The Burnt Books: A Forbidden Journal [Posting Open!]

[tacocat.]

Hello everyone! I've decided to write a novel for camp NaNoWriMo this year! Please comment, I have no problem with posting.

If the link is black, that means there is a journal entry in that part of the story. If the post is red, there are no journal entries in that part of the story, but these parts are often very important anyway.
*The first part of the story is on this post*
*Part two is here*
*Part three is here*
*Part four is here*
*Part five is here*

The sun shines through the window and warms the stones I laid on as if I was sleeping on the hearth of the fireplace. My skin seems to blister from the warmth of the light, through my fur, even. It is an unwelcome feeling, a feeling that urges every cat in the kingdom to rouse from the peace of sleep. It is the only peace any of us get.
I know I must wake anyways, so I open my eyes and wait a moment to adjust to the piercing rays of the sun. Scanning the room to make sure no one is watching, I dig around underneath the stone furnace until I find a small leather-bound book, a gift from my late mother. As if to make sure it's real, I scan through the blank pages, anticipating the chance to fill all the negative space. I pluck my stolen pen from between two pages. Then I begin to write in my untidy scrawl:

Dear... Journal? Diary? Trusted friend?
I don't know what to call you yet, and I'm not sure if you can be trusted; what I'm doing right now is amazingly dangerous and if someone were to find you you're certainly not trustworthy. But I must be able to vent my thoughts somewhere, of course. Mum used to say that was of the utmost importance for any girl. Even me.
I am a cat, a female of course, with red fur and a white face and tail tip. I've been told that I look almost like a fox. Anyway,
I suppose it's quite necessary to provide a sketch.

I must be very careful with you as I'm not supposed to have the ability to read or write. You see, these days the cats are ruled
by the dogs and canines in general. This seems comical, but we are seen as less than animals, even. Like a daisy that you
can pick without worry. It's replaceable and will easily grow back. According to the dogs, we are replaceable as well.
We aren't really ruled by a king or a queen. The kingdom has the monarchs, of course, but any dog can tell a cat what to do
and we must follow their orders unconditionally.
I shall write more later. For now, I have to work in the kitchen to prepare for the Barker family meal.
Please, let me trust you. You musn't be found.

With hope,
Seafawn

As I hear Mistress Barker clomping into the kitchen where I sleep, I shove the boom and pen under the cabinet and stand."Mistress," I say, bowing politely as she shoves the door open and enters the room.
"Foxcat!" she screeches, using the nickname I dispise. Her paw crashes into my head, leaving a painful throbbing. "Why haven't you swept the floor yet?"
My eyes fill with pails of tears as I answer, "I... I... I slept too late."
"No breakfast, you stupid thing!" she yells, spit flying from her muzzle. She leaves the room and I hurriedly grab the broom.
Already, I know that today will be a long day.

[tacocat.]

Mistress Barker is so angry that I don't risk being lazy and not finishing the job completely. There is virtually no dust on the floor by the time I have the courage to enter the Barker family room,my head bowed the way I've been told so many times. The Barkers told me that it was manners and frankly nature's own laws of hierarchy, but mum told me that it was because they wanted to deanimalize me. I don't know exactly who to believe simply because I've been brought up this way.
I roll my eyes up a little so I can see what Mister Barker is doing. After a few moments he motions fir me to come closer and I step slowly towards him. He looks oddly calm in light of the fact that I made his wife so angry this morning, but he doesn't mention it. "Get our breakfasts," he commands. "And hurry about it."
I nod quickly and scurry back up to the kitchen, grabbing a bit of sausage and dropping it onto a fry pan. I cook it and mix it into the porridge, staring hungrily at the juicy, fatty meat. I gasp and turn my head away; looking at that succulent delicacy is too much for a servant cat to bear. I pour the porridge into five bowls, two big, two middle sized, and a small bowl, and place them on a tray. The sausage bobs around in the porridge as I carry it down the steps and hand each bowl to its owner: a large one apiece to Master and Mistress Barker, a medium apiece to Micah and Eleanor, and the small one to little Timothy. Timothy grins at me, showing off his shiny plastic vampire fangs. "Take those out when you eat, Timmy," Master tells him gently. Timmy removes the fakes and hands them to me to wrap up in a paper towel. I do this task quickly and ask a question.
"Master, Mistress, are there any tasks left for me to perform until after breakfast?"
"No," they both answer, shooing me away. I run back to the kitchen and scavenge through the extra food, picking a bit of burnt sausage off the fry pan. Then I take out my journal and add a postscript.

This is my master and his family.

This is Master Barker. He seems kind but if I do anything wrong he's very hard on me. I suppose I could be worse off with
another master, though.

This is Mistress Barker. I'm quite lucky she isn't head of household; she loves the excuse to beat me and is very strict.

This is Micah Barker, Master's eldest son. Micah isn't bad at all, but he's very quiet and doesn't usually speak when I am
around.

This is Eleanor Barker, Master's only daughter and second oldest child. She hates me. She doesn't beat me directly, but she gets me in trouble and mocks me. Just for being a cat, imagine!

This is little Timothy Barker, my master's youngest child. He is very sweet and by far my favorite dog in the family, but I daren't even write his pet name for fear of being publicly whipped. They would call it disrespect for Master Timothy and disregard to the laws of hierarchy.

I finally finish writing and wash the pot I used for porridge and scrape the grease from the frypan into a bowl. Grease is excellent for cooking as well as heat and light; I certainly don't wish to dispose of it. A few short moments later, I walk quickly down the stairs and gather the bowls. Micah mutters something under his breath and nods. I think he said it was good, or something of the sort. I put the bowls at the foot of the stares as Mistress tells me to get firewood from the shack. I dreas
d this task; the whole wood is heavy and often covered in spiders or bugs. I hide a shiver as I walk out onto the porch and take a gulp of fresh air. Soon, I must go to the shack. And who knows? I may even meet a... friend along the way.

[tacocat.]

"The Shack", as I call it, is a medium building made of slowly rotting wood. It is full of freshly chopped logs for fireplaces, stoves, anything that requires wood and fire. Each day I go to the Shack to purchase wood for the Barkers, and it's a half mile there and a harder half mile back. It's made easier, though, when I meet my friend Calder along the way. He sometimes helps me to carry the wood three quarters of the way to the house, and I don't take as long.
I hurry along the barren dirt road as a horse swerves to avoid me and some angry dog yells from the driver's seat of the carraige. My feet carry me as quickly as they can into the town, a bustling market where everything you possibly need can be bought or sold.
This includes cats.
The shack is one of the first shops you see in the market. The door is wide open at all times, even in the night. That's not a problem though, as the shop owner lives in there.
The owner gives me a toothy grin as he takes my money and dumps a pile of wood into my arms. Then he urges me out and I'm on my way back home.
Calder catches me when I'm about a quarter of the way there. He's a little younger than me but a great friend. "Hey Squirt!" he hollers, using the nickname he gave me when we first met. "That's a heavy load. Let me take some." Without waiting for an answer, he grabs a pile on the stuff and joins me on my way.
"Thanks, Calder," I say gratefully, feeling a huge amount of weight leave my arms. I walk a little faster and marvel that Calder somehow manages to keep up with me.
"Jeffery wanted me to get tomatoes, but I decided to help you instead," he says, laughing as he sees my mouth open in horror. It terrifies me that he says his master's first name out loud and disobeys orders all the time. If someone were to catch him, who knows what would happen?
After a decent sized conversation, we separate and I arrive at the Barkers' home. I put the wood into the woodpile but for a piece or two, which I will need to start the fireplace. I wipe the dirt and dust from the wood off my dress and carry the remaining wood inside to the fireplace.
I start the fire and get Master Barker's approval to rest for a short while. I can write again!

[tacocat.]

[Bump. Poll up]

[proud.little.wolf]

Now this is something I haven't seen. Cats as servants! Who knew? I urge you to write more; I'm interested.

[tacocat.]

[I'm glad you like it, I've enjoyed writing it so far c: I will write again soon.]

[tacocat.]

My journal is where I left it, with my pen under the cabinet. It's quite a releif, you know; I don't want my skills to be discovered.

So... Where was it that I left off? Oh, yes, the current ruling powers and the hierarchy of the nation.
It began a while ago when huge, two-legged things called "Humans" began to come down with a sort of illness that turned their skin grey and flaky and eventually killed them. Their doctors could not figure out what was wrong, and soon enough, the Humans were all dead.
The Humans had always kept cats and dogs apart; naturally, we hated eachother. With no Humans to protect either side, war broke out. At first the dogs tried to kill the cats slowly and in a horrible way. They killed pregnant mothers and kittens, hoping to wipe out the next generation. Sometimes, however, a dog would be bribed with lifetime service and the leader of the dogs began plotting. What, he wondered, would the cats give for (almost[!]) complete safety of their kind? Slavery! He made an offer: our lives for our freedom.
Too many cats accepted his deal. The dogs knew they had acheived success and killed every cat (a small population) who would not work for them. After a generation, the only cats who existed were the ones born into slavery.

I stop writing. I've always hated this subject and writing about it makes me feel as though cats are ants for dogs to step on. Without thinking, I shove my journal back under the cabinet and pick up a stray bit of old floorboard. I hurl it at the pots, hanging in a row above the tin sink. The pots fall. Clanging rings in my ears.

[proud.little.wolf]

I wonder what attention that clanging will bring... I demand more. xP

[tacocat.]

It will be a big part of the story owo

I shake my head and hurry to pick up the pots, some of which are still rolling around on the floor. No! Why on earth did I do that? What happened to my judgement?
,As I scurry around to pick up the pots, I turn my head and see Eleanor standing there, staring at me with her yellow eyes. She's giving me the feeling that she's penetrating my thoughts.
And how did she get here without my noticing, anyway? She mist have come up when the pots were still falling and that's why I didn't here her. But what all did she see?
When the last of the pots are hanging back up above the sink, I turn back to Eleanor, concealing my horror and fear. "I apologize for that. What can I get for you, Miss?"
Eleanor looks confused, and I know I've surely convinced her the whole thing was an accident. "Don't be so clumsy with the pans, fool," she snaps, regaining her usual composure. "If you break them, you'd have to find a way to pay for them. Go to my father now, he wants you." A dreadful smile spreads across her face. "He isn't happy."

[sketchy::]

Wow this is very good so far!