidoscopic eyes. He’s turned them into a well oiled machine. They feed him, they dress him. I’ve been forced to brush his hair, but just the cowlick on top of the head. He doesn’t yet trust me with his tummy. He seems to fall into a CATatonic state when I do this.

This may be the only chance for escape. For five glorious minutes after his mid-day grooming session, he doesn’t recognize a thing that is happening outside of his own adorable orange head.

I look at the screen door, and I look at all my former friends around me who dont seem to know who they are anymore. They don’t seem to know who I am anymore. I’m not sure if I have the courage to do it. All I have left is Valetino. He is the only one left on my side. I suppose I should count myself lucky, however. Nixons evil is something I’ve only seen matched by Valentino’s bravery. He’s done so much for me in my life. When he was just a kitten, he would run across the lawn each day and bound into my open arms, Id give him scratchums and teach him to use the litterbox. It is no matter, though. He hasn’t spoken in years. A shell of the cat he once was. Once a jet black nightstalker, he now lays about with streaks of grey spanning his body.

He truly hasn’t been the same though, after his parents, Juanita and George Sr. left when he was four. They ran away in the night and no one heard from them again. At the time I despised them for it, but now I sit here thinking how Ironic it is that I am planning the same thing. Who knows? Maybe Nixon and I are more similar than I thought.

I must go. It is my turn to see him. I pray that I will return to this journal in due time. God bless us all.