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The Hundred and Nineteenth Depression

The family’s back home. Things SHOULD be the way they were BEFORE they went but… I don’t know. Somehow, I feel like all my contents have been ripped out and all I have left is an empty, lifeless shell. I feel like I’m incomplete. And utterly lonely.

Everyone’s trying to cheer me up. They think something’s medically wrong and maybe I need to be taken for an early check-up.

But it isn’t that I ate a little bit too much ice cream this time [although I probably did]. It’s that my trust and sacred confidence were played with, and sorry, but I did not like it ONE bit.

I have half a mind to call up the Secret Service and report a case of animal abuse. I’m sure wrecking havoc with an innocent creature’s emotions is a sin SOMEWHERE. I don’t care if I have to ring up seventy-nine countries to get myself some justice.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Everyone’s snoozing at this very moment, so it would be the ideal time to call up international agencies without making them all suspicious [Humans!! They are SO jittery. All it takes to make them think that something is up is to see a Labrador standing up on twos with a mobile phone cradled in her paw].

Hmm… Maybe I have some time before my calls for a chocolate-chip banana split. Gawd knows I deserve it.

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