Spyin at the Agrcultrl Sho: Hardr Than it Look

Mom Says:

As Agent Eight always says, spying is waiting.

While we wait for our Bunny Writers to return from helping to clean otters in the Gulf of Mexico, and while we wait for our operative in Cairo to heal himself and then rescue our Russian dog friend, Sabaka, and bring him back safely to us, we return to the adventures of Octavian, Spy Cat for Britain’s MI-6 Animal Division. We remind you, who may have forgotten, that Agent 08 has a license to claw your eyes out quite painfully, even if he hasn’t really used it.

Yet.


Musashi Sez:

Ther I wuz, rigt in the middul of the Salon Intayr-nasseeo-nell Agricultoor in Paris, an ther wer hoomin peeples EVRWHER. I kept getting stept on, an it wuz a rayr peeplez whu so mutch as sed, “Skyoozemwa.” Huh. How’s a fellr spoz to get anee spyin don if peeplez is stepping on him?

This NEVR happin to Jimbond.

So then I thinks to maiself, “Ajint 8, ol’ chap, whut wud Jimbond do?”

An maiself thinks bak to me, “Self, Jimbond wud find a trap door an/or a pertee girl an/or a possibul bad gy or 4. Preferabl in som dark bak room somwher. Then he wud do whut thoz bunneez is alwaes sayin: he’d let his charactr driv the plot lik a Mercedeez-Benz.”

“Ajint 8,” I sed, “I has one smarteepants altr eego.” (He agreed wift me, of cors.)

So I scrambld undr a taybul an took out my pertee map an studeed it. I wuz in the middul, in Pavillion 3, one of the pink onez. I wantid to be in Pavillion 2, the green one, wher they wuz talkin about crops. So I stuck mai hed out from undr the taybul an lookd up sweetlee at a laydee in a green dress.

I sed, “M'excuser. Aideriez-vous s'il vous plaît un petit homme d'affaires américain obtient à Pavillion 2?” (Excuse me. Would you aid please a little American man of business to obtain to Pavillion 2? [Yah, I noe, but this how they talks in Frans.])

She wuz so surprizd that she sed, “Mais bien sûr!” (But of course!)

She pikd me up, an carreed me throo the crowd an set me down. I rubbd mai hed against her legs an she turnd an went back to her taybul, mutterin, “Sacre bleu, un chat parlant! Qu'après?” (Holy Blood, a talking cat. What next?)

But that wuz OK wift me, cuz at jus that moment, I turnd an had a stranj flashbak. It wuz lik a vizhun, but mai vizhun wuz speekin Spannish instead of French. It spok to me an sed: “Bueno, mi amigo, ha sido un buen año para las coles de Bruselas!” (Well, my friend, it has been a good year for Brussels sprouts!”)

An all I cud think wuz: “Holy Ceilin Cat on a crutch!”