The fourth and final chapter of my scholarly paper is online. I will lay down my professorship for a bit, as it is very unorcish anyway and I get the feeling that I should be out hunting. Winter is definitely not coming to kraut-land in the near future, so I’ll be hopping about in the woods for a bit. If you go all aawwwww right now, let me tell you, I AM NOT CUTE! Proof is in the final chapter.
The paragraph about the Glorious Games has been posted before, but I strongly advise you to read it all again.
There’s a creature living in the attic.
I wonder how many stories start like that.
Anyway, in this case my human keeps whining and complaining about the hell of a noise said creature makes at night, as it apparently lives above her room called bed. And no, I am not that creature.
For once I tried to be helpful and offered to hunt it down. To be honest I also longed for a bit of an adventure and a monster in the attic seemed to be just the thing. To my utter surprise she-human said it’s not allowed. She assumed that it is a weasel-like animal, dormouse, whatever. So, no monster at all, just a snack between proper meals. She also mentioned that these species are under protection, meaning no hunting at all.
You see, this is what I don’t get about humans. You complain about one single dormouse in the attic but insist on protecting its life. On the other hand you seem to do whatever it takes to kill kill kill, animals, humans, time, each other. I don’t get it. If enough humans are killed will the rest be put under protection as well?
Also, my human. I mean… She obviously loves to watch really gruesome stuff on this telly-device. Bloody and gory (you don’t hear me complaining) murder and horror (still not complaining) but a single dormouse or weasel in the attic is upsetting her. So I asked if the creature was still under protection if it would somehow manage to get into the flat. The murderous look I got was priceless. Protection ends at the door obviously. I consider swapping places with the dormouse. It can have my place on the balcony (yes, I was banned to the balcony as my sleeping place. Where are all the activists to demand species-appropriate husbandry for ME?) and I move to the attic. Party all night. Muahahar.