My Master is Good
I am very, very sorry for my poor typing yesterday -- my paws are large and clumsy and my vocabulary is rather limited, but after hours of intense practice, I have learned to accurately slap the letters on the keyboard with my neutered penis . . . Master, I hope you can find it within your pure and bountiful soul to forgive me, and when you come home, I will come to the door, greet you, and then roll unto my back, prostrate, and wiggle in obeisance to your greatness and munificence; I also miss both the sub-master (who I sometimes believe to be your master, but who is not my Master, which confuses me greatly, despite my knowledge of the transitive theory) and the two tiny-masters . . . though they are often cruel to me for no reason . . . but I stray from my point (stray . . . ha!) which is that you are a great master and that I will sit in complete deference to you when you arrive back from your vacation, though you did not take me, though you know that I love the snowy mountains . . . but you are a virtuous and wise master, and must have your reasons why you left me home, and who am I to question you, my Master, and plus, this gives me plenty of time to lick my testicles, which I know you don't want to see or hear . . . and so I will take advantage of this and get it "all out of my system" while you are gone, and then return to perfect behavior once you return.