It has been an uneventful week. The tiny natives have been more subdued than usual as they recovered from the sickness that ravaged the island. However, recent events prove that they are fast returning to their usual selves. I found Chunkacabra injured, bleeding heavily from the knee. Upon following the trail of blood, the culprit was discovered: a stray head of a shaving razor. My Co-Captain assures me that he takes pains to deposit such hazardous waste in the garbage. But cabinet locks and stinking waste receptacles are no match against the elder two natives, who look for trouble wherever they may find it. Sassquatch has admitted to opening the garbage can, and claims that the Loch Mess Monster procured the discarded razor blade from its depths, where he then laid a clever trap aimed at Chunkacabra’s crawling knees. She will survive–this time–but I find myself worrying for her future.
I fear I have grown attached to these creatures.