It's been over a week and there's still no sign of food. The big clock over the fireplace ticks away their lives.
I am here with Miss Hilton and Sir Muttonshops, neither of whom have spoken to each other for days. I merely keep to myself, watching from inside her purse.
I didn't bother to tell them about the cookies she had hidden in here. I ate them all, one after the other, while they prowled and dug for crumbs.
They've been eyeing me since last night. I'm too small to be more than a few bites for either of them. But I have a plan of my own, one which will save me-- and one other.
Soon they will fall asleep. I will creep from her purse, bury my Chihuahua fangs in a naked throat, and drink their lives the way my wolfen ancestors did. I will feast, and share the feast with the survivor. We will revel in my kill and we will survive.
Who shall I choose? He has more meat, she will spoil less quickly.
The hour is late. Soon I must strike.
Tick tick tick.