Deprivation

Dear Diary,

I have not had the energy to journal this week. The authorities have begun denying me food. Instead, they have cruelly substituted my feedings with a rubbery false nipple. I believe they realize that there is no milk in this despicable trinket. At least in this case, I believe their devilish malice outweighs their obvious ignorance. Beyond starvation, they have also introduced me to a new unnerving horror. I was forcibly moved to a lurid temporary detention center where the agent called Grandma keeps a fearsome beast called Dog. He too, appears to be a prisoner as I saw shackles hanging from a wall near a cage. Grandma must be the leader of this sinister syndicate- my own captors are not yet so brazen as to openly display their restraints. I have since been returned to the familiar environs of my captors, but now shudder to ask myself: If I do not starve, If I am not fed to the grisly dog, If I am not callously sold by weight- then what harrowing fate awaits me?

Further tortures

Dear Diary,

I am now convinced of my conscription in a terrible science experiment. It seems that I am constantly being monitored. I have been buoyed between direct supervision and solitary confinement, only to discover that my every movement and utterance is being transmitted back to the authorities. I am never alone, even this diary may be compromised- shared with the other evil doers in the Authorities' conspiracy.

I cannot endure much more. In what I can only assume is some attempt to test my endurance of torture, the authorities have begun to subject me to sonic agony. I thought this sort of treatment was reserved for ousting dictators, or flushing traitors from foreign embassies! Alas, the authority called Daddy has relentlessly bombarded me with loud guitar based music. His rendition of Radio Free Europe has repeatedly pushed me to tears. I fear that I am losing my grip. I am, though, growing and sharpening my fingernails. If this battle becomes physical, I will be ready for the fight.

My short-lived revenge played out as planned. He was forced to change my diaper 3 times in 3 minutes, and to dig through the newly cleaned linens for a new blanket. He threatened me with formula, but I believe it to be a bluff. We can only hope that tomorrow is better, and that at worst, he tunes his A string.

One week update

Dear Diary,

I never expected that my dismal luck could last so long. I have made some progress in breaking down the Authority called Mommy. I thought for certain she would release me. 3 diapers, a comforter, one sock and sleep sack-- all poo-ey or peed upon (in under 15 minutes), but instead of capitulation, she provided another feeding. I will resign to spitting up after each feeding.

The Authority called Daddy is still beyond my control. In a similar protest, I wet a diaper, poo-ed during the change, and then peed on my my onesie and changing table as he smirked with pride for catching the poo. He still refuses to feed me from his breast. He is so smug in his cruelty.Today, in particular, he has boasted to many in his network of his devious elation at my internment. I WILL pee on his obnoxious hawaiian shirt.

Today marks one week since my unthinkable incarceration. I am less worried of being sold, as I have seen more disheartening evidence that I have fallen into some sort of twisted genetic experiment. Perhaps a cloning program. I have met 3 new operatives, all called Auntie. Each appears to come from similar genetic stock as the Authorities- though not without obvious defects. Truly, the dark network of the Authorities is extensive and grimly worrisome.

Baby goes to the Vet

Dear Diary,
Day 3. The horror continues. The authorities again resorted to full body restraint. The cat had warned me that my behavior may result in a trip to one called the vet. It seems though, that my fate is far worse than anything the cat described. A new operative called Doctor has inventoried me, measuring me for length, temperature, and weight. I peed twice on the exam table, but this new adversary continued with clinical persistence. If I am not the subject of some diabolical science experiment, then I fear I am to be sold by the pound.

In my weakened state, I was again restrained for transport. Upon returning to my holding cell, the Authorities chose to make me beg for release- leaving the straps firmly in place until I regained consciousness. While I disagree with the treatment, I respect that their tactics are proving more evil by the day.

I will remain steadfast in my attempts to undermine the authorities. Today's abuses are quite certainly responses to my resistance. I will continue to move my bowels when the Authorities have removed the diaper. I will continue to sleep during daylight and demand food in the quiet of the night. The cats have used this to great effect, and it may be the secret to overcoming these heartless captors.

Hungr Strike

Dear Diary,
The cat has proven to be a completely unreliable ally in escape. He was successful in tricking the authorities into opening the door, but seemingly forgot our plan. Rather than rushing and causing a commotion, he calmly stuck his head out the door, retracted, turned away, then back to the door, then turned away but left just his tail outside. If he cannot overcome his own madness then I fear the marty cat will be stuck here long after I escape.

I have been forced to change my tactics. My hunger strike has ended. My current plan is to deprive the authorities of sleep in hopes that their weakness will allow me to capitalize on their inferior intellect. The operation had proven successful until they called in an interrogation specialist called Grandma. Her questioning and hand to hand skills left me exhausted. I awoke hours later to find the authorities had eaten and napped. While this is a setback, I'm certain I can regain the upper hand. I will need my diaper changed soon, but will wait to hear the sounds of their slumber before I demand a new uniform. I will also pee on their hands once the current diaper is removed.

First Entry

Dear Diary,

It seems my torment has only begun. I thought the authorities were helping me to escape the mad prison where I awoke just days ago. Alas, they have strapped me into some sort of restraint and driven me to a remote outpost that I can only imagine is some sort of work camp. The other prisoners seem lifeless, a few bears, a frog, a pig, a tiger- none of them have moved. There is one grey furry cat with some remaining vigor. While we communicate in similar high pitch sounds, we have yet to establish a common language, but I hope we will soon understand each other well enough to formulate our escape.