The Long Waytin is Almost Ovr, Hoorah!

Mom Says:

Spying, says John le Carré, is waiting. Agent Octavian stayed in the underground bunker with M and the Russian secret agents, playing American-style checkers (no vodka involved) and waiting for more information. Alek and Gatto joined them after M put in a good word for them, but the bunker was already full of humans and animals of the furrier sort, and everyone started getting on each other’s nerves.

Things got even worse when the “Admin” cat, Miss Doubleruble, insisted that the three unaffiliated agents fill out paperwork to put them in the group’s database retroactively. The trouble started first because she couldn’t find the forms, and second because Myshov (full of vodka from playing checkers with a Muscovite bear) teased Octavian and convinced him that “retroactively” meant that Octavian had to sing “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing” as a part of the paperwork.

Which would have been fine, except that Agent Octavian actually knew the song. All of it. Now, red tape in a crowded underground bunker is one thing. Red tape and disco music is something else entirely. Things would have gone seriously amiss if M hadn’t intervened, sending Myshov to one communication station and Octavian to the other. And by chance—

…but is ther reellee chans? I meen, luk at me heer sayvin the werld fer autocrasee or somthin, maykin frendz whu doesn’t eevn speek Inglush! an I’m jus a littul ‘bandond kittee from Rocksberry, Massachoositz! Huh…

--By chance, I say, Myshov got the communiqué from Cairo and Octavian got the one from Paris. Now, anyone who knows anything about Chaos Theory—

…an that inclood me, cuz I nappt on that book by that Jaymz Gleek fellr, wift all the fansee, complkaytid piktchrz of buttrflyz…

--AHEM! knows that upon such tiny, seemingly coincidental, so-called “accidents of fate” lie the destinies of nations.

Not that we expect such self-involved superspies to agree. We expect them to agree rather with Will Shakespeare, who claimed that “the fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars, but in ourselves” and we presume that they would add that the credit goes the same way. Well, we’ll just have to see about that.

Rabbits at Work

Detour! go to http://musashiguide.blogspot.com for your funny today.

Rabbit Line--Do Not Cross!

Doktr Woof...Russ

Musashi Sez:

I sat ther in the unnergroun bunkr of the ol KGB’s aminal divizhn an stayrd at Myshov the moussee agent from Rusha orijinallee, but now heer in Grrranada, Spayn. An I stayrd at M, mai beluvd leedr, whu caym all the wae from Inglund to halp me sort out my nex moov.

I akskd, “So whu this Doktr Woof? Whut we noe about him?”

M and Myshov egschanjd glansis (this meen they lukt at eetch othr). Myshov sigd drmatiklee. M shuk her hed. “Sorry, Eight. What we’ve told yu is what we know.”

“Huh,” sez I. “Ther alwaez mor. Do he has lotsa technikl weppnz? Do he has compyootrz? Do he has, whut that werd… minions?”

“Oh that,” said M. “Well, er, strictly speaking: probably, yes, and definitely.”

“Yah. That kinda mayk a diffruns, M.”

“Sorry, Eight. I’m so used to taking those things for granted.”

“Huh. I don’t tayk nothin fer granit egsept stonz. In mai limited egspeeryens, mos peeples not have the minions. Compyootrz, shur. Technikl wepponz, wull, that depenz on yer difinishun.”

“Sorry there, Eight. You’re quite right. Your perspective as a relative newcomer to the scene is quite valuable.”

“I shud thingk so. Altho so far I hasn’t met any relativz. Sabaka an Perro, yah, but they’r doggeez. Gato, but I’m pertee shur we not relaytid. An thoz crazee kats at that ol shryn… Did Alek sen yu messijz about them?”

“Heavens, yes. Mysiz had assumed for years that they were a myth, or at most, a dying-out cult.”

“Nope. They’r akshual a buntch of seeryus weerdoez. Serifyabul.”

Myshov sed somthin. I turnd on my LingwaTron collr jus in tim to get the tranzlayshun: “Whut do font hav to do wift the feline cult members?”

M sed qwiklee, “Never mind those details, the question is, what are we going to do to stop Dr. Woof?”

Myshov’s Storee

Mom Says:

Meanwhile, back in the old KGB spy bunker, somewhere under the streets of Grrranda, Spain, Agent Octavian, turned to Myshov and asked, “So whut ar yu doin now?”

The mouse rattled off some very fast French. M nodded and translated, “Myshov and his group are concerned that someone in Moscow—they call him Dr. Woof—has plans for world domination—”

“Hey! I noe about that!”

“Eight! They know this because they sent their agent Harvey to the White House several times to gather information for them. He discovered the plot the first time he went, during the Bush administration, from Bush’s dog, Barney.”

“Huh. So whut this plot?”

“They still don’t know the details. But it probably involves dogs…”

Braykin of Fellrshp

Mom Says:
While Agent Octavian was busy sorting out international political upheavals and other related do-thingies, his comrades in Grrranada--Perro, Gato and Alek—were becoming anxious, not just for him, but also for their former friend, Sabaka, the dog who had been spirited off to Egypt by those crazy monks from the shrine to Ceiling Cat. Their anxiety only increased with the prolonged absence of Octavian. Finally, after much debate, they decided to send their smartest, most resourceful member to Egypt to see if he (that is, Gato) could sniff out their friend. Perro and Alek would remain in Spain for the time being, to help Octavian if they could.

Thus, our brave company parted ways…