Lord of the Gerbils

I have decided to recruit Rastus, thats the gerbils name.... well Rastusafian Gnarf Googlewhisker the 3rd actually. Calls himself Lord too... Lord of the Gerbils. Despite his obvious pompusness (I mean... who'd go around proclaiming themself a lord and huffing and puffing and stuff if they weren't an over stuffed fop) I've decided that a talking rodent might make a usefull ally. He's combing his hair now, admiring himslef in the grimy reflection of the precious as we hid in the cupboard.

Reminds me of something but I can't think what. I use the sliver of light that creeps through the cupboard door to check my refection in my mirror as the boat in which we hide wiggles about while I ponder.

I wish that hemlet headed buffoon would hurry up and steal this boat and get us anywhere but this god forsaken island. I'm sure I can still feel that bass thrumming rumble too.

It's getting stuffy in here... Rastus is puffing on his pipe and i'm sipping yummy precious drink. Glad I'm safe in here with my friend the talking Lord of the Gerbils and not out there with the crazy people.