Doin Plan B

Mom Says:

Even the short flight between Marrakech and Malaga made Agent Octavian’s ears unhappy ears, so when he and Alek landed in Spain, Octavian was seriously cranky.

Fortunately, Alek had understood from early on—back when they checked into the hotel in Lichtenstein—that Octavian was likely to be a major player on the world espionage stage, and that he, as Octavian’s “thumbs” (as his role was known in Mysiz), would probably only rise in the ranks inasmuch as he aided Octavian in his missions. Also, it was hard not to have a soft spot for the big black kittee, with his (generally) sweet disposition and his (mostly) innocent way of looking at the world.

So Alek was patient.

Which was, Alek reflected, a very good thing, given that dealing with a young cat with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was only one level better than dealing with a squirrel with a caffeine addiction. Okay, maybe two levels. Three, at most.

It certainly required skills in diplomacy that he wasn’t sure he had (otherwise he might have gone into a less covert type of civil service). They managed deplaning and customs with no trouble, but as they waited at the baggage carousel, Octavian was scratching his ears and looking like he might bolt at any moment. Alek gave him a tiny piece of chewing gum to ease the pain in his ears, but it didn’t last long (“It not tayst gud. Don’t yu got som that got toona flayvr?”). He folded the tinfoil into a crane and teased Octavian with it for a while, but then their luggage came and Octavian’s lashing tail signaled that he was struggling catfully in order not to leap! on the carousel. Piling their bags on a cart and scooping Octavian up and setting him on top, Alek trundled them out to the front of the airport, scanning the ranks of cabs and other cars for the one sent by Mysiz.

Finally, a small silver sedan pulled up in front of them, and a young man in a tweed slouch cap popped the back trunk open and jumped out. “’allo! Eer y’go, guv! All set to go. Mind the ‘fifth gear,’ as it does somethin’ wikkid in the naytchur of flare-back! Alright?”