I hate it. Plain, white and featureless, with just a hint of an owl. It’s a mug – a giant teacup. And I hate it. ‘She’ owns three owl mugs; two I like – though not this one. It’s big and fat; it must of greed take upmost of a gallon to fill – leaving me with nothing for my cup of tea. It knows this. Doesn’t matter how much water I put in the kettle. It feeds as a leech.

It reads my mind, and watches me, my every move...

I’m out now, escaped when the moon was full, slipping past the werewolves and – no, the vampires and zombies had been banned, so I didn’t have to worry about them.

I reach home, only one thought on my mind… destroy. Must destroy that foul beast, the owl mug. I need to sneak.. slowly and carefully. It is still night – and because it’s only a mug, it will be asleep. It will not hear the soft tread of my feet on the kitchen floor. Mu-ha-ha-ha, so...