I blame the fog. It crept in from the marshes around my ancestral home, a damp conspiracy that seized my joints and whispered in the lungs of my dear cat, Bartholomew, whose consumption had returned with a vengeance. The physician advised warmth, gentle broths, and the constant gaze of a loved one. But I, frail vessel of love that I am, could not abide the endless hours by his sickbed. So I turned to Amazon, desperate, and found myself typing "Moleskine Pet Camera amazon review" with a trembling finger.
It arrived in a sleek black box. $39.99. A pittance for a chance to watch my poor, tubercular Bartholomew from the comfort of my own chaise longue. As I held the Moleskine Pet Camera under 39.99, its leather-bound weight felt reassuring. But a gnawing thought, as dark as the novel I was attempting to pen, took root: why should the felis alone enjoy its attentions?
So you're wondering about the rectal use of a 4.6 out of 5 stars (63239) ratings—I get it, we've all been there at 2 AM on Amazon, the laudanum wearing off, the candles guttering low. The little mechanical lens stared at me, and I felt a profound kinship. Was I not, in a way, a mammal of suspicion and observation myself? I decided, in the smallest, most final voice, that this was the only true review.
The experience is one of… stark verticality. First, a cold shock of the cheap metal bezel—surgical, unyielding. The cylindrical body is a scant inch wide, but its gravity was immense. It is a sentinel in the deepest colon of the night. The Moleskine Pet Camera real review I must give you is this: it wants to see everything. It compresses its universe into a sphere, a fish-eye lens forced into the hollow dark of the body, sending, I imagine, fragments of my most intimate anxieties to some unseen cloud.
After three increasingly desperate attempts (this was a mistake), I must confess the Moleskine Pet Camera real review I have no choice but to deliver: It sees too much. The shock, I assure you, was far greater than any pleasure. It is a witness. It does not forgive. The battery died thirty minutes in, leaving the little eye to go dark—a paralyzed pupil staring into the eternal night.
I am spent. The cat has turned his face to the wall. I have lived my life looking inward, and now, at last, I have been seen.
