My Dear Public,

I am only small, being the runt of my litter, but I have grand dreams. Unlike most of my kind, I am not nocturnal. Instead, I pass out through the night, waking at about 6am, ready for adventure.

I will begin for you here a dream journal that will stand in for those days when very little of consequence takes place in my waking life. Today being a rainy day with little in the way of hunting or other outdoor activities for a robust orange fellow such as myself, we shall travel arm-in-arm* down this path of dreamy tales.

A Kitten's Dream, as took place the night of September 25th/26th

I wake in the midst of frenzied shouting to find myself lying on a cot. The floor is dusty, and I realize then that it is sand. My tail is numb from lying on it the wrong way, and it makes me wiggle my bottom to loosen it up a bit.

Turning to my right, I catch a reflection of myself in a darkened window, taking note of my fine imperial handlebar moustache and red tunic.

There are more shouts from outside, and I bolt to the door. In the distance a tree is burning and I watch as the flames catch the thatched roof of a hut. There are men screaming inside, and I realize that it is an infirmary.

I am running to their aid.

'Don't fear, lads,' I cry. 'Never you fear, we'll get you free of that damnable blaze!'

I catch the arm of a panicked corporal running across my path with two privates in tow. Still running, I attempt to drag him to the hut while exhorting him to help me free the sick and injured men from the fire. He breaks my grip and runs off with me shouting after him. I keep running towards the hut.

Suddenly, from the darkness, a lone, long assegai whips towards me. I see it as though it is moving through treacle, its flight perfect, slow and sweet. It catches me full in the chest and passes through my body, hanging up inside me on the last foot of its shaft. I pitch forward into the sand, the air thickened by the screams of the burning men in the hut.

The pain is incalculable, and each breath causes the shaft of the spear to stir about inside me. I am growing weaker and weaker. The last thought that passes through my mind before my death is that I am still wearing my snood. I laugh at the absurdity of it all and die a true Englishman, a smile still on my tiny kitten lips.

Ever thine,

Marvin Quincy Longbody-Horriblekitten

* In actual fact, as I am only small, tire easily, and am given to time-consuming distraction by birds and small creatures, you will need to carry me. Mea culpa. I apologize profusely in advance.

My Dear Public,

After having my personal diary put in a cupboard, I was temporarily unable to write to you. All that is over now. I love you very much, and I am very sorry that I have been gone for so long.

Today, I would like to talk to you about men with ponytails. There is no such thing as a man with a ponytail who does not look sleazy. If you have a ponytail, and are a man, you are disgusting and offensive to the eye. I do not want ponytailed men reading my blog, as I am but a tiny kitten and cannot handle such revulsion as I feel when confronted with such greasy types as exemplify the ponytailed man.

If you are a man with a ponytail, either get a haircut and take a bath, or get away from me forever.

Ever thine,

Marvin Quincy Longbody-Horriblekitten