Thursday, January 28, 2010

Settin Up Hom Bays

Musashi Sez:

No soonr hads we got settled into our fansee “sweet” of roomz (an it reellee wuz!) than Alek started settin up whut he called “Hello Kittee Centrul.” This wuz sposd to be veree amyoozin, but neethr Pero or me got the jok, so it wuzn’t.

But the eqwipmint wuz cool. We gotz a fansee laptop wift big keys fer paws an a dart gun that turns into a parashoot if yu gots thumbs an reed the direkshunz a lot (incloodin the piktchurz wift the arrowz). Ther othr stuff too in the bag Alek got frum Q, but I not see a sink. Pero swor that Q sent us a sink this tim.

I sed, “Why? He thingk we need washin?” Huh.

I wuz hopin fer a popgun or mebbe a egsplodin breefcayse. Yu can’t go wrong wift a gud egsplodin breefcays.

Alek sed, “Maybe next time, Eight.”

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Customs Trubbl

Mom Says:

After circling above the Paris airport for what seemed like weeks, the Air France plane landed. Agent Octavian, Alex and Pero were in Paris, the City of Lights, the city of fashion, and—most important from their point of view—the city of international espionage set to melodramatic accordion music.

The excitement began almost immediately, when they went through customs. First, the quarantine officials pulled them out of line, poking and prodding Octavian and Pero until Alek had showed them the animals' European Union Pet Passports and immunization records. Then two officers wearing a badge with a globe on it pulled them into a small room with a small table and a single chair and left them there with the advice to “Soyez-vous comfortable.”

So they did. Alek sat on the chair, Octavian curled up on the table and Pero sprawled under it. They dozed, their eyes flickering when steps of voices neared. Half an hour passed. Finally, a little man with a goatee entered.

“Ah, Monsieur Octavian. My apolojeez for zis delay. Zeez dayz being what zey arr, we must employ ze caution, no? Even wis ze respectobbla beeznis personne, like yourself. You arr frree to go. Adieu.”

Flanked by chauffeur and bodyguard, Octavian strutted through the airport, his silky black tail held high. He was far too world-weary a traveler to be tempted by the enticing movement of the baggage carrousel. (Well, mostly.)

As they stood waiting for their hired car, one of the uniformed customs officials trotted up to Alek and handed him an envelope. “One of your papers, Monsieur, which we accidentally retained. Au revoir.”

A silver Citröen rolled up and the driver hopped out and saluted Alek, so he hastily slipped the envelope in his pocket, and went into chauffeur mode.

L’aeroport, adieu!

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Rabbitz at Werk

Musashi Sez:

I has ben getting poyntid comments on the gaps in mai blog heer. I jus wants yu all to noe how hard our rabbit wrytrz ben werkin. Contraree to commin noelidj, neethr mom or me akshullee writ this blog. I is the Star an mom is the Voys-Ovr Narraytr. The writin is diffrint.

Yu noe how they sez if yu puts 100 monkees typin at 100 typwrytrz, yu gets the werks of that Shaykspeer fellr? Wull, it’s lik that, onlee we gots a dozin bunnee rabbits sittin at laptops, an so we gets Jaymz Bond. Mostlee.

Egsept them monkees din’t have a union, wift sik dayes an tim off fer grand-onkuls’ fyoonerals an lik that. An bunneez got LOTS of grand-onkuls. An yu wudn’t beleev how fast a cays of pink-ey kin go around a staybul of rabbits.

So it not so eezee lik it luk. Huh.

But once they com up wift a plot, we get rigt bak to werk.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

On Road, But in the Ayr: Go Figgr

Musashi Sez:

Wull, it wasn’t eezee, but Myshov’s peeples got Alek an Pero an me an ayrplayn fligt, wift all of us in the reglar ayrplayn part, insted of the baggage part wher they uzhul put aminal folks lik us. Ther wuz the paynful bit, wift the “preshur chanje” (this whut Alek call it), that mayk our eerz feel lik they got sqwisht by som Yeti or Godzillr kinda gy. But aftr that, it not so bad, egsept that the saym thing happn in the reevers about a half hour laytr. This seem no fayr, but Alek say it fayrlee commn in Yoorup, wher evrthin is so clos together.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

A Noo Companyunship

Mom Says:

Now, of course, Agent Octavian had no idea what he was getting himself into when he volunteered for the Paris mission. When Agent Myshov heard about it, he called it Mission Moulin Rouge, and laughed a squeaky mouse laugh. M shushed him and gave Octavian a small French phrasebook.

Alek said, “When do we leave, old man?” and Pero barked as if he didn’t care, but he was watching everyone in a way that made Octavian realize that he meant to come too.

Octavian said, “In the mornin. Whatchu egspekt? Yu be mai schofer, lik befor. An Pero kin be mai, whatchucallit? Boddeegard. Then we see whut we see…”

Myshov, still a bit high, chuckled, “Oh, dah, l'agent Huit séduiront le chat riche et obtiennent les informations d'elle.”

Of all people, it was Pero who said, “Yu say that lik yu don’t thingk he kin get the infrmayshun frum her…Whatchu sayin about mai frend?”

Myshov peered up at the big black dog and shook his small head apologetically. “Rien! Rien! Meestr Oktavvyun ees gong to doo verree welll. Dah!”

Pero used one of Octavian’s words: “HUH! I shud thingk so!”

Monday, January 4, 2010

Holdin a Tortch Kin Gets Yu Burnd

Musashi Sez:

Conveenyuntlee in tim fer the Noo Yeer, I gotst a Top Seekrit comyoonikayshun frum Myshov’s buddeez in Paris, Frans. It seem lik som society kittee wuz possibul moovin som qwestshunabul cargo in the Citee of Ligts, an them formr KGB aminal-spy types wuz innerestid. I almos let them pass the paypr to Myshov wen suddinlee I herd the laydee’z naym: Felicity Fourpaws.

Felicity… I noo her as Zora. We had met 1 raynee nigt in Licktenshtyn, an I had shayrd wift her som salmon an a Catnip Royale. Wen I thingks of her now, I offin purr despyt myself…

I considerd mai opshunz. Girlz got in the wae of werk—Jimbond had togt me that.

But in the las 2 weeks heer in the bunkr, it seemd mor lik boyz got in the wae of werk, wift all their crayzee chekr playin an lik that… I sed, as swovlee as I cud, “Heer, ol chap, I’ll tayk that. Paris again, is it? O well…”