Sad Baby on Parasites (or vice versa)

Dear Diary,

I have passed the last of the tainted milk and my thoughts now return to the vile parasites taking over my body.  There is a repugnant colony of stringy organisms growing on my head. They continue to multiply at an  astounding rate. The authorities refer to these interloping monsters as "hair".  From observations of the authority called Daddy- they feed on your brain, and grow more dense as they voraciously consume your compassion. If my demeanor takes a sour turn, you will know that the hair has overcome me.

There is another frightful creature that has taken up residence in my mouth.  Again the authorities have tried to explain it away, saying it is my tongue. Bullocks! It is in no way mine. It has a mind of it's own. The despicable critter kept me up all night. It constantly thrashes in and out of my pursed lips. There is no containing the horrid thing. It yearns to sample anything within its reach and may be controlling my mind.  It ravenously licked my hand for 30 minutes solid, then licked the cuff of my sleeping uniform, and did not rest until it had gorged on the blanket for no less than 20 agonizing minutes.

Between hair and tongues I'm up to my elbows in problems- and the authorities are no help.

This week's priorities- Continue tugging at my "hair"- even if it hurts and makes me cry.
Exterminate the tongue, maybe trick  it into licking something more sinister than itself.

-Sad Baby

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.

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.