The Count of Monte Ponsto

What you'll read now, is not for those faint of heart. It's a story of betrayal and abuse. Only could the opinions on who has been abused not be any more different.
Let me tell you what happened.
Ok, first of all let me admit that I might be just a teeny tiny bit hyper at the moment. Mom blames it on the full moon. She says that a few days before a full moon we tend to freak out and that I'm the worst of them all.
Meffi was extremely touchy last night and whenever one of us walked by her in pure innocence and never closer than half an inch, she started hissing, growling and finally screaming. I swear she's a true banshee. Mom came running one after the other time, telling us with clenched teeth to leave her alone, trying to calm down Meffi - yeah, right - but finally she came storming down the stairs like one of those Greek furies, picked me up and put me into the upstairs bathroom. To be fair she turned on the light before she slammed the door, but I was still a prisoner. I cried out my pain over this betrayal, but did she care? Instead I heard her chasing Esme upstairs as well. My dear sister - she lay down by the door, pressing her head against it.


After days and days the door finally opened again - don't listen to Mom back there, it was NOT just a minute - and the cruel lady came inside asking me if I had calmed down.
I had settled on one of my favorite spots, on the cabinet where she can't reach. I would have tried to dig a tunnel with a spoon, but 1. there was no spoon anywhere, 2. it's hard to dig a tunnel if you are on the second floor and 3. I don't have thumbs. So I just sat up there ignoring her.
That corner of the ceiling really is too interesting.

After I felt she had waited long enough, I came down and ran back and forth on her desk and lap. And I woke her at 5 am. Revenge is a dish best eaten cold. It was yummy.
Now I need a nap. I hope I don't have nightmares.

P.S. Esme is not half as innocent as she likes people to think. In fact I should be mad at her for making my girl cry (Meffi, not Mom, she hasn't been a girl for 150 years).

Ok, here's "Mom". Now let me tell you my version of the ... go away, Ponder, it's my turn ... what are you doing?? Pon, don't you dare turn the laptop off, do you hea/(§OPFHNSOIMb3frjvhaknsuiqkqlqlq ....................................................................................................................................................................