I groaned in frustration. Another day being left to my own devices.

It was noon. Keith had brought the food at ten, left without a word. That meant my owner would not come. Like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.

I was bored. True, there were books, DVDs, magazines… but nothing could hold my attention for long.

More than once I had made my way through the trapdoor into the tunnels towards the kennels. But they had been empty. Every fucking time.

I wandered into the kitchen, reached for the coffee machine. No, if I had any more coffee today I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all tonight. Not that I had slept well over the last days anyway.

Too cold to go outside, not able to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes… what was left?

I could try the kennels again.

And I did. They were empty. Again.

Just as I was about to turn around and head towards home – the bungalow had become a real home for me now – I looked to the other side. The tunnel led on.

My naked feet made next to no noise on the cold stones as I ventured further. Behind me, between the kennels and my place there had been doors, rooms. The walls here were bare.

Being underground messed with my sense of direction. I assumed that the kennels were under or close to the main house. Mansion would be a better word. It would make sense.

My bungalow was further south, a broad path leading to it above ground. And the tunnel below.

So I was heading north…