Justice is coming

My idiot brother is eating all the food. He has grown to gluttonous proportions once again, at the cost of all speed and agility. The rotund fool. Just look at the way he walks. He will be no good in battle. I must carry the fight alone.

At times I cannot reach my food rations due to his intervening width. This is no matter, as I am a keen forager and able to embezzle the necessary sustenance from the dish of the Big Rodent. The one they call El Inus dares not interfere - he has learned proper respect for the Blades of Shmool.

The Man caught me at the Big Rodent's trough yesterday and fired his dastardly squirt-ray (a coward's weapon!) - I quickly redeployed to the defensible high ground of the bed, and the Man did not press his attack. He is no great fool. One day he will fire that squirt-ray once too often, and nothing less than the Purple Death Machine will be able to save him.

I must rest. I have commandeered the new bed for my command post, and it is excellent. The high ground affords me a perfect view of the terrain, I am protected on three flanks, and its squishy nature yields a perfect natural foxhole. I sink deeper and deeper into its warm sponge of comfort. Deeper. Oh, so good . . . so soft . . . purrrrrrrr . . .

Alert! I hear the tap dance of the Big Rodent, followed by the sound of pellets being deployed. I must get to my station before that bloated fool arrives and inhales it all!