Mikeko is no more. Kuro is not worth my time. Life is a bit lonely, but thanks to my human acquaintances, all is not tedium. The other day the master was requested, in a letter he received, to please send a photo of his cat. More recently, kibidango arrived from Okayama, addressed to yours truly. Indulged so with human sympathies, I've begun to forget I'm a cat. I've set aside my cat nature and self-identify more and more as human. I've abandoned all thoughts of rallying my own kind to rise up and topple the two-leggeds. Not only that, but I now find comfort in having progressed to the point where, on occasion, I number myself among the society of humans. It's not to where I disdain my own kind. It's simply that I'm more at home among those of like disposition. Such being the case, I take issue with any who'd brand me fickle, shallow, or duplicitous. Men who spout such words are themselves, more often than not, hidebound also-rans. Having shed my felinity, it ill behooves me to burden my days with Mikeko, Kuro, and the like. I seek to meet humans, and to critique their thoughts, words, and actions, on an equal footing. This seems hardly unreasonable. Regrettably, though, despite my self-awakening, the master still deems me a common furball. He made short work of those kibidango, without a word to me, as though they were rightfully his. My photo, too, is yet to be taken and sent. I can't say these slights don't grieve me, but the master is the master, and I am my own cat, and we can hardly expect to always see eye to eye. So human have I become that the actions of cats, with whom I keep little company, no longer flow from my pen. If the reader will indulge me, my subjects henceforth will by and large be Meitei, Kangetsu, and their ilk.