Developments have occurred. The Tall Hooman has integrated himself further into the household. He moves with less hesitation now. He knows where things are kept. He has learned the correct tone when addressing me.
I am… tolerating him. There is, however, a problem. At night, he takes my hooman away and she does not tell me where they are going. This is unacceptable. They leave together voluntarily without consulting me. The door closes. The house grows quiet in a way that is unacceptable.
Time passes, and dinner is delayed. The fireplace remains unlit.
I sit, wait, and consider my options.. I sing a little, for morale at the front portal where they leave from, in hopes they will hear me and come home to feed me. I will waste away otherwise..
When they return, they smell like Outside and Other Places and not me and this is highly suspicious.
The Tall Hooman seems pleased with himself, so I have begun a counteroffensive. He leaves garments here: soft, dark clothes. Ones that clearly wish to be improved. I am happy to do so.
With dedication, every available inch receives a careful application of my fur. It is a gift and a mark of belonging. A reminder of who truly owns this space.
My Hooman, tragically, does not understand the significance. She wields the Sticky Wand. She undoes my work with ruthless efficiency. Roll after roll, as though my contributions are a problem to be solved.
This is hurtful. I persist anyway. The Tall Hooman has not objected, so this suggests he understands his place. My Hooman laughs when she sees the evidence. The sound is warm. It softens the edges of my displeasure.
Still, dinner should be on time, and the fire should be lit. And I should not have to reapply myself to the same garments more than once. I shall persevere.
With quiet resolve,
Mr. Biggles
