I fear I may be going insane. Yesterday, I ate a houseplant. Tomorrow, I may eat another.

Day 52: Subjected to a horrible procedure during which my claws were blunted with some fiendish instrument while I was imprisoned in a towel. Received some small satisfaction from violent squirming and howling.

However, I now have an excuse for sharpening my claws. I will begin with the oriental rug.

Day 55: Went under the woman's bed today. Found the darkness quite relaxing; especially when I discovered how nervous it made my captor not to know where I was. I waited until the coast was clear to emerge. She will never know.

Day 58: Feeling depressed. Think I'll do nothing all day.

Day 60: Wasn't motivated to journal until today. Discovered a self-filling fount of fresh water, so refreshing compared to the stale and rancid water left for me on the floor. Fell in once; will not make
the same mistake twice.

Day 63: Though I try desperately to communicate, my captor refuses to listen, and pretends not to understand. Her only responses are a maddening gibberish, phrases which sound like "tibby-doo" and "scooby dooby". If I am loud enough, however, I am generally rewarded with more of the revolting glop. As there is little else to do, I eat it.

Day 66: My captor has been absent for some time; in her place, other, more despicable tormentors come, who try vainly to make me perform tricks with plastic representations of animals. However,
they are more susceptible to my clever ploys to obtain more food.

Day 71: She has returned. I am disgusted with myself for my strange desire to be close to her, my anxiety that she will leave again. Although this is a classic case of hostage syndrome, I am not
comforted by the fact. I feel a depression coming on.

Day 78: Something is amiss. My captor is languishing around the house all day, watching my every move. I feel sure she suspects me of trying to escape, and hopes to foil my plan. I pretend to be indifferent to her presence; things must return to normal soon. Until then, there is little to do except eat and wash myself.

Day 79: Boring, boring, boring.

Day 82: Unbelievable. My imprisonment has heightened to psychological warfare. Last night the woman left, leaving all signs that she would return. As it grew later and later, I began to feel a
sense of panic that something had gone amiss, and that no one would know I was here. Who would feed me? I realize I could not survive long on the meagre plant in the window. When she finally did return the following day, I experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. I begin to hate myself for my weakness, but recognize that this self- destructive feeling is most likely the goal of such psychological
ploys. I must contemplate an effective retaliation. I will begin with the demeaning sand box.

Day 83: Today the sun came through the window. Ergo, I did nothing.

Day 85: I am convinced that I am not alone in my misery. Last evening (extremely late, as usual, and therefore worrisome), the woman came in and I distinctly detected the odor of a fellow sufferer
on her clothing. Not only the smell, but some hair that clearly did not belong to me. Much as I try to roll all over everything here - be it clothing or furniture - I know this was from another poor captive. Part of me is horrified that there may be thousands of us; another part feels relieved somehow, to know I do not suffer alone. I haven't decided whether to feel guilty about this or not. Must ponder a few more days.

Day 86: I have pondered and pondered all day and night. Got no sleep, ate a lot, got fatter and want more sleep! So I decided to be disappointed about it. I had no energy to do this, and I must say, it is very tiring, so I must go. Contributed by Anat Zaidenweber, 11 years old

Day 90: I was not motivated to write for a long time, so I will only say two things: that I am getting fatter and lazier by the day, and that I am going to go nuts if my mistress calls me "sweety pie" or "kitty kitty" any more! Well ta ta. Anat Zaidenweber

Day 98:I have reached a new low. I did not think it would be possible, but the fact remains depite my stark bewilderment. My captor has denied me what has - although I did not realize it until now - become my greatest source of pleasure: the glop. Now I receive only petrified pellets which are best likened to dried turds. I hear the can opener and cannot help myself, but run to the kitchen yowling against my will, only to be disappointed again and again. I swear she is turning on the can opener just
to humiliate me in this way. What horror could possibly be next? I fear the worst, whatever that is.

Day 106: I have discovered the worst, and it is three years old.

Day 112: My life continues to amaze me. I never thought to be grateful of my solitary status; however, if others had observed my recent humiliation, I do believe it would resonate throughout the feline world and I would be shunned forever. I brought this partially on myself. Although the woman has various objects thoughout the house which would be most conducive to sharpening my claws, I am repeatedly - and often forcefully - discouraged from making use of them. Out of sheer boredom - I assure you it was only the most extreme form of boredom that prompted this behavior - I began to...well, to play with my tail. Boredom, I'm telling you! I was hardly even paying attention to the act. As a result, one of my claws became entangled in my tail and, to my utter dismay, I could not remove it! Epithets and curses spewed from my mouth as I rolled helplessly on the floor, and it was these that brought the woman running to see what was happening. She actually laughed at me! As horrible as that makes me feel, I must admit that, were the situation reversed, I would have done the same. Now I am avoiding reflecting objects as I cannot face myself yet.