My Dear Public,

This morning at four of the clock, I was awakened. From the basement, there came the light padding of tiny feet. My grogginess dissipated instantly: there was a mouse in my house.

I made my way as stealthily as possible down the stairs (I am made to wear a bright red collar with a damned bell around my neck). Despite this handicap, I cornered my quarry. He didn't see me at first, approaching as I did from behind. Suddenly, he sensed my presence. Whirling on the spot, he gaped at me.

I smirked.

'Can I help you find anything, sir?'

His mouth opened slightly, his still-lit joint dropping to the floor. He spluttered. I laughed.

'What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?'

He screamed, and I was on him in a flash. He sat back on his haunches, waving his paws feebly in the air before my face. Pathetic. I batted him sideways into the water heater before carrying his dazed and helpless form upstairs. There I continued to entertain him for three-and-a-half hours before being cruelly interrupted. Deeming my pastime 'inhumane', my family removed the mouse from my care and released him outside.

These fucking hippies will never learn if we keep being so easy on them. This is my house. What's mine is mine.

The asshole had it coming.

Ever thine,

Marvin Quincy Longbody-Horriblekitten