Dear you,
And so the experiment continues. I thought I could leave, but my subjects prove of great interest to me still. They adopt all manner of funny laws and peculiar ways. They picnic outdoors with good silver, the very picture of relaxed luxury — which I could get used to. And they taunt and tease each other until they cry — which I cannot get used to. I may have a thick pelt, but not a thick skin, as the expression goes, and am reduced often to tears behind the shrubbery. ‘Just a joke, just a joke,’ they coo. ‘Don’t take it so seriously, it was only a bit of fun,’ they tell me as they glue my tail back on to my rump.
Heading soon to somewhere better for the soul, just as soon as I finish the last of the jam drops. Ruled by my stomach, kept small by their barbs, but still in awe of a great many of their ways, pulling myself free will be like pulling paw off exposed cabling.
Yours, the butt of the joke once more,
X
(Postcard collage title: The usual Sunday fare.)
