It pains me to say that the threat to our mission is more grave than even Vladia or Sri Lanka could imagine.
Now I of course had seen the unwholesome burgeoning of belly in the longer-haired human and postulated either a large internal TICK or some sort of sudden bulbous obesity like that of well, Sri Lanka.
The long-haired human said things to me like -- Say hi to the new kitty, Cheop. And she read that book aloud-- Miffy and the New Baby
But I was immune to such powerful and subtle propaganda! I may have put my paws on the belly once or twice, but it was just to investigate. And for a time, all seemed well. By well I mean like by any other time when one is at battle and hearts and minds are at stake.Then, the human who ran the camp in Silverlake came to visit, she who calls me "The Cat" with the emphasis on "The." At first I would not consort with her. I recalled who latched us into our hellish cages and launched us into the groaning air machines where we huddled for many hours, not knowing our fate! But after punishing her for a minute with my cold airs, I investigated her lap, which was not obstructed by a growing annoying roundness. She poured favor on me. And I pretended to enjoy it. The things we do for the cause! It was terrible, really. All that petting. And attention. And the scratching.
But then the day came when all the humans left! My god, I thought we'd won. Except they forgot to leave the window or door open, but no matter, I could have sent Sri Lanka through the window. Imagine my horror when they returned, with THE TICK in a cat-sized carrier. With cushions! Did our cages have cushions? Or little blankies? I think not. Anyway, I digress. They returned with THE TICK.
And the wailing began.
For THE TICK issues forth demented cries, piteous, heartrending, terrible screams.
Day and night.
Oh, I fear for this mission. My reconnaissance dream missions (aka "catnaps" in the insulting human-speak) are constantly interrupted at crucial junctures by this infernal addition to this household.
And the humans are USELESS. They cannot stop the crying. It would be amusing to watch their futile efforts-- the singing off-key, the pacing the floors, the rocking, the pathetic attempts to reason with THE TICK, were I not so blasted tired from the racket.
We're currently deployed in a defensive triangulated pattern: Sri Lanka is at her post in the new wheeled contraption, Vladia has set up in the slatted wood thingy with blankets in it, while I'm on the mat. That's right, THE cat is on the mat. It's really the most dangerous location when you think about it, the mat is on the floor and does not involve climbing or maneuvering, I mean, it is completely in the open.
Sri Lanka has been doing some photo surveillance and will be posting her findings soon. Meanwhile, I remain:
your ever-dedicated
furry fearless feline force
strong and loyal
and handsome
and fearless
and commanding
and powerful
Commander Cheop
