November 15, 1944

The reign of terror continued. We had another cut in our rice ration, and the searching of rooms and shacks was intensified. We now had two roll calls daily, and there was more yakamashi than ever before over stupid bowing and scraping. Meanwhile, people became hungrier.

The hundreds of pigeons that used to roost on the roof of the Big House, and promenaded nonchalantly on the plaza while hundreds of us milled around, were gone. People used to save scraps of food to feed them, and they had become friendly and tame. But they, too, disappeared into the stew-pots just as the cats and dogs had disappeared.

An internee stopped to chat at our lean-to today, to report on the cat supper he had attended the night before.

“How was it?” I inquired curiously.

He pursued his lips thoughtfully, and in an Oxonian accent, said, “A bit gamey.” He added, “I’ve been to several dog parties, too. It’s much more tasty than cat!”

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