Nu Resorsiz from Old Emeneez?

Mom Says:

In the shadowy, cavernous room, where the Russian mouse, Myshov, spoke to the uniformed humans, Agent Octavian looked around and began to feel anxious. On the walls, on the humans’ shoulder patches, on the humans’ belt buckles, he saw a familiar symbol: a grey and blue shield, bisected with a gold handled sword. In the middle of the sword was a bright red bear’s paw-print, and on the paw-print, something etched in gold that he couldn’t see properly, but it might have been an X. This looked ominously similar to the picture Jimbond had showed him of the symbol of the KGB, the dreaded Russian secret service.

Myshov turned, saw him peering around, and said, “Que regardez-vous?” (What are you looking at?)

Octavian said, “L'insigne brillant.” (The shiny badge.)

“Ah, cette vieille chose.” (Oh, that old thing.) He turned back to the soldier, finished his conversation, and then beckoned Octavian to follow them through another door. The dull grey corridor’s low ceiling meant that the soldier marched half bent over, while the cat and mouse trotted along comfortably.

Octavian ventured, “J'ai pensé l'a eu une étoile rouge au milieu.” (I thought it had a red star in the middle.)

“Notre division utilise les patte-caractères de l'ours plutôt.” (Our division uses the bear’s paw-print instead.)

“Votre division?” They turned right, into an equally dull grey corridor, which also seemed to be descending microscopically as they moved forward.

“La division des animals, bien sûr.” (The division of animals, of course.)

“Ah! Bien sûr. Une division honorée!” (Ah, of course. An honored division.)

“Mais non.” (But no.) They stopped before a large steel door with one small computer keypad at waist height to the man and another at floor level where Myshov could easily reach it. Mouse and man looked at each other and then turned to tap at the keypads.

The door slid halfway open, then stuck.

“Damski!”

Octavian sat and licked his back toes. He was finally getting the hang of Soviet-era technology, and the somewhat irregular rhythm it gave to life. He could probably chew off that third nail properly by the time they got the door working again.

The Russians argued, appropriately enough, in Russian.

Octavian set to work on his toes.