Gettin Ther Is Onlee Part of the Fun

Mom Says:

What Alek forgot to mention (after the unfortunate incident of the b-word) was that Felicity Fourpaws had also offered to have her chauffeur pick Octavian up from his hotel and return him there after dinner, because, as she put it, “Paree eez so unkindlee to thoz of us een the four-footeed part of thee world, no?”

Alek, recognizing a night off when he saw it, agreed. To give him his due, he saw the opportunity as a chance to get Real Work done on the computer instead of Not-Real Work in the car. Pero volunteered to go with Octavian in his role as bodyguard. However, after a long debate, which was won by Octavian with the help of his retractable claws (a very present help in time of trouble), Pero agreed to remain in the hotel, ready to come to Eight’s aid if necessary.

So when 7:45 pm (or 19:45 European style) came around, it saw Agent Octavian strolling through the lobby of his hotel, tail held high, jeweled collar glinting, black fur gleaming like satin, to step out onto the exotic French sidewalk (le trottoir Français exotique), exchange a few words (les bon mots) with the doorman (le portier), and then hop into the silver limousine with the human driver and feline passenger (la date chaude).

The key, Jimbond had always insisted, was assuming that no one in their right mind and most people who weren’t in their right mind, would even consider thinking that you didn’t have the right to be there, doing whatever you were doing, whether it was strolling through a lobby, cracking a safe, or doing handstands in a public fountain. Being a cat, Octavian had absolutely no problem with this concept, so in theory and from a small distance he was as cool as a cucumber straight from the refrigerator. In fact, of course, he was actually a little nervous. But a cat’s minor nervousness doesn’t even show up on the human radar, so at the very least, Zora’s chauffeur was completely fooled.

And as for Zora? Ah, women! Who knows? (Quant aux femmes, qui sait?)

Musashi Sez:

So OK, ther somthin about Zora that jus diffrint from all them othr women in mai lif: Mom, Cozzin Raychl, Karli, Ont Haydee, Jennr, Pamelr, and eevn M. It one of them thins that is hard do put yer paw on. Wuz she yongr? Pertier? Mor werldlee?

Or wuz it jus that she wuz…I don’t know…How do you say it? (Je ne sais quois… Comment vous les dites?)

She is… (Elle est…)

…a cat. Sigh. (une chat. Soupir…)

Mom Says:

Just steps from the most celebrated avenue in the world, the Champs Elysées, and just around the corner from the Triangle d’Or, the Hotel Lancaster's sandstone façade stands proudly on Rue de Berri in the 8th arrondissement of Paris.

At least, that’s what the hotel website claims. (This is your loyal narrator trying to balance the extreme emotional stuff that our protagonist is displaying. Because, sure, we’re in France now, but he’s working for the British, for heaven’s sake! Pull yourself together, man! Er…cat…)