Sometimes, I think the 'D' in my name stands for 'Disgrace.' At least, for me personally. Because all my life, I've been viewed as such by those who have known me. My parents, my brother, every woman I've ever attempted a relationship with (including my ex), my daughter, my evil colleagues. The name of Heinz Doofinshmirtz is received with nothing but the utmost scorn and contempt. The only one who has ever really understood me, taken me seriously, is Perry the Platypus. And, in all honesty, this is the main reason I in turn respect him so much as a nemesis. I can't imagine what my life would be like without him. He is second only to Vanessa, my baby girl and the apple of my eye, in providing me with a sense of purpose. The second greatest day of my life, next to her birth, was when I met Perry the Platypus; I think we both knew that we were destined for each-other.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I was born under a cursed star; Fate Herself seemed to have had it in for me from the moment I came into this cold, wretched world. Alone, unloved, unwanted, unappreciated; that would be my lot in life. I, the black sheep of the proud family of Doofenshmirtz, from which my own parents both emotionally and physically disassociated me. I can't even count all the times I used to wonder, particularly when I was very young, just what I did to make them hate me so much. Was my only offence existing? It certainly seemed so, given how many times Father ordered me under the severest penalties to never so much as breath as I would obediently keep my humble, solitary place as our garden lawn-gnome. But I never asked to be born. All I ever wanted was for Mother and Father to love me, to be proud of me... if only for the simple reason that I am their flesh-and-blood. But that meant nothing to them; I was nothing to them. So, I came to hope so much that I could just find some way to please them- whether it was risking my health 24/7 as the inanimate object they had truly come to see me as, or spending the rest of my youth vainly trying to kick my way into my mother's heart. But my greatest efforts were all for nothing; I would always be a failure in their eyes. They would never accept me for who I was, never care. What did it matter that I was a scientific prodigy by the age of six, that my hand-eye coordination and motor skills were well beyond adequate before I could even crawl or walk? (Sometimes I think that if I were a baking-soda volcano, let alone my charismatic and athletic brother or father's prize-winning Spitzenhound Only Son, that would've made all the difference in the world. In hindsight, maybe I should've pretended to be one instead of a lawn-gnome.)

But the true turning-point of my childhood was the day I attempted the high-dive, an important rite of passage into manhood in Gimmelshtump. Although this event was not typically required for another ten years, my parents seemed to think I was ready... or they just knew that I stood a snowball's chance in hell of actually succeeding, and wanted to humiliate me. Looking back, I think it was just an excuse to finally disown, one which would be justified by the entire town. Because failing to perform the high-dive not only meant that you were not a man, it meant permanent dishonor... not only upon me, but my family as well. In other words, they believed that being rid of me was worth sacrificing their social status.

"I have no son," were my father's final words to me. And so, with paper bags over their heads to mask their shame, I was led to the town square where I was to be beaten and whipped with the most rancid pork sausages in all of Gimmelshtump (which would later leave visible bruises that swelled many ugly shades of purple). I was then bound and strung up from the landmark oak tree with said sausages for all to bear witness to my shame, as I whimpered, cried, and pleaded all the while. The fact that I refused to take my punishment in stride only convicted me further, even though I was not a man in any sense, but a small child.

The ritual complete, my parents turned and headed in the direction of home. They never once looked back.

Soon the rest of the crowd began to disperse, save for a large gathering of other children, who mercilessly pelted me with ringing laughter, jeers, and stones for hours on end. But at last, evening fell, and the last of my tormentors were forced to tear themselves away from their sport in answer to the curfew bell. I was alone.

Although reality weighed heavily on my heart like a boulder around a self-sentenced man's neck as he plummeted to his chill and watery grave, I still clung desperately in the back of my mind to the shred of hope that my parents would return for me. That, by some miracle, their eyes and arms would at last be opened to me. But this was the fancy of a naive and undisciplined soul, still too innocent to see his own fortune plainly etched in stone before him.

It wasn't long before the last of the light faded, and darkness emerged. Even the gentle moon would shun me tonight. As the dismal dirge of the Spitzenhound filled the air, eight long years of unhappiness ultimately came undone, and I bitterly wept such tears that few of such a tender age even dream of.

At some point, I must have worn myself out and succumbed to unconsciousness. Because the next thing I knew, the early light of a damp new dawn seemed to wake me. But as my eyes formed bloodshot slits, a strange and interesting site greeted me in the far-off distance.

A never-ending assortment of tents, balloons, flags, and banners, all the colors of the rainbow, accompanied by an enormous inviting Ferris wheel that seemed to touch the gray skyline! It took my dazed mind a moment or two to process this information, and I realized that the carnival had come to town overnight. My interest peaked for all of ten seconds, I was about to nod off again, when a thunderbolt of a notion struck me. Since I was more alone and helpless than I had ever been, it occurred to me that maybe I could find refuge there. Maybe I could earn my keep with the carnies, at the very least get a summer job. I strongly suspected that nobody in Gimmelshtump would spare a morsel of pity for this poor, pathetic schnitzel, so what did I have to lose?

After much struggling, I'd finally managed to break free. I hastily recovered from the drop, having been higher up than I realized, and hurried in the direction of what would hopefully be a new life.

But when I got to the carnival grounds, I found myself in for yet another rude awakening to add to my abundant supply. Everybody, guests and workers alike, seemed to be clearly avoiding me! Whenever I got within five feet of anybody, they would regard me with looks of potent disgust and scatter upwind. Had my new reputation gotten out already? I know news travels fast in a small village like ours, but...

It wasn't until I spotted some holding their noses that I understood. I still reeked of putrid pork. A disdainful sniff of my own quickly confirmed this.

My hopes took a nose-dive, but I forced myself to remain positive. But every place I tried was quick to turn me down, sometimes before I was even able to state my case, insisting that I was driving away their business; some went so far as to shut down until I was out-of-site. Even the head of the Freak Show wanted nothing to do with me.

Then, after wandering aimlessly for hours with my sprits significantly lower, I happened to bump into something hard from behind. I glanced up, and depressed apathy quickly evaporated to fear as I realized that this was no tree or boulder, but a seven-foot-tall Goozim of a man who looked like he had a temper to match as he slowly turned to face me. He sported bulging purple veins in his arms, neck, and forehead, and I think I had wet myself right then-and-there. Furiously berating me for my clumsy insolence in Druelselstein, which rather took the form of a roar that nearly rendered me bald, he grabbed me in a single meaty hand and hurled me as easily as if I were a porcelain disc. And as curious coincidence would have it, I had perfectly hit the target at the nearby Dunking booth, which won the angry man a prize and landed me a job. It wasn't a glamorous job, but at least I had found some way small to make myself useful again. Unlike the lawn-gnome gig, I would actually be paid for my public humiliation! Yes, I had it made in the shade.

...For the rest of that day, anyway. Until the mayor showed up in the evening and announced to the entire carnival my status as an outcast, declaring the entire premises completely off-limits for me to either enjoy myself or work at, and ordered it to be shut down and fumigated at once.

I didn't even get a cent for my minimum amount of labor. When I bashfully dared to ask for whatever he could spare, the man in charge of the Dunking booth grabbed this stray balloon that had randomly floated past in that instant, shoved it in my face, and told me to scram.

Well, payment was payment. At least, that's what I tried telling myself. My childish optimism would be my freaking undoing yet. Anyway, as you already well know, that one symbol of innocence almost immediately became my best friend. It occurred to me that the two of us were like kindred spirits- both outcasts, forsaken to the hands of an unforgiving world, both drifting alone and uncertain of our paths. Well, our paths had just happened to cross, and that was good enough for me. We would be misfits together, never again to face the mercy of the winds of chance without a friendly face. No matter if the wind went against us, we would brave it as one.

And so, before being driven away by the mayor's trademark pair of dogs (who also happened to be Only Son's sire and dam), I managed to give my new friend a name to call his own and, using the lifetime-lasting spray I borrowed from the Face Painting booth, the most distinguished features my creative young mind could imagine. I also got my photo taken with him, which I would forevermore cherish almost as much as him.

With Balloony safely tied to my wrist, we fled into the deepest, darkest bowels of the Druelselstein woods, from which no man ever returned alive. But it wasn't until want of breath forced me to stop that I realized just where we were, to say nothing of the true peril we were in. For these parts were home to some of the most savage creatures alive- ferocious, bloodthirsty Goozims, wolves, and Doonkleberry bats. Some legends even spoke of witches and ghosts, who lay in wait to snatch any poor child foolish enough to venture this way.

I also realized that we were lost. I had not been paying attention to the direction which we had come, and it was far too dark to make out anything.

Even the trees surrounding us seemed to be closing in on us, reaching for us with outstretched limbs and claw-like branches. The entire night seemed to simultaneously erupt in a deafening chorus of howls and screeches, getting louder by the second, with deadly shapes emerging from the sea of void.

I had never been so terrified in my life. I could feel my heart painfully hammering in my chest, threatening to burst free with every beat. I cowered into a fetal position among the dead leaves, crying. I cried out for Mother and Father, dearly wishing- harder than I had wished for anything, which was saying something- that I was safe in my own splintered bed of boards under my own thin, moth-eaten blanket. I prayed for forgiveness for my ungrateful attitude to them before, for failing them miserably. Not only that, but I had sentenced my new companion to death. The world truly was better off without me.

I had brought this all on myself, and I would deserve whatever horrid fate awaited me.

"Balloony! I'm so sorry to you, too!" I wept, holding him close. "I'm sorry I brought us out here to die like this! You were the best friend I could have ever asked for, even if it was only for an hour!" I loudly vowed then-and-there to protect him until the very end, and I meant it. In that instant, I no longer felt afraid. It would all be over soon. I had come to terms with my fate; it would be justified.

And maybe I would die a man after all.

As if breaking free of a suffocating grasp, the terrible sounds and sights seemed to altogether stop. All became still. Had everything been little more than an unholy projection of my own imagination? Was I losing my mind?

All I could suddenly make out now was a curious growling of sorts, but rather quiet, nowhere near the level of ferocity that had enveloped me moments ago. Next came something soft and slightly damp against my cheek.

I dared to pry open my eyes. There before me stood a small pack of ocelots, their yellow eyes gleaming piercingly. They stared right at me, one adult with its two cubs. The other one was right beside me, nuzzling me with its nose.

I wondered if this was their territory, though I felt much more confused than frightened. Anyway, ocelots were clearly the least dangerous creatures around here. They were quite scarce in Druelselstein, too.

The one close to me growled to its mate, who retreated quickly. I wondered if it was claiming me for its own meal. But then the mate returned with something in its mouth. A trout, half-eaten by the looks of it.

I could only stare, utterly lost for words, as the fish was placed directly at my feet.

There are some signs of communication that are universal amongst all creatures, including humans, but I just couldn't dare to believe it. Maybe I really was losing it. I glanced at them all, and they just calmly looked back as they sat on their haunches. Finally, the first ocelot nudged the fish even closer to me. Trembling slightly, I questioningly pointed to myself. The ocelot seemed to nod, before giving my face a gentle lick.

My eyes blurred with tears. Unable to speak, for fear the giant lump in my throat would come undone, I humbly took the remains of their meal and began to eat. It never occurred to me just how hungry I was; my stomach had not been full since yesterday morning. I didn't stop until every bone was completely white. I gazed into the eyes of my gracious hosts, attempting to find words, but only a fresh sob escaped me.

Both adults approached me on either side, nuzzling and cleaning my damp face as they purred. They were soon joined by their offspring, who affably jumped into my lap. Smiling, I petted the little ones, careful to keep Balloony away from their mischievous reach.

To this day, I have never understood how, but never have I been more certain of anything: They had understood. They knew.

That was the first time I had ever experienced a mother's love, nor would it be the last. It really is a unique and beautiful feeling. My heart would no longer be empty. I now had a family who accepted me for who and what I was, who would always be there for me. They fed me, they protected me, they kept me warm. I had Balloony and a new brother and sister to play with. The cubs were enthralled by Balloony, but they proved gentle with him. I had been a little worried that the pack would regard the strange object as a threat, but they had been quick to associate him with me, whom they trusted absolutely. The only part I could've done without were Mama Ocelot's baths, although I soon grew accustomed to them (I still fussed, and she still chided; it was the same routine with the cubs).

Eventually, Mama and Papa began our education. Along with my siblings, I learned everything there was to know about the ways of the ocelot- what dangers to avoid, the safest paths to take, how to defend ourselves, even how to hunt and fish. I was a slow learner when it came to the latter two, lacking in claws and the appropriate teeth, but they were always patient and encouraging. Curiously, I had picked up ocelot language patterns quickly, so there were next to no communication barriers!

This was a content and happy time for me, it is true... but a part of me actually missed my birth-parents. At night, when the others were asleep around me, I would sometimes look up at the heavens and wonder if they ever thought of me. Did they even wonder where I was, if I was safe? Sometimes Mama Ocelot would awake to find me crying gently to myself, and would tenderly comfort me until the soothing rhythm of her purring and heartbeat would lull me back to sleep.

The rest of the summer passed by swiftly. The cubs were growing bigger, and soon they became more difficult for me to keep up with, but I can safely say that I had gotten faster and stronger too. Certainly, all those weeks living with my new family had made me more fit than I had ever been. I had even mastered tree-climbing!

I didn't even wonder what the future held for me. All I knew was that this was the good life, and that they were all I would ever need. There seemed to be no ending in sight.

But once again, my simple naivety would be my downfall.

It was late in the season, quite warm, on a day like any other. After our meal, me, Balloony, and my brother and sister went off to frolic and scuffle. Mama lounged in a cool patch of shade beneath a nearby tree, while Papa maintained a watchful eye from directly above.

After some time had passed, Papa suddenly let out an alarming cry that could only mean one thing. Danger! Immediately, Mama leapt to her feet and echoed him loudly. Wasting little time, I grabbed Balloony and made haste in scaling the tree with the other two. Mother followed as soon as she saw that we were safely out of the open.

Papa ordered us all further up, to the higher branches where we would be as out-of-sight as possible. As our parents joined us, I nervously asked Papa what the matter was, tying Balloony securely to my wrist. Man, he growled in reply.

There were people in the area? I couldn't believe it; who in their right mind would come out here? Even the very bravest avoided the forest! There had been only one man in all of Gimmelshtump who might dare, whose fearlessness had made him a renowned public figure. With his bare hands had he taken down the terrible Goozim that once plagued the village, thus founding the famous national sport which had earned him the son he never had.

My birth-father was such a man. Needless to say, he hunted frequently in the woods.

Mama and Papa could sense the stranger's approach ever closer now, feel his air on their quivering whiskers. Their tails lashed furiously as they glared into the distance, tensely crouched, as did we all.

And then he came into plain view, and I let out a muffled gasp. Sure enough, although I didn't want to believe it, it was the one I once called Father. With him was Only Son. A confusing jumble of emotions bubbled potently inside me, catching in my throat; fear, anger, sadness.

Mother tenderly rested her head on my shoulder, seeming to understand. It's all right, little one.

Even now, I can't bring myself to fully understand, but it was what happened in the following moment that ultimately decided our fates. That single decision, that single action...

When I suddenly became possessed with the urge, compelled by what force I'll never know, to confront this person- by strange coincidence, the first human I had seen for so long- whom I associated with what seemed like a completely different life altogether. Maybe, on some level, I felt I owed it to him or to myself, or the both of us. I can't explain it, but it was just something I had to do. What I would say or do then, to say nothing of what would come of it, even I couldn't foresee; and, to be perfectly blunt, nothing else mattered to me in that instant.

He needed to understand. Before we could each get on with our lives, I had to make him understand.

Leaving the safety of my adoptive family behind, as well as their screeches of horror, I had already jumped. I had no fear of injuring myself. I perfectly landed on both legs with such smooth, almost inhuman dexterity that not even my amazingly coordinated brother could have pulled off. He let out a startled grunt, daring to believe for a moment that some lower life-form could've actually gotten the drop on such an Orion as he.

But it was only this lower life-form.

"Heinz!" he exclaimed, quickly recovering. "Vhat are you doing here, boy?"

"I am surprised to see you, too," I coolly replied, truly meeting his gaze for the first time in my life.

He offered no response to that, merely returned stare for stare. I was all-too-familiar with that countenance which, given normal circumstances, I would've taken as my cue to timidly slink away under. But I refused to compromise my resolve. Not now, not ever again.

And yet, the current nature of his eyes betrayed him. He was... puzzled, uneasy. For the first time in his life, he had found himself in a situation which proved beyond his strength and jurisdiction, and he was like a deer caught in headlights. There was a visible barrier between us that I alone had full control over; he could not touch me.

Never one to yield to a challenge, the windows to his soul hardened, as did his attempt to penetrate. "Your mother and I have decided that it is time for you to come home. That is vhere your place is."

I almost laughed out loud. I mean, where did that come from, right? My father clearly thought me a fool. Well, he was the fool!

"No," I said, my demeanour unchanging.

"Vhat?" my father sputtered.

"I'm not going back." No trace of apology entered into my tone or sentence.

"Vhat- vhat do you mean you're not?" he demanded thunderously. This was not going the way he had anticipated, and I could see him mentally backing up.

"I mean vhat I said, and I said vhat I meant. Just like you and her alvays taught me."

"Her? You dare speak with such insolence and disregard about the woman who gave birth to you, who raised you? You ungrateful, useless-"

That did it. My control, which had been hanging by a thread, broke. "Yes!" I yelled with a rage I had never before known, burning tears already rushing forth like a broken dam. "She did give birth to me, but I never asked to be born, just like you never vanted me in the first place! Like you two alvays told me, I vas a mistake! But she vas never there for me, and neither vere you! How can I call her my mother vhen she never vas one? And you are not my father either!"

Another bout of silence, more tense than before, except for my heavy, shaken breathing.

But just before the stunned man's callous-filled hand could lower itself to strike my unflinching face, Mama Ocelot pounced, causing him to drop his hunting rifle. Caught off-guard and rendered vulnerable, he shrieked in uncharacteristic terror and pain as Mama and Papa mercilessly clawed and bit his person.

My feet seemed virtually rooted to the earth, unable to obey the commands sent to my brain which struggled to process the scene before me, even as Papa Ocelot hissed at me to retreat back into the tree where the others remained. As time seemed to slow to a crawl, like those slow-motion moments in movies that emphasized intensity, I could only stare in transfixed amazement at the sight of my adoptive parents attacking my flesh-and-blood father.

Altogether helpless, however, he was not. I had forgotten he was not alone, as Only Son faithfully charged to the aid of his master. In one swift motion, the dog had clamped his jaws firmly around Mama's neck and threw her off as easily as if she were a stuffed toy. I shrieked in horror, but she managed to land gracefully on all fours next to me. After repeating Papa's order to re-join my siblings, she then turned and flew towards her assailant with unsheathed claws.

I stood there trembling, watching Mama distract Only Son and Papa Ocelot hold his own against the struggling and flailing human. Neither party gave in an inch.

"STOP! PLEASE, STOP!" I screamed to all four of them, but I knew it was far too late. The battle wouldn't cease until a breakthrough of some kind occurred; something had to give. I could hear the frantic, furious cries of the others from above, but I called out to them to stay where they were.

Suddenly, Father's nerve returned with a vengeance; with one hand still shielding his face, the angry ocelot clinging relentlessly to the opposite arm, he managed to tear him clean off. There was a sickening rip of fabric and skin, a squirt of blood, and Papa Ocelot went sailing across the forest until he smacked into another tree several feet away. Seizing his opening, he snatched up his gun from the ground...

A pair of explosive shots echoed far and wide, sending countless flocks of birds on the wing.

I screamed. And screamed. All I can recall immediately afterwards are my own ear-splitting screams that never seemed to die; they still ring in my ears to this day. Because all I know is that I had somehow found myself in our yard with Father looming over me, his stern glare ever present, as I wore my old lawn-gnome outfit. "Don't move!" Mother stood in the doorway of the house, a smirk playing around her stony features.

I had ultimately betrayed those whom I would always consider my only family. After all they had done for me. If only I hadn't been so foolishly stubborn, so reckless; we would have still been together then. I knew that I could never return to visit the others after that, for how could I ever face them again when their parents' blood rested on my hands? The guilt I suffered was, without a doubt, my greatest sorrow. The truth, so painfully imprinted upon my heart all my life, had never been more clear to me: I really was unworthy of being loved... of being, period. I would never again call into question the mountain of adversity whose winding path I was destined to tread.

That very night, Balloony would abandon me forever.

Neither Father, Mother, nor myself would ever speak of any of it. Life simply moved on, like there had been no significant twist; Roger was born later that fall, Only Son was re-named First Son, and I was forced to wear my would-be sister's dresses to school.

Sometimes, looking back, it seems all a dream to me. But I know better. As I sit up in bed writing this, I stroke the skin I had stolen from Father so long ago. I suppose, in a sense, I had taken his greatest victory away from him. I breathe her in deeply; even after all these years, her smell is so potent, and it never fails to soothe me. She has still been with me every night, warming my cold and lonely self.

Maybe someday when I'm dead-and-gone, long after I become the revered ruler of the Tri-State Area, somebody will chance upon this journal and understand my humble beginnings. Until then, I'd better find that lock so that nosy, loud-mouthed junk heap will have one less thing to speak out-of-turn about during tomorrow's L.O.V.E.M.U.F.F.I.N meeting.

Good night, Mama.