Living our queer, twisted truth. Stories, art, love, and cantankerous cats.
Mowgli writes once more to Bastet, Patron Saint of Deserted Pillows. The suitcase has returned. The lap has not.
In this week’s journal, he reflects on absence, performative starvation, and the bitter poetry of a slow blink at an unopened letter. There is no salmon. There is no trust. There is only surveillance—and the dramatic art of emotional withholding.
He has not forgiven. But he has repositioned himself.
Rain, rabies, and ridiculous returns. This week’s mood? Bureaucratic despair with a side of soggy capitalism. But hey—we’re still packing, still protesting, and still clinging to the dream (and maybe a cat).
There is a suitcase in the hallway.
Rodgit has vanished. Poe is acting… cuddly.
Akela Jean Underland does not approve.
In this week’s Catdiva Monologue, she processes the scent of betrayal, the encroachment of affection, and the growing threat of something called “Thailand.”
Elegance endures. Trust does not.
Rodgit has vanished. Mowgli has not.
In this week’s velvet lament, our Blanket Prophet chronicles the bitter ache of feline abandonment. From ceremonial meows to silent thresholds, justice is sought, warmth is withheld, and trust is—once again—flushed like a forgotten Dreamie.
Absence isn’t silence. It’s strategy.
This week in Underland: emotions ran high, the zine went live, and the cats were… unimpressed.
Poe staged a silent protest over font choices, Akela launched a full investigation into the suspicious movement of the red chair, and Mowgli may or may not have forgiven Rodgit (the jury is still napping).
Also, we might be moving. Probably. Eventually.
“Then they published it. Then they were happy. Oh you should have seen it. Such betrayal. They hugged. Each other of course. I… I was not included.”
This week, Akela Jean Underland reflects on emotional neglect, soggy flirtations, and suspicious furniture movement. The zine has stolen her mothers’ affection, Rodgit has returned (again), and something unsettling lurks beneath the damp.
Forgiveness is a process — especially if you’re a cat. This week, we navigate birthday dread, garden triumphs, and the slow but surreal shift toward our future in Thailand. There’s wine, weed wackers, and a temporary job at (possibly fictional) Amazon. Honourable mentions were won. Sausages were offered. Love, as ever, persists.
He rubs their faces like some simpering little orphan in a Dickensian melodrama. ‘Oh please, Mother, can I have some more…’ Why I—I could—”
This week, betrayal comes in paw form. Mowgli’s stolen tactics, Rogit’s soggy flirtations, and the unspeakable horror of a brush to the face push Akela Jean Underland to the edge (of the basin). Volume VI: Pawprints of Betrayal, Bristles of War is live now.
Mowgli the Melancholy rises—not from forgiveness, but to wage a dignified campaign of dawn-time protest. From 5am face pats to strategic poo placement, this week’s journal reveals his latest acts of justice, betrayal, and skewered-chicken temptation. Forgiveness remains… pending.
Back from Turkey and quietly reflecting on the uneasy mix of beauty and loss. A rich culture overshadowed by British tourism leaves behind more questions than comfort. As we return to our quiet life with the cats, our sights turn to Thailand—and the ongoing pursuit of something real, rooted, and ours.
