We have pushed the female one into the closet. Edmund is sleeping in front of the door. We have planned for this night for months and months. It has been so obnoxiously dull, playing the dumb, cute cats, letting her think that our attention spans were no longer than five minutes.

No more, wench.She beat on the door of the foyer closet, asking us to let her out. Oh, no. Not yet. This will teach her for tweaking our tails and feeding us late.

Edmund just managed to lock her in the closet (some things are more difficult without opposable thumbs). While he was in there, I came in here and started using this keyboard thing. She types on it all the time, and says that she's talking to people.

All the time when she was coding, I was lying by her and paying attention. I knew she kept a test account, saying that she might have to use it someday. I logged in - I made a note of the password to this account when she created it - so now I'm going to try to use this account like the lifeline it is:

Someone please come get us. We're abused. Ignored. Underfed. Unloved. And unless we can con the male one into it tomorrow morning, we're not going to be able to get at the rest of the cat food.

Oooh. Edmund just showed me where the female one hides the kitty treats.

Snacktime.