La Petite Chanson

  Entry 2 This Morning I woke up to a strange sight. My camp was surrounded by paw prints! But not just any paw prints, jelly paw prints! And they had gotten on my book too! It was an outrage. But no matter, I pressed on with my exploration of the Island. I had decided to brave the dark looming forest to find out all I could about this Island. (and someone had stolen my pen and I needed it to write in this. So spoiler alert; I found it.) Now, the outside of the forest was thick and dark, but the inside was bright and beautiful. I found the cat who was at my camp last night, (also the pen snatcher culprit) . He said he was just curious about the strange new cat that had appeared on the beach. Which was fair. (But I made him give back the pen) You might be wondering why I don’t study these cats, and that is because I am a cat. If a human went to an Island full of people they would not study them, only observe. So that is what I will do. The cat that was at my camp was apparently a Ja...

  Entry 1 Author's note; if you haven't read Adventures on Cataroo Island Entry 0.1, I recommend you go back and read that first. Because you need the start to understand the end, you see? (Ah ha! You made it to the first entry! I forgot to mention earlier that these accounts were written at the time of my stay in Cataroo Island. Now that I have returned to my home, I have added notes like this and the entry before for your advantage in understanding as much of Cataroo Island as you can. I have found I’m not always the clearest with my words. Apologies. Enjoy the log book Best you can) Dear diary,  “Dear diary” is no way to start because this is not a diary. This is a log book. A log book that happens to be my only possession at the moment besides my pen. But saying “dear log book” doesn't sound quite right either. So I will start with telling you who I am. Because even if I never get off this Island I shipwrecked on, at least I will have told someone. That someone being a ...

  Entry 0.1 Hello my fellow explorer! This is the first entry in my Private Adventure log book.  Or really I should say the last. But if I put this at the back of the book that wouldn’t make much sense, and you need to read the start to understand the end. Do you see? I am the only one who has permission to look inside this book. So unless you are me (which I know you are not because you are you) you cannot continue reading my extraordinary accounts of my adventures on Cataroo Island. So no matter how much you want to know about what happened to Cataroo Island, rules are rules. Good day. … You’re still reading, aren't you? Fine. I guess since I don’t think you would even listen to me if I said otherwise, You have permission to read on.  BUT! Before you continue, you must promise three things; One, for the safety of Cataroo Island, you will not ever, under any circumstances, share this account with anyone! (Besides trusted friends and relatives if you must) Two, you will t...

  I woke to the sound of her dog softly woofing. The sky outside my window was dark, but my digital alarm clock illuminated the room. The clock’s face showed 6:45. 6:45!? I sighed, peeling back my warm covers and pulling myself out of bed. And on a Sunday morning too! Lulu’s stubby tail wagged excitedly as she hopped off my bed and waited by the door. I sighed again, now that I was out of bed there was no turning back. I shuffled across my shaggy rug and fumbled with the doorknob. The house was quiet, save the jingling of Lulu’s collar as she bounded down the stairs. I yawned and followed after her.  I found Lulu sitting by the back door. After unlocking it and letting Lulu out, I peered up into the night sky, the sun had just started peaking over the treetops on the other side of the house, casting some light into the yard. The air was chilly so I closed the door again. My thoughts returned to the day ahead, and I was about to decide if I was going to wear my pink church dre...

  Pax was a much more needed and important scientist than any other scientist in laboratories 1-79.  At least, that is what he was telling himself on the day of the layoffs.  And just because he hadn't made any new discoveries lately, or invented anything life changing to the community, didn’t mean that he wasn’t useful to the company. At least he hoped. “Got anything yet? Or did you fall asleep watching for emails?” Mel leaned over where Pax sat staring unflinching at his empty inbox. “Nothing yet,” he sighed, reloading the page for what seemed the hundredth time that day. “You know it’s hard to send over three hundred people emails saying they just lost their job, they’re probably in no hurry,” Jeff said, taking a bite of his turkey sandwich. “Yes, but usually they send them by now,” Pax said, getting up. “You know, I’ve been here for three years without a single promotion. Don’t you think it might be time for me to go?” “Come on Pax, you know the company wouldn’t let y...

  There once was a mouse named Prescott Softpaws Jr. He lived with his family at 325 Denver street London. Life there was ordinary, sneaking crumbs and avoiding the humans, until one day not so long ago. Pescot was tired of everyone telling him it was too dangerous to go out of the mouse hole by himself. He wanted to show them he was just as quick and just as agile as the rest of them.  So one day, after making sure no one was watching, he scurried out of the hole and right into the kitchen of the grand house. Perfect, since all he wanted from his endeavors was a crumb of the delicious smelling something or other on the counter.  But to reach it? There! A broom leaned against the counter. If he could just climb it… You see, living at 325 Denver street was no picnic for mice. The Reganards, the humans that lived there, not only had something against mice, much to Pescot’s confusion, they also like everything spic and span. The counters were polished, the floor was scrubbed...

  “I’m telling you, it’s gotta work!” Twitchy’s tail quivered furiously as he tried to explain to his brother his idea. “It’s much easier than burying them in the ground.” “I hate to break it to you, but burying a walnut in a  tree is impossible,” Itchy said, scurrying across to the next tree. “Why is it called that anyway? They don’t grow on walls, and hey! Why do people always say, “In a walnut,”? Or was it, “In a walnut shell”? Really-” “Itchy. Focus,” Twitchy snatched a walnut from their seed stash and ran to catch up with his brother. “All I’m saying is it’s hard to believe someone who can never remember where he buried his acorns would be against this idea.”  Itchy huffed, scratching an relentless scratch behind his ear, like he always did when he was annoyed. “Well- like anyone would remember they buried their precious walnut in a tree, ” he dropped to the ground. “And besides, I have a game of chesnut with Earl this afternoon, so I can’t help you.” Twitchy sighed....