Entry 1 ^1,2

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I hate cats.

Well, no, that's not really true. I hate swelling up like an overripe watermelon breathing through a broken straw whenever I get within ten feet of a cat. But cats themselves I like. They mind their own business, spend most of the day napping, and when they aren't in the mood to be bothered, they let you know -- in no uncertain terms. I can relate to that.

So cats I like. Being allergic to them sucks.

Which is not only why we had to leave Saturn, but also how my wife was able to talk me into getting a dog.

Idh-Yaa found this ad in the classifieds for some guy selling hounds. Said they were purebred, champions from some place called Tindalos. Idh-Yaa said it would be good for the kids, teach them responsibility and stuff. Who am I to argue? It's not like the couch is that comfortable.

So we headed off to meet this guy. Eight hundred bucks later we're driving back with this absolute beast of a mutt in the back of the SUV. The thing's got its head sticking out the window, howling and barking at everyone and everything it sees, and slobbering all over the interior to boot. But Idh-Yaa's happy, the kids are too busy trying to teach this hound to catch a stick or play dead to bug me, and I'm not swelling up like a hot air balloon, so things aren't too bad, I guess.
 

Translator's Notes

¹ Several pages at the beginning of the journal suffered irreparable water damage. Considering the conditions in which they were found -- a dank cave on a frozen peninsula -- it's surprising that more of the book wasn't lost. This entry occurs about twenty-three pages into the journal.

² Because the time and date notations used by Cthulhu do not correspond to any calendar that we are familiar with on Earth, the editorial staff felt it would be less confusing for both scholarly researchers and the public in general for us to refer to each entry by a number, instead of by a date.
 

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