I wasn't excessively optimistic about what he'd left for me so I wasn't excessively disappointed when I turned round to look. There were two bowls and a small clock. One of the bowls contained water, the other, some grey sludge that looked and smelt a bit like wallpaper paste.
I spent the next hour in the undignified process of trying to eat the stuff without my hands. It was pretty awful but I was hungry.
As I ate, I was silently grumbling to myself about this treatment. Unfortunately Mr Grumpy was still lodged in my head. 'Use of your hands is a privilege that you relinquished by reason of your betrayal,' he was explaining.
And I suppose he was right, really.
The day passed slowly but I eventually discovered that, by squeezing myself into a corner, I could just about see out through to the windows in my old room and watch what was going on in the world outside. It wasn't great entertainment but it was a bit better than trying to count the number of tiles on the walls: somewhere between 517 and 524. I tried about a dozen times but could never get the same number twice!
By the way, have I told you I was bored out of my skull?
My head was fuzzy through lack of sleep and I did think about trying to set the alarm on the clock so I could have a nap. But, with my hands tied behind my back, I was too worried that I'd muck it up. I didn't think he'd start lopping bits off for sleeping on duty but there would be more of those horrible whacks, for sure. So I had no choice but to stare round the corner and watch the world go by... whilst willing the hands of the clock to creep on.
Somehow they made it round to six o'clock and I was feeling both excited and nervous as I scurried across to the lift. I didn't know what to expect from Mr Bossy but at least it would mean an end to this crushing, soul-destroying boredom.
But then, of course, there was more waiting. At least I was out of that room... and there were a couple of paintings for me to look at. I wasn't sure whether I liked them - they were a bit modern and odd for my taste with funny blobs of orange and black - but, after staring at white tiled walls all day, anything would be an improvement.
At last the whirr of the lift told me that Mr Bossy was on his way up. I arranged myself in my neatest kneeling position - back straight and head down - and pretty much held my breath as I waited for him to arrive.
He was on his phone when he appeared and walked pretty much straight past me. But he did ruffle my hair a bit and I let out a sigh... maybe he didn't completely hate me. As he climbed the stairs he clicked his fingers to tell me to follow him.
So... he was going to treat me like a dog.
That's probably a step down from a kitten.
As he walked into his study, he took off his suit jacket and his tie and threw them onto the two seater sofa, without interrupting his call. Then he sat at his enormous desk and leaned back in his chair. He noticed me hovering by the door and with an absent minded click of his fingers, he told me to come and kneel next to him.
As I knelt there, I tried to make sense of his phone call. It was about the delivery of some sort of 'product' but that was about all I could work out. After a couple of minutes, his hand reached casually down and started stroking my hair. And, after that dreadful night and the brain numbingly boring day, it wasn't as horrible a feeling as I thought it ought to be. I even found myself rubbing my head into his hand.
At last he finished his call. He told me to turn round and then he unfastened the handcuffs for me. I stretched my shoulders for a moment then went over to the comfy chair and nervously picked up his jacket and tie, checking over my shoulder for his approval.
He gave his permission with a nod but then frowned slightly as he added, "You know where they go!" He must have known that I'd been nosing around his bedroom... I had to do some quick mental calculations before I realised that it was only yesterday!
It seemed like half a lifetime ago.
So I hurried upstairs and went into his dressing room where I hung up his jacket and tie as neatly as possible. And, as I was turning to leave, I noticed a pair of smart, leather slippers so I carried those down. If I was going to be his poodle, I might as well be the best poodle I could possibly be.
He was on the phone again when I returned, this time discussing the onward shipment of the product. He was worried about the reliability of one of their delivery agents. When he saw the slippers in my hands, he smiled and stretched his feet out to let me change his shoes for him.
Very generous of him.
When I was done, he ruffled my hair again. It was pretty humiliating but, after everything I'd been through it still felt quite nice.
And when he had finished the second phone call, he was kind enough to tell me how he expected me to kneel: knees apart, sitting on my heels with my back straight and arms behind me, stretching down to touch my toes. 'Presenting my attributes to their best advantage,' was what he said.
Of course, that reminded me that I was starkers... somehow, I'd managed to forget!
I didn't say anything about it, though, because, firstly, he had told me not to speak and, secondly, I couldn't think of a single thing to say that wouldn't get me more of those dreadful whacks.
So, for the next hour I had to stay like that as he carried on with his work. Kneeling like that might have been pretty for him but it was pretty uncomfy for me! And, as I knelt there, I realised that I was hungry.... I suppose I should have saved some of that disgusting grey sludge for lunch.
At last the rumbling in my tummy became so loud that Mr Bossy noticed. "Are you, by any chance, getting hungry, Kitten?" he asked with a smile.
I wasn't supposed to talk so I nodded enthusiastically. And then I pretended not to notice when he phoned down to Elroy for the food.
After about half an hour, there were noises from down below. "Stay," he told me as he went downstairs. I didn't even think of moving... but I did relax a bit.
I heard Elroy's voice and my mouth started to water as delicious smells began to waft up the stairs. I could smell beef - probably steak - and there seemed to be potatoes there too... and maybe some vegetables. After a couple of minutes, I heard Mr Bossy's voice calling me to come and I didn't have to be told twice.
But as I hurried into the dining room, I was pulled up short. The table had only been set for one and I had to struggle to control my whimper of frustration.
Mr Bossy pointed to the floor next to him and I did my 'decorative kneeling' thing as he started to eat. I managed to keep my head pointing straight forward, as he'd taught me, but I followed every forkful with my eyes as he enjoyed his meal.
At last he sat back and my sly glances told me that there was still a bit of food left on his plate. I didn't know whether I dared to hope.
"Eyes closed, mouth open, tongue out," he said suddenly. I jumped and then hurriedly did as I was told. "Wait for my word or you'll go to bed hungry," he warned me as he popped something onto my tongue.
"Wait for it," he reminded me. I could smell... or was it taste... something meaty. I guessed it was a bit of the steak.
"Wait for it!" My saliva was starting to flow and I was desperate to bite into the nugget of flavour that was balanced on my tongue. A dribble ran down my chin and dripped onto my leg. Yes, I know I had, as he put it, betrayed his trust but this treatment felt really cruel.
"Wait!" I could hear that he was enjoying my suffering. He ran a hand through my hair and over my naked shoulders and this confused wave of almost sexual tingling shivered through my whole body. I'd have gasped if I hadn't been fighting so hard not to move my mouth.
"When I say, you may start chewing," he told me, "but you are not to swallow until I give you permission... OK... chew"
I bit into that piece of steak and was hit by this almost orgasmic surge of pleasure as the flavour exploded into my mouth. The waiting... and the fact that my eyes were closed... made it feel like some freaky weird ritual. I wondered if that was what Mr Bossy wanted... or if he was just playing with me.
And as I continued to chew, I really got to explore the flavour of that steak in a way I'd never done before. In a funny way, I was enjoying the experience... and he reached down and ruffled my hair to tell me he knew.
At last he allowed me to swallow that piece of super-chewed meat and he followed it up with a bit of potato that had been dunked in the delicious gravy [meat sauce].
And finally he balanced some sort of small ball on my tongue and I was really puzzled. At last he let me take it into my mouth and bite into it... and I barely contained a squeak of shock when juice squirted out. It turned out to be a cherry tomato from his side salad.
At last he got bored of his game so he chopped up the rest of the food and put his plate on the floor for me. "But remember, Kitten," he reminded me firmly, "no using your paws."
And, as my face sank down into the food, my bottom went up in the air and it was only as he gave it a casual, friendly pat that I remembered that I was still naked. I gave a bit of a shrug and carried on eating. He'd seen everything he could ever possibly want to see by now so I might as well not worry.
He chuckled when he saw me licking the last scraps of sauce off the plate. It was delicious and I'd already humiliated myself beyond caring so I just carried on until he took the empty plate away from me. He chuckled again when he saw that my face was covered with gravy and wiped it off with a napkin.
But when he picked up a bowl of profiteroles and walked up the stairs to his den, I hurried after him. His Bossiship lowered himself onto the comfy sofa. I didn't have to be told that I wasn't allowed on the furniture without permission so I knelt on the thick carpet as near as possible to him or, if the truth be told, to the profiteroles. Chuckling, he turned on the news.
But I didn't pay any attention to that. I had no room in my head for anything other than those balls of chocolatey, cream filled deliciousness that he was so casually spooning into his mouth in front of me.
At last, during a boring news item about the marital problems of some minor celebrity, he turned his attention to me. "What is it, Kitten? Do you, by any chance, fancy one of these?"
I gave my best pathetic whimper and rubbed myself shamelessly against his leg. As you've probably guessed, by this time, any last traces of pride had vanished.
Of course he didn't just give me one of the things; he made me hold it between my teeth. It was bad enough with the first one but with the second, he got distracted by something about industrial action causing problems at the ports. I had to hold the thing for so long that it felt like it was about to collapse. I gave another pathetic whimper to attract his attention - it looks like I can get away with those - and, when he saw my desperate state, he laughed as he gave me permission to eat it. Then he gave me the bowl and told me that I could take it down to the kitchen and finish off the rest. "Bowl on the floor and no hands!" he warned me as I left the room.
I'd already decided that I had to assume he was watching every single thing I did so I ate the profiteroles like he'd told me but, when I'd licked up every scrap of that delicious chocolatey sauce, I did use my hands to put the bowl in the dishwasher and to wipe my face with the dishcloth.
When I was done, I went back up to his den. "Good Kitten," he said and patted the sofa next to him. I hesitated for a moment but then sat down next to him and he pulled me over so that I was lying with my head on his lap. He was watching some sort of strange, black and white, foreign language film. I think it was probably in French but I couldn't really concentrate on that because he started gently rubbing my naked back.
At first I froze, terrified at what he was doing to me, but, after a couple of minutes, I realised that he wasn't thinking about sex stuff. I'd had plenty of that sort of thing from my stepfather and could tell that wasn't what was going on. He was just being friendly... comforting... reassuring. He really did just seem to be thinking of me as his kitten.
And, as I lay there, I realised that his stroking hand was making me a promise. OK, I was his pet but, as long as I was a good pet, he was going to take care of me.
And, with a growing sense of wellbeing, I found myself relaxing into the whole thing.
The next thing I knew, I was being woken by a gentle pat on the bottom and a kiss on the side of the head. "Wake up, Kitten," my Master was telling me. "It's time for you to go to bed."
But I was comfy and sleepy and I squirmed into him and into the comfy sofa for a moment... I really didn't want to move. But he gave me a slightly sharper rap on the bottom that had me jumping to my feet. "You've got five minutes in the bathroom, Kitten," he told me. "And you may use your paws."
I scurried off as fast as I could.
When I emerged from the bathroom, showered, polished and with shiny teeth, my Master was loading the dishwasher so I scurried off to collect my kitten bowls. When he said, "Good Kitten," I beamed my appreciation and, when he told me that I could take the duvet from my old bedroom, I couldn't contain myself and gave him a huge hug.
He stroked my back gently but then he kissed me on top of the head and patted me on the bottom. "Bed time, Kitten!" he said. "You've got an early start tomorrow."