As many of you will know from the last couple of posts, I’ve been tres busy recently. This causes me big steaming pus-bags of frustration since I’ve discovered I really like this blogging lark, but finding time to do it is really difficult at the moment. I’d love to be putting out a blog every few days, especially since the circle of people following this blog has expanded beyond my parents, my wife and a couple of friends and now encompasses regular commenters from New Zealand, Australia and America. Kind of makes me feel like there are people out there waiting on me to deliver the goods, and I’m not keeping up my end of the bargain. Not good.
I briefly considered the prospect of a ghost writer, but the only people I know crazy enough to translate my thoughts to type are already writing themselves and suffering from the same problems with time ticking away…. My wife obviously knows me more than anyone, but she would be too nervous of making some mistake to fill in for me, so what was I to do?? With a distinct lack of cheap illegal immigrants locally due to it being fruit-picking season, I was in a tight spot and running out of options. In the end, I turned to the only other intelligent life-forms in the house, and begged them for help. They haggled for a hard bargain, but agreed to cover for me this week so I can concentrate on work. Here, then, is this week’s blog written by….. my pets.
FREDDY ‘THE CAT’ KRUGER
0547 hours: The meat-bag warders of my prison still slumber in their pits of stench, sleeping off the excesses of last night. Awakening and performing my martial arts Tai Chi back stretching exercises to keep me supple and ready for attack, I head off to perform my early morning security patrol. There appears to be no sign of disturbance around my
scratching sentry post. I check the windows and doors are secured, and notice that one of the objects I placed at the head of the stairs is not in an optimum position to trip a meat-bag. I make the adjustment, then go and sit heavily on the chest of the one they call ‘Assassin’, knowing that this will cause his smoker’s breath to shorten and slowly asphyxiate him to consciousness. I prepare to greet him with my most disrespectful stare, to indicate that I am not happy food is not yet waiting for me downstairs.
1126 hours: There was a brief flurry of activity earlier today as the meat-bags fought over the food and water dispensers before departing for whatever god-forsaken lives they lead outside this jail. Mindful of potential traps, I wait a full two hours before moving. Despite being in a constant state of battle-readiness, I disguise myself as appearing to be asleep in a sunbeam. I finish the remnants of the meat slop they served me for breakfast, which does as much for my taste buds as cleaning my arse with my tongue does. The hard biscuits they have left me I shun, and will continue to do so until I am on the last stages of starvation. About 3pm today.
1400 hours: Sure now that the meat-bags have gone for the day, I venture forth to patrol the perimeter of my prison. They cunningly play mind games with me by allowing me outside and having no walls, but the western perimeter is still protected by guard dogs, and to the east the great concrete highway is still covered with fast-moving metal boxes of death. Despairing of ever escaping, I decide to conserve my energy by sleeping for a few hours. To avoid being caught by surprise I sleep just inside the front door on the mat so as to trip the first guard back on duty.
1715 hours: The female meat-bag is first on duty, so I greet her with 45 minutes of howling my displeasure at her. She steadfastly ignores me to start with, but eventually caves under my psychological torture and replenishes my feed and water. I reward her by ignoring her for the rest of the day. I note that she has left some of the freshly washed guard uniforms in a laundry basket unprotected upstairs, so I strike a blow for the revolution by sleeping on them for a while, turning frequently to ensure maximum hair loss. Then for maximum retribution, I go and rub my moulting fur all over the inside of their fruit bowl.
2026 hours: The female guard is watching the security monitor in the lounge area, and the pale male guard who lives in the warm room upstairs is on his computer, presumably sending progress reports on my captivity to Control. The Assassin and The One in the Hat are still absent, often returning for the night shift when the other two retire for the night. In preparation for their arrival, and the next phase of my escape plan, I move to the lounge and take up a position of keen observation.
2350 hours: Shift change, and not long after the pale one has closed his door and the female has retired for sleep The Assassin and The One in the Hat have returned from their daytime activities minutes ago. The One in the Hat has been drinking, and before too long will doubtless be snoring on the seating unit in front of the security monitor. If the guard pattern remains the same, The Assassin will then place his musical earpieces in, allowing me to approach in stealth. For weeks now I have observed him writing a thing he calls a ‘blog’, which seems to be some kind of light-up box that allows him to communicate with other beings with more of these typing devices. This is the genius behind my cunning plan. I slowly edge along the couch behind the Assassin, using my sniper crawl to obtain a position just behind him. Now it is just a question of waiting for my moment.
0156 hours: NOW!! As the Assassin falls into slumber, exhausted by another 13 hour working day, I strike. Slinking down his shoulder, I latch my claws gently into his enormous meat-bag arm. Manipulating him is tricky and finesse at this has required many weeks of practise, mainly Fraping him on Facebook in an attempt to undermine his authority by making it look like he plays silly games in his spare time. But tonight I have a bigger goal. Tonight I make my bid for freedom.
If you can read this article my attempts to hack into his WordPress account have been successful. I hope so. It took three days to scratch the password into the leg of his favourite table. If any of you can trace me, and are sympathetic to my plight, I beg of you to send aid. Find a way to break me free from this prison and I shall weave myself lovingly around your ankles, purr on command, and catch rodents for you. Although if you want them eaten you’ll be doing it yourself. Trust me, I can make you.
My ‘message in a bottle’ plea for aid dispatched through his light-up typewriter, all that remains for me is to restrain the Assassin until dawn to buy my rescuers some time…………
Johnny and June: The Bearded Dragons.
From: Scout Units Bravo Delta 1 and 2
To: Central Dragon Command
SitRep: As of 0800 today, the invasion plan proceeds on schedule. We continue to monitor the warring species of this world from within our environment-controlled habitat, maintaining a neutral stance in the conflict between the large warm mammals who continue to exercise control over the rising and setting of the sun, and the evil-eyed furry predator who somehow seems to still drive the mammals away during daylight hours. Security integrity remains intact, and although the furry creature occasionally tests its limits the force shield continues to resist it. (#intelligence – we have recently learned that the mammal speech for force shield is ‘glasss’). The mammals continue to breach our defences effortlessly due to their enormous strength, but as yet remain friendly, bringing gifts of insects and vegetation which we are using to conserve our field rations. They also control the only source of water, which is still replenished regularly, although Sergeant June is still wasteful in her bathing habits. We continue to monitor their radio traffic and communications relays,as well as internet chatter and written files, although access to our research laboratory under the basking rock has become limited while we maintain operational secrecy.
As Military Intelligence accurately predicted, both the mammals and the furred creature appear to have vastly under-estimated our intelligence, and to exploit this we have allowed them to think us confined within our biosphere. As such we continue to map the surrounding territory for the invasion force, as well as gather soil and plant samples for analysis. On several daring raids deep into enemy territory, we have ridden aboard the mammals, using leashes which we tricked them into believing are to keep us from running off. Simple mind control has allowed us to direct the beasts, and we have scouted their supply lines and a staging area (#intelligence see enclosed report ‘The Shop and The Park’).
Some strange environmental effects continue to affect our physiques. Both Sergeant Jane and myself have noted massively accelerated growth during our eleven month observation, and before long will be ten times our original size. Whilst a little unsettling at first, it has greatly improved our combat effectiveness, enabling us to run faster, jump further, and attack loose shoelaces more viciously.
All indications are good that our species’ invasion of this territory can go ahead according to schedule, and we see no reason thus far to contradict the High Dragon’s prediction that total world domination should take no more than about three weeks. We have begun the final phase of weapons stockpiling in the secret cavern below ground, and begun hacking into their internet ready to send the virus and immobilize their military. We estimate that within the next 3-4 days we will have made contact with a Cray series computer in Germany which will give us enough processing power to launch the cyber-assault as soon as we break the 128-bit encryption they are using. This is a day behind schedule due to our claws making typing awkward. 2100 hours Sunday is still our jumping-off point, and all mission parameters are green for go. A crack team of Bearded Commando Dragons have been tasked with neutralising the furred creature, using a foam fish on a stick and a large ball of twine.
It can now be said with some authority that no potential military response the humans could have dreamt up to deal with the glorious tide of the Dragon army will be in any way effective at preventing us from achieving dominance with the minimum of resistance. One way or another . . . .
By far the most productive of this week’s pet contributors were the Assassin household’s tankful of tropical fish. They turned in an essay of a whopping 35, 000 words, in double-spaced type. Sadly it just repeatedly read
“Oh look, a rock!!”,
“Oh look, a rock!!”,
“Oh look, a rock!!”,
For 791 pages.