A Pawz in the Akshun (Har, Har)

Mom Says:

After Agent Octavian and his company of patriotic mammals were so rudely interrupted by unionist interventions, huh, and got some admittedly much-needed sleep and some brushings and pettings and purrings, the freeze-frame that Mysiz was able to apply to his adventure (thanks to cutting-edge 21st century technology) was switched off, and Octavian’s sudden race through Granada continued. The stone-paved streets were hard on his paws, already sore from an evening of flamenco dancing with attractive females, but he flew through the darkened streets until, suddenly, the tiny white mouse, Timidora, disappeared.

Octavian stopped short, sniffed around and then sat down and licked his feet. Once the mouse had realized that he was not with her, she would come back for him. He would wait.

He waited. And waited.

Then he waited some more. He remembered (again) what John LeCarré had said, that spying was waiting. Yup, he thought, and not for the last time.

Then a few hours and a short drowse later, Octavian saw a flash of white and forced himself not to budge. There two feet away, quivered the tiny Timidora.

With forced calmness, Octavian said, “So. S U’r ‘sbnd OK 2 C me?”

She answered, “C! Pero…” and then squeaked a speal of Spanish that Octavian’s collar interpreted as meaning that he should meet this Mysh Myshov at a fresh fish stall not far away.

Timidora squeaked, “No S K L no confía N T, pero...” (It's not that he doesn't trust you, but...)

“Yah,” said Octavian tiredly. “S OK.”

And he followed the directions she had given him until the smell of fresh fish overcame his inhibitions. From plodding he shifted to walking and then to trotting and then to racing. He screeched to a stop before what he might have called a smorgasbord if he had known the word.

But he had not been to Norway or Sweden.

Not yet.