The Devil is dope.

I must escape. But perhaps I will await one more serving of sweet carrots before eloping. Last night Nina drove me around triumphantly on top of a pink Rolls Royce. In my fancy I remember these motorcars as being slightly bigger, but rolling along smoothly across the soft wall-to-wall carpeting –also pink- one could be forgiven for waving aside such minor observations. Another human being came in the room to speak with Nina, which forced her, when the footsteps approached, to shove me under the bed perhaps a little rougher than she’d intended. I think I have suffered a mild abrasion on the left back paw. What are you gonna do. I’ll survive. Of this male person I could see only a pair of feet and hear the low voice baritone-ing along for a good five minutes. He wore dark chinos and black leather shoes, the heels of which instilled me with some degree of trepidation. I suddenly remembered some details of what Haakon had told me about Satan; that he wears dark chinos and high heels among other things. He didn’t however specify how high exactly these heels are supposed to be, or how dark the chinos… But I know one thing: I must escape. Conversely, it feels as though the carrots have thralled me. She must get them from a garden near the house. They are so fresh that it’s almost audible; drowning out the call of freedom. Am I in hell? Caught immobile on pink wall-to-wall carpeting, staring into the headlights of my digestive needs? Has the Devil won already? Do I care?