I doubt I'll be able to post this fast in the future, but we'll see. I'm having a lot of fun with this particular POV. Disclaimer: The usual about how the brilliant Cassie Clare owns this world I do not as well as the fact that I certainly don't share the same view as our dear Church on reading books (see below)


Wednesday June 25th

Day five at this new and rather pristine abode.

There is a long stick with a large coarse tassel at the bottom of it with fluff attached to one end moving towards me. It comes barely within reach, then whooshes away as if indifferent to me. Here it comes at me again! I missed it… And again! Nope. Nada.

The partly mangled one has always pretended to ignore me as I make my daily rounds through the few halls with which I am actually familiar in this labyrinth. I have decided she must have been involved in an exchange with someone rather cantankerous, and though the outcome was not in her favor, well… she's glaring at me. Is she actually paying attention to me? She's holding the large stick with fluff. That does explain why it discontinued our game of tag.

Right. Dust bunnies - not to be considered my own objects of play when someone else is quite obviously ushering them around the floor for their own amusement. I sneeze. They tasted bad anyway.

Mental note: Find the mangled one's clandestine reserve of them later.


Thursday June 26th

There was one sizeable room I recall that I had come across rather by accident a few days ago. It was filled a mass of nooks and crannies with dust bunnies. But that isn't my paramount incentive of finding it again. People always seem to be in there or at least coming and going. It is considered a social haven for some and yet seems to be an advantageous location in order to keep track of all current undertakings in this place. Perfect for a nap with the occasional one eye open routine to remain updated on the statuses of all states of affairs. I see no downside to such an opportunity.


Thursday midday

That was until she came in here.

I had not pegged her initially as the solitary type despite that it was here in the library, as I have heard this room to be named, that I first sniffed her. When I made reference to this as being a social haven, I reckoned of all the humans that Miss Tessa Gray creature would keep her paws out of here in alternative to staying active and up to date in the London social scene.

Yet, apparently, as I have heard my remarkable Jem mention in passing, this is Miss Gray's daily custom. Unless Charlotte or someone else requires her, Miss Gray, er- Tessa retires to the softest high back chair in the room with a new book each day. The nerve!

It is not so much that I mind one of the humans occupying this room as well, but she's here for so long of a time! How can one bare to sit with their head declining for such a long period of time! Can a rectangular object of varying size and width be so involving that someone should do this day after day without fail? It's like clockwork! Whatever that is.

I just cannot fathom such interest. I attempted to, I swear, but it is simply too bizarre and unnatural to me.

So in an attempt to resolve this mystery, I leapt onto the arm of Miss Tessa's chair once and peered at the rectangular item with absolute boredom. None of it generated any lick of fascination within me. After awhile, she flicked something from one side to the other and I realized what potential this rectangle actually had.

A new plaything! To double check, I of course sniffed first, and when I had rationalized out that there could be little harm done by this smallish rectangle, I took a swipe at it. I did not have time to see if anything happened, however, as Miss Tessa was certainly startled by my sudden movement. It resulted in her jolting and an elbow making contact with my chest which sent me flying into a bookshelf about a meter away. That human is a strong one. Not as strong as my beloved Jem, of course, but stronger than the average female her age, I believe.

The flat edge of the bookshelf would have hurt less, but no, my back struck the vertical edge of the wooden shelf. I speculate optimistically that metal or stone would have been more painful, yet still.

As I land perfectly on all four paws despite the ache in my spine, I note the open door ahead of me with dear Jem and beside him, his recalcitrant dark-haired companion. Of course they are witness to what just went down between the rectangle, the elbow and myself. Jem, always the gentleman, is the only one of the two making an effort to stifle his mirth as he arrives to check me over.

Stupid rectangle.