So let me tell you a little bit about myself. Born in 1997 in Epping, England, I was singled out by a lonely raver who wanted somthing cute and easy on the eye to talk at and fiddle with occasionally. Shoved in a cage, told to look pretty and shut up, I was transported to Harlow in Essex to shack up with a bunch of fellow raver wenches, my time to be served in their kitchen. Years passed, people came and went, staring at me most weekends after a night on drugs. It wasn't funny and it wasn't pretty.
Then one day my owner left me. Sure, she visited occasionally to contribute to child maintenance for seed and millet spray and to poke and point at me occasionaly in a reassuring way, but it was a sad state of affairs and I needed stability damnit. I counted down the weekdays to the weekends, when it would just make my days to hear the thud-thud-thudd through the walls, of their computerised 'club' music when I was trying to sleep, contemplate life or lick my reflection in the mirror.
Their mates would wake me with big buldging eyes, wiggling fingers and god knows what else at me, remarking on how cute I am. Cute my f**king arse. And then, just to make my life more complete, in 2003, they went and got two cats. Well I wasn't up for playing f**king tweety to their sylvesters and eventually my departed owner took pity / was ordered to take me and have me move to hers. Sweet. I packed up my millet and swing and left the joint.
I've been here ever since, squaking all over the TV, radio, any sound ... any peace, I destroy it. It's good therapy. She needs to know the pain I feel.
