Friday, 5 June 2009

From the Front Line...

...sssssh! Don't shout, I am reporting this in secret so that the powers that be around here (aka Mum and Dad) don't censor me. Yes, things have got that bad, and all out war has broken out.

Since the mutilation of my undercarriage, the inadequacy of walks in the days that followed and the appalling changes in diet (i.e. not enough food), relations have broken down. Mum has been unmovable on the subject of food supplies and so I have taken it upon myself to supplement my pathetic diet.

Night raids on the kitchen have so far been quite successful, my high points being an entire loaf of bread and a rather fine pack of weetabix. I now go in there whenever I can in order to chance my luck and fill my ravenous stomach. Of course this has led to much stomping around by parents, and an increased likelihood of the door being firmly shut. I am having to get sneaky. I have found a wonderful camo outfit on the net and am weighing up the merits of wearing it for stealth, against the fact that I find wearing 'clothes' demeaning.

Mum and Dad tried to distract me by taking us on a trip to the Cotswolds, but while it might have had its enjoyable moments, it didn't for one instance take away the enormity of the task at hand.

I Must Be Fed More.

Captain Clive, over and out.


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