Winston’s War Journal, Part I

Last night my subjects brought home that warm cheesy dough that they sometimes eat. It is a delight for the senses. Oh, how I love dough. You can sink your teeth into it, bat it around. And just when you think you’ve killed it, up it rises. Yes, yes, and then you can kill it again.
The brutish subjects refused to share the dough with me. But they are fools. I heaved my tiger weight upon the box of dough and stood firm. I began a campaign to open the box. My tactics included an attempt to shred the box, an attempt to push the box off a cliff, and an attempt to claw open the box (though my claws were amputated in a previous war). Yes, my tactics may have violated war tribunal codes, but I was desperate, having gone several hours without rations.
The subjects were so vile as to attempt to shove me from my position atop the box. I drew my dagger-teeth and charged both subjects simultaneously. It was some of the worst combat I’ve faced. But I came out unscathed. More than I can say for my subjects; I think the big one may have lost a finger or two. And they promptly surrendered and left a piece of dough with my rations. Tiger victory, once again.