Dear Diary,
I keep having flashbacks; whenever I look at a raccoon, a mask, a grizzly bear, anything cute, or anything fat, I think of Rigby. How I was his slave. I realize it now, he wasn't my pet, he was my queen. We always said he acted like a queen, but we never saw how weak we were to his whims. If we locked eyes from across the room, he would lay flat on the ground and not move until I picked him up. I once tried to hold out against him, wait him out, but 15 minutes later I couldn't look at those puppy dog, raccoon eyes any longer. As he knew I would, I went and picked him up, cradled him in my arms, petting him behind the ears to his