Coded Messajiz 2

Mom Sez:

Here is the most recent message we’ve gotten so far from our operative Gato, who has been in Cairo now for over two months. As before, I give the translation and Musashi gives the decrypted version.

May 5: Met up with Madge and family. They did not show good hospitality. Bad Kitties. I have bandaged ear. Thank Ceiling Cat for Cousin Larry, sharp claws and omelets. I shall be on a strengthening regimen for a while.

Brok into that plays wift all the crayzee monks. They beated us to a pulp. They ar @#$%^&* kitteez whu we NOT lik!!! My wunds are seeryus. Luckily, Labeeb is a meen figtr an a verree gud surjeon an he has ben puttin me bak togethr like that Humpty Egg fellr. Don’t egspekt us to try plan B till I has all mai fur growd bak.

Musashi Sez:

Yu see? This why we need the bunnee writrz bak so badlee. Stories nevr go rigt if yu leev them to bild themselves. Yu need writrz to mayk them go the way they’r spoz to go. Huh.

PS: We has a verree thik an imajinitiv code book. This why it tayks us so long to decode stuff.

Bein Innernashunl Reqwir Lotsa Brayn

Musashi Sez:

Ther I wuz, in the middul of the Paris Agrculchurul Sho, an whut do mai pertee yello eyez see but Picotero Paco, the flamenco-singin Bursels sprowt farmr from southrn Spain. “Picotero” meen chattrbox. It is a gud naym fer him. He was sittin ther at his taybul decoraytid wift big palm treez, talking to a big scaree dog wift orinj eyebrowz.

He sed, “Probablemente se esté preguntando cuál es mi secreto. Yo voy a decir. Yo le canto al coles de Bruselas. Canciones de amor. El amor estimula el crecimiento.” (Probably you are wondering what is my secret. I’ll tell you. I sing to them. Songs of love. Love stimulates growth.”

The doggee sed (wift an aksent), “Tienes que amar a los brotes mucho, entonces.” (You must love sprouts very much then.)

“Ah, si! Si!”

And I lookd up at the taybul an I realizd that whut I had thogt wuz a palm tree wuz akshullee a enormous bursel sprowt.

I cud not halp maiself. I busted out sayin, “Holy toona!” (I dozn’t lik mackerl.)

The orinj eyebrowz turnd mai wae. “Yu shpeek ze Anglish, hmm?” His breft smelld lik a combinayshun of raw meet an bursel sprowts. An basil.

I sat down an curld my ploomy blak tail around mai front feets. “Why, yes, I do.”

“Vunderbar. I vas told to egspekt an American katze in a smoking jacket.”

I wuz confuzzld. “But I don’t smok.”

“Yu vud say, perhaps, ze tuxedo. Yu ar, perhaps, aqvaynted vith a bizniz-vomen katze by ze naym Felicity, hmm?”

“Why, yes. Mamzelle Felicity of the Doggee Toy Empyr. Yes, I am.”

“Vunderbar. Yu vill com vith me, plees? It vill be to your advontage, hmm?”

At that momint, about ten diffrint fyootchurz went whizzin thru mai brayn, incloodin the one wher I ended up this doggee’z dinnr. Also the one wher I gets the Nobel Pryz fer mai recipee fer catnip custrd. An the one wher I doez a bunjee jump off of this big ol’ dam, hundrds of feets down towerd the wattr, pull out mai Walther PPK pistl wift mai front paw an shoot—

Picotero wuz thrilld. “Pero es mi buen amigo Octavio! Usted no puede ir ahora! Debemos tomar una copa! He desarrrrollado una notable marrrtini con vodka muy seco y licorrr de coles de Brusellllas!” (But is my good friend Octavio! You can't go now! We must have a drink! I have developed a remarkable martini with very dry vodka and liqueur of Brussels sprouts!)

He wuz rollin his l’s an his r’s so much, I had to wundr jus how recent the developin process had ben. I tried to decyd whether to go wift the scaree doggee or stay wift Señor Chattrbox heer. I figgrd I’d load mai coin flip. If the ansr wuz flamenco, I’d stay wift Paco. If it wuzn’t, I’d go wift the doggee.

“Picotero! Mi amigo!” I sed. “¿Qué tipo de canción de amor te canta a su cultivo? Flamenco?” (Whut kind of lov songs yu sing to yer crops aneewae?)

“¿El flamenco? ¡No! ¡Canto club! ¡Consiguió una manera dulce de hablar!” (Flamenco? No! I sing disco! ‘You got a sweet way of talking—’)

Darn. I wuz goin to hav to go wift the doggee.

On the othr paw, at leest I wuzn’t goin to hav to lissen to Paco sing that annoyin Leo Sayers song mai mom liks so mutch…

See? Eevn hart-rendin danjer hav a brigt sid.

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!”

Coded Messajiz

Mom Says:

Here are the messages we’ve gotten so far from Gato, who has been in Cairo now for over two months. I give the translation and Musashi gives the decrypted version.

1. April 7: Arrived safely. Met by my Cousin Larry. We hope to see your Aunt Madge and her sons soonest. Weather is warm, but we are keeping cool.

Arrivd sayflee. Foun mai Egyptian frend, the ex-Mysiz spai, Labeeb. We hope to see those crayzee monks of the Order Our Laydee of Ceiling Cat. Is danjerous, but we beein cayrful.

2. April 26: Visited Museum of Cairo. Saw your cousins in passing. We hope for rain. Pray for good weather for us.

Vizitid Myooseum of Cairo. Saw some crayzee monks, but they not see us. We hope for the chans to follo 2 of them of roughly our siz, so we kin bop them on the hed, put on their yooniformz, an sneek into the monasterri that is connektid to the myoozeum, do som fansee rekonasens, find wher they ar hidin that Russhin doggee Sabaka who they dognapped, an reskyoo him. Wish us luck. Kthx.

Our Unforchoonit Hiaytus

Musashi Sez:

So, yah, I gotsta apololijize fer the unforchoonit hiaytus of this heer blog. The truft is that the Bunnee rabbitz whu does mosta the writin fer us hav ben on a verree long werkin vacayshun to the Golf of Meksiko fer the las cuppla weeks. They wer planning on goin wattr ski-ing wift their frend, Ardilla, a Mexican stunt squirrel they noe from Hollywud, an a buntcha her frendz. They wer goin to go to Bahamas an Jamaika, an all lik that, but they sent us a telegram that tells yu whut happend insted.

8 & Co. STOP Had hankerin fer Cajun fud. STOP Oil spill messin up this part of werld. STOP We ar stopping to halp cleen ottrz. STOP We look fer gud locayshunz aftr. STOP Dont wayst enerjee. STOP Lov, yer Writr BUNNEEZ

Creaytiv Joosiz Leeking Out

Musashi Sez:

OK! OK! I noe it has ben a whyl sins we put out a seeryul of mai wild adventchurz wift the innernashunnl spy commyoonitee, but we ben verree bizzee. The bunneez whu writ mosta this blog wer threatenin to go on stryk agen, an this tim it wuz mai falt fer shur.

(***Sigh***)

See, I wuz talking to mai prodooser about how cool Buffee the Vampyr Slayr is, an she toldid me about “Buffee: the Myoozikul,” an I thogtid a lightbulb! An we ralleed around a pertend piano an had a braynstorm.

But the Bunneez hopt ovr an sed, “We did not com heer to writ a myoozikul, an we certenlee didn’t com to sit around whyl YU writ a myoozikul.”

An then we herd about the yoonion negosheayshunz between the Gild of Myoozikul Artists an the Actorz’ Eqwitee.

The Cheef Writr Bunnee sed, “We let yu get aweae wift the flamenco sene last tim cuz it wuz funnee an yu din’t hav the whol cast singing an dansin. Fightin, shur. Fightin is OK. But dansin? Huh. That NOT in our contrak.”

So we wer bak at the drawin bord, and this time we wer yoozin crayonz, cuzs they didn’t skayr the Bunneez so mutch. An meenwhyl, we sugjestid that the Bunneez tayk a Long-Dezervd Vaycayshun somwher egzotik. We tossd ideers around, lik Tyland, Japann, Chynr, an lik that. But the Bunneez hads studdeed Spanish, so they desydid to go to the Gulf of Meksiko, hopin they cud scout some gud lokayshunz fer the blog an be abul to writ off the cost of the trip.

In whut mai mom callz “retro-spek,” I’m gessin that yu kin see whut’s comin….

Bak at the Plays that is Cleerlee NOT a Rantch

Mom Says:

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Musashi Sez:

Meenwhyl, yah, ok, but ther isn’t no rantch. Whut Mom akshul meenz is that whyl me an Pero an Alek an our noo frendz is halpin the werld free itself frum totalararian rayjeemz an havin mistayks wift small boddeez of wadder, the Brav Kittee, Gato has ben havin som egsytin tims of his own.

OK. So I has watchd mooveez wift mai mom an I noes how this sorta thin goes.

1st: Yu gotta imajin a ol-fashun aeroplayn, the tubbee kin, wift the little perpellrz everwher. An yu gotta heer it goin “Hummmmmmm” in the bakgroun. This verree importint.

2nd: Yu gotta imajin a big ol map of the Mediteraryneean See reejun. (Heer’z a hint: there lotsa bloo in the middul.) The bak-lef-paw cornr is kinda pink, an it say SPAIN. Then as yu intch ovr to the rigt (qwiet-lik, so them spyz don’t heer yu), yu coms across this yellr strip wift ITALY writid on it. Aftr that it get compulkaytid. Ther a brown bit that say GREECE, an in pertikler, Athen. An mor ovr to the rigt is a dark pink contree calld TURKE. An then goin down frum ther to yer bak-rigt-paw cornr is a green contree, wher it say Cairo.

3rd: So all that is whut yu seez. Then yu has to imajin a thik red lin goin from a big bloo dot on SPAIN to a big bloo dot on ITALY to a big bloo dot on GREECE to a big bloo dot on TURKE an fynlee to a big bloo dot on Cairo.

4th: That tayk mutch longerer to egsplayn than to show yu, but I not got iMoovee powrz, so yu gotsta hav the payshunz.

5th: Las thin yu gotsta imajin is a blak cat, wayrin a egsotic hat, lik that Illinoy Jonz fellr, hoppin down the funnee laddr thin from the aeroplayn (wift them perpellrz) an hoppin serphistrkaytidlee across a tarmac that is so hot it is wigglin unner his pawz.*

*Pleez noet: this verree hard to manidj. Be impressd.