This morning as I was changing the amazing human fountain, I discovered the following tucked under his changing pad.
Day 10: I remain in the clutches of my evil jailers, who – in a sinister touch worthy of a James Bondian villain – insist on calling themselves Mommy and Daddy. Since last week’s forcible abduction, they have had custody of me, apparently in an attempt to break me. I have resisted so well, though, that they called in a torture specialist named Nana overnight, and she and “Mommy” forced me to consume many ounces of the sweet, fatty substance they call (again in a nightmarish parody) “milk” that I’m coming to suspect is addictive.
I believe they plan to turn me into a milk addict, and then use that hold over me; but I have resolved to remain firm in my rejection of this substance and thus thwart their nefarious plan. In my old home I never needed milk, and although it makes me feel good (lethargic or alert by turns), I continue to successfully rejected “Mommy’s” repeated, insistent offers of her breast (the source of the liquid). “Daddy’s” finger-feeding has proven impossible to resist thus far, but each session I resist anew, even as I find myself craving more of this “milk.”
After a session of torture, they wrap me tightly in blankets that remind me strongly of the home I was so forcibly abducted from on August 15… And I actually feel content. It seems a betrayal, weakness, as my captors slowly wear me down. I persevere in my resistance, but day by day I feel my resolve weakening.
Here comes “Mommy.” I hide this in the hope that even should I succumb, a record of my (if I may make so bold a claim) valiant struggle will remain a tribute to my effort, and a warning to others.