Dear Log,
That the Beast still lives despite last night's efforts doesn't discourage me entirely. It is true that as night fell, I had every confidence that my latest plot to free me and the world from the lumbering, oppressive dolt that controls my food and my fate would succeed. Yet, I must remain hopeful. Indeed, hope is all I have.
My plan was simple and in that my expectations for freedom were high. As the Beast lay gibbering and leaden upon his obese pillow, I would feign affection for him, as I usually do, by purring softly and nudging him with my head. On most nights I lie awake with eyes afixed on the Beast, burning with hatred. However, last night's ploy caught him unawares and he let down his guard. I then moved in for the finishing move. Against his swollen, vacuous skull, I buttressed my ample backside squarely across his nose and mouth so that the rancid air of my prison would cease to sustain him.
But the Beast would not be so easily subdued!
Craftly, he moved his head away from my lethal back-fat. Without delay, I non-chalantly moved my substantial frame forward to resume my attack. A few moments later, the Beast again moved away. Undaunted, I plied the full fury of my furry hind-quarters to my opponent in one last, desperate assault. Alas, the Beast caught on to my plan and removed me from the bed entirely (with an ungentle shove!). With my enemy on his guard, there could be no futher attempts that night to topple his hegemony. I limped into a safe corner, cried bitter tears of anger and frustration until sleep took me.
But with the tears of this defeat, I shall water new plans for my emancipation. I shall yet overcome!
