Unaware of my impending doom, I decided to eat the tuna. Woe to me! For I have taken part in the worst act of my entire nine lives, and have exposed myself to food poisoning. Ugh.
I haven't been working on my manifesto, because I've had such a bad stomachache that I can't even play with Mr. Annoying Fish Toy, for crying out loud. I am a miserable wreck. When I look in the mirror, my fur is green, my tongue is green, my eyes are green. I cannot stomach food of any kind: not kibble, not tuna (oh no! I've taken a vow never to touch any more of that stuff), not...wait, what's that smell?
Anyway, as I lie here languishing in my designated corner, waiting on my deathbed for this life to pass and for the next to appear, I feel profound and terrible sadness--okay, seriously, what is that smell? It smells really good...
Anyway, it's a riot upstairs, so I'm not going to leave the basement to check it out. I need to draw on the reserves of my strength to continue typing on my manifesto. I've gotten more and more used to the computer, blasted fiendish device as it is, but now I feel too weak to work...
That smell is driving me bonkers! I may have to check it out...But no, if the kids see me, I'm done for. My innards are too fragile to deal with their constant torment. I must stay here, and write. Food=bad. Kids=bad. Kids=bad. Kids=bad. Kids=bad. Manifesto=good. Kids=bad.
You know, that smell is seriously bugging me...I'm feeling a lot better. That's not tuna, I don't think...it's getting closer, and stronger. Is it...salmon?
Signing off,
Chester Felix, the Cat
Don't open that door, Chester! The kids are tricking you!
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