That Ther Eevnin Gets Mor Innerestin!

Mom Says:

With the steam from their Not-Exactly-Hot-Chocolate drinks rising to their sensitive feline noses, Zora and Octavian sipped and chatted.

“O! Octaviannn! I feel so ligt-heddeed. I theenk I weel need som ayrr.”

“Wull, we kin tayk a walk, see yer pertee cittee at nigt. Izn’t Paris sposta be the cittee of ligts? I hasn’t seen them yet, cuz I onlee get out durin the dae.”

“Qwa? Yu meenz yu has not seen ze Palace de la Concorrrde? C’est amposeebla! We mus’ feex zat immédiatement! Ah, but I am a leetl fooll from deenayrr. I kin not walk all thee wae, an mai chauffeur is not due bak for a whil…”

“Kin we tayk the Metro? I has not seen that either.”

“Ah, le Métro! Qu'une idée magnifique!”

The waiter returned with an unobtrusive little tray on which lay a small bill and an even smaller inkpad. Zora patted her paw on the pad and then on the bill. With his other hand, the waiter wiped the excess ink off her paw. “Merci, Mademoiselle, Monsieur. Appréciez-vous votre soir.”

Then Zora and Agent Octavian leaped down from their seats and trotted side-by-side out the unobtrusive and very expensive front door.