Musashi Sez:
Well, we cud tell yu the detaylz about our seekret landin strip in Sothrn Frans an how we lokaytid the fansee penseeon wher the Bad KitteeNapprz had tuk Miz Felicitee, mai damzl in distress. But then we’d hav to kill yu, an we can’t afford to looz our onlee reedrz, so we’d rathr not. Instead, we’ll leev yu to imajin the hi-jinx, wild advenchrz, an yoos of formeedablah technoljee. I’ll wayt whil yu doz this.
La, la, la.
Yu all don? Gud sho! Now yu just has to imajin accordion myoozik, an the fansee Frentch sun settin slowlee on a littul villij….
Mom Says:
Among the gentle sounds of a warm, late-summer evening in St. Chien de la Compagne, crickets, the tinkle of cutlery, accordion music and rough laughter, a new sound, rough against the breeze, stood out.
rumble, rumble, bumpada, arf!, rumble, rumble…
The door of Le Boir du Chien opened, letting out golden light that spilled onto the form—(yu has to luk down a littul)—of a dachshund wearing a hoodie, parking a skateboard by the door. He entered the tavern attached to the little inn and barked (in an unmistakable Belgian accent), “Monsieur! Un chambre, s’il vous plait!”
Across the cobbled street, a little yellow Citroen pulled up and disgorged two dogs and two cats, all thanking the man and cat who remained in the car in English accented by Spanish. As the pack moved off to Le Boir de Chien, the cat in the car stretched irritably.
“Yah, I noe. De rien, de nada, whatevr. I need a nap an som noms!”
The black cat with the plumy tail and the bad attitude rode on the man’s shoulder into the fancier Hotel Burgundy. Then the street was left as before to wait for night to complete its fall.
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