Shimmee That Thin

Mom Says:

A stranger (French or foreign) who walked into the Dog of the Field’s tavern that night would have been sooo confused. A local walking in would have thought that France had been taken over by little grey aliens, fuzzy and Not Like Us, Cher, Not At All.

Luckily, however, the tavern was filled on that night of nights with foreigners who just didn’t know any better. They thought to themselves, “Huh. This iz gud innertaynmint.”

And that is because so many of the tourists were from England, Germany, Italy, Russia, and Taiwan. We can’t exactly expect people from so far away to understand our broad and deep culture, now can we?

Musashi Sez:

Um, so, speekin as not so mutch “us” as othr folks migt, I got to say, “No.” We shud egspekt grayt thins from all thoz furnrz whu vizits us, dontchu thingk? They shud be at leest as wondrfull as us, or eevn wonderfuller, sins they is so mutch olderer than us.

Mom Says:

Regardless of who is best, the fact is that the music coming up from the tavern was magnetic. Folks grabbed hold of each other and started a Conga line that wound in and out of the tavern proper and then started up the stairs to the second floor…

Myoozik In a Egsytin Tempo

Mom Says:

How can we describe the atmosphere of the little tavern in southern France, with its sudden infusion of a singer from southern Spain and musicians from Jamaica performing a song from the United States? Imagine, then, a small grey and white cat with a big personality, standing on his hind legs on a small, round table, singing:

Son nom était Lola.
Elle était girl
avec les plumes jaunes dans ses cheveux
et une coupure de robe en bas à là.

(Her name was Lola.
She was a girl
with yellow plumes in her hair
and a cut robe over there.)

And then imagine how the sound of tiny steel drums played by Jamaican kitteez, with even tinier little dreadlocks, fill the room in an unaccustomed way, accompanied by the sandy shake of maracas (very, very small maracas), gradually fills the room in a little way, with the assured voice of the kittee (the voice bigger than the kittee himself) inserts itself into the larger sound of the tavern’s conversation, gradually wedging a larger and larger space for itself.

Then turn to see who those musicians are, who that kittee is.

Maykin Frenz wift Jamaykn Toorists

Musashi Sez:

Yah, I noe that folks sez that berds of a fethr flock together, but us kitteez A) not got the fethrz an B) don’t cayr anee mor fer flockin than we doez fer bein herded.

Notwiftstandin that (as Le Prof’soor wud say), its tru that yu has yer birft littr an yu has the littr of yer hart. Myoozishunz noe this bettrer than evrboddee. Befor Paco had been in the tavern room 5 minitz, he had mayd frendz wift a buntch of Jamaykin kitteez wift instrmints (cuz they wuz conveenyintlee on toor in sothrn Frans). But givn that Paco cud not speek anee Frentch at all, an their Frentch hads the aksint, I still has not figgrd out how he convinsd them to plae backup fer him. But he wuz a kittee wift a mishun, and he REELEE wanted to sing his solo.

So I gess it just a mystree. Huh.

Sayvin the Dae, in Charactr

Mom Says:

If you have never seen a dachshund wearing heavy-duty earphones and an expression of almost constipated attention, then I cannot describe the state of Le Prof’soor as he struggled to focus on his equipment over the loud strategic argument taking place in the small room. (And if you have, I don’t need to.)

Perro and Sabaka argued heatedly about the best way to break into the room across the hall. Picotero Paco kept trying to get a word in edgewise to advise against a direct frontal assault, but they paid him no attention, and finally he left. None of the dogs noticed.

Musashi Sez:

Huh. This so typcal of doggeez, eevn the bestest of them. They always arguing about whu got the bestest, baddest ideer or, possibul, teeft, whil us kitteez gots to do all the reel werk.

An this is whut I has lernd from thoz smart Writer Bunneez whu gets us out of all them plot messiz we keeps getting ourselves into: folks will always sayv the dae accordin to their partiklr charactr. So whil the brayv an valiunt Gato was riskin one of his lifs an all his limbs in a dayrin feet of ajilitee, Picotero Paco simplee went down to the common room in the tavern, an started maykin hisself som frendz.

Mom Says:

Twenty minutes later, the dogs heard the jaunty music coming from downstairs and went to investigate—even Le Prof’soor went, saying that he had a good feeling about this—all negative evidence to the contrary notwithstanding.

Musashi Sez:

Yah. Yer naytiv Frentch speekrz reelee talks lik that. They eevn wers than them Inglish.

Kittee on the Corniss

Mom Sez:

Slowly, Gato made his way along the ledge beneath the window of their small crowded room. All this backing and forthing along the ledge seemed to be taking two weeks. Gato had brought Le Prof’soor’s paper back to the other dogs and told them the special knock to knock so that Le Prof’soor would let them into his room down the hall. Now all Gato had to do was navigate this ledge, which was exceedingly narrow even for an athletic cat like himself. His centimetering around the rectangular circumference of the little inn was making him nostalgic for his the espionage days of his kittenhood.

“Huh,” thought Gato to himself. (We ar tranzlaytin fer yu. Kthxbai.) “I seem to has gaynd som weyt on mai travlz. It musta ben all thoz taystee fishiz that them Greek fishrmen caugt fer us on the boat. I’m goin to has to start dietin wen this partiklr adventchoor is ovr.”

When he was halfway around the building, he heard a sound that sounded…almost…like steel drums and maracas…

But, gosh, were the odds of that?

The Not-So-Borin Ekspozishun Bit, Part I

Musashi Sez:

Our collektiv faysiz is pink, cuz we lost this partiklr tranzmishun from our ajint Gato. We hadz it all along, but we fergot wer we puttid it. So now we catch up fer yu.

Mor of Gato’s Dialog an Doin Stuff (Tranzlaytid):

Wift mai deep bakgroun in espionazh, the prospek of clymin out the windo, cayrfullee trottin across the narro ledj to the windo 3 windoz down from us, an then lickin the glass until the sillee intrlektchurl doggee gets around to notissin me an opnz his windo…well, let’s jus say that I wuz egspektin to get mai tayl froz, eevn in summr, whil I waytid.

But this Prof’soor wuz smarty-pantsier than I egspectid. Wuns he figgrd out the problim wift his radio communicayshun thingy, he egspektid me (ME!) to come to him fer egsplaynin. It’s tru. I almos started likin him. But then I got ahold of maiself.

“Yah,” I sed, “so it obveeus that the stoopid CIA not so gud at thingkin about eelektrikl thingeez. So us, we cleerlee gots to thingk past that. How kin we mayk a diverzhun that don’t rely on our technoljee? I meen, look at whut we gots: me an Perro, egspeeriensd spyz, plus Sabaka, whu’ll drool on anneeboddee whu luks nys, an Paco, oy Santa Maria, Picotero Paco, whu wud sing in front of 2 def mouseez if they sat still long eenuf…”

Le Prof’soor sat suddenlee an lukd lik he wuz thingkin verree hard. Aftr a whil of that, he sed, “So, we ar trying to deestrakt zee peeplez in zee taverno part of ze inn, yes?”

“Of cours…”

“Hmm. So… whut we needs most is…a reezn fer focussin on somthin else…” He sighed. “Whut mayks folks chanj their intenshunz? Akshun? Myoozik? Mor vino?”

“Shur, som of that…”

“Hmm. So problee, whut we needs most is the Perfikt Song.” He went bak to his compyootrz then, as if it wuz me whu hadsd to mayk deesizhunz…

I thogt hard. I did whut that fellr Winnie the Pooh sed: thingk, thingk, thingk. An then it came to me… I sed to him, “So…we needs yu to look up, um, the leeriks to this Barry Mannilow song, in Frentch.”

Le Prof’soor hezitaytid. “An am I goin to reegrret zees partikularr Googl?

“Yah. Problee, yu will. Un million pardonne…”

But then wen he lookd at the strip of paypr in mai paw, he let out a sig of relief. “O, this? I has this on my iPod! Heer! Tayk this! I noe egzaktlee how to halp yu arranj zees partikularr deeverzeeon!”

Not-So-Borin Ekspozishun Bit, Part I

Musashi Sez:

Now, I noe that yu all ar likin that Jimbond-esq “Cat-of-Akshun” vibe that we ben workin on an orf this past yeer or so, but franklee, it has occurrd to me (an mai perdoosrz) that the mooviez an the TV shoz that ar reellee hittin it big laytlee ar the ensombul kind. An I am OK wift that, as annee kittee wud be, cuz when yu is one (verree importint peeple) in a ensombul sho, yu gets to has mor naps. So I am comin to bleev in co-oper-ayshun an lik that. Eventchoolee, I migt eevn see mai way to co-star billin, but we shudn’t get previus.

So yu shud egspekt to heer mor Narrativ Voysiz in the neer fyutchr. Lik now, fer instins.

Gato’s Innr Dialog an Outr Doin Stuff (Tranzlaytid into Inglish Fer Yu):

Ther I wuz in St. Chien de la Compagne, a shady town by nigt, as mos towns is. I sat whippin mai tayl around as the 2 dogeez an the 1 kittee performr confuzzld theirselfs eevn furthr by talking about our lojistiks problimz in Inglish. It’s 1 thing to be confuzzld in yer naytiv tong, but when yu starts tryin to be confuzzld in yer 2nd or 3rd? Huh. Look out.

The plan had ben a gud plan, as planz went, but in mai egspeeriens, plans onlee gotchu in the dor—whethr it wuz the dor of yer laydee-frend’z apartment or of an undrgroun bunkr, it not mayk so much diffrins.

The mayn problim, accordin to mai old buddee, Perro, wuz that we had no gud reezn to go see Le Prof’soor, which wuz bad, cuz his radio freeqwensee wuz blank. Cleerlee, a technoljee malfunkshun, he sed, an I agreed. Sabaka, the Russhin spy-doggee whu I had liberaytid frum the Cairo prizn, wuz still doin the whol, “Oboyoboyoboy! I’m free! I jus luvs yu gyz!!!” An shur, I’m glad I got the kid out, but the drool? I hadn’t plannd on that. Whut is he anneewae? A St. Bernard?

Off in the cornr, the flamenco singr/Bursel sprouts farmr was brooin tea an singin (verree qwietlee, FOR A CHANGE!!!) som vokl warmups about hisself. Which left, as it offn did, me, Gato, the practikl, sensibl kittee, to sayv the dae. I sed to Perro, “I’ll jus go see about this whol raydio thin. Cud yu opn the windo fer me? Kthxbai!”

Settin Up Our Akshun Seenz

Musashi Sez:

That saym night at the Hotel Burgundy, Alex an I dined pertee well, cayrfullee notissin the peeples in the littul restrant whu wuz verree busy not notissin us. This kin be verree con-spic-u-ous if yu noez the signz to luk fer.

We kept ‘em gessin fer a long tim (eevn havin dezzert!!!) whil we blathrd about our tooristee planz until eevn I wuz bord…

Mom Says:

Meanwhile, across the rough-hewn road, a lot more exciting things were going on.

From his room across from Chambre X, Le Prof’soor was busy emptying the pockets of his hoody, muttering to himself. (For ease of narration, we are going to pretend that he was muttering in English. Go along with us here. Kthxbai.)

“Bug Seekayr, sheck! Command poste meecro-laptoppe, sheck! WiFi Chambre Bug v. 3.0, sheck! Radio-communique-tor, sheck! Toothbrush et dentifrice du chien, sheck!”

(OK, Le Prof’soor is big on dentl hyjeen. So soo us. Huh.)

While some very brisk violin music played, harmonizing in surprising ways with the underlying accordion theme, Le Prof’soor swiftly set up the Bug Seeker, Command-Post Micro Laptop and WiFi Room Bug (v. 3.0). Unfortunately, when he went to set up the Radio Communicator, he realized that it had not come with the appropriate set of batteries, and (being CIA equipment) its plug was not equipped with a European adaptor.

“Zut, alors!” said the Prof’soor to himself. “So I can find out what eez going on in ze room across, but I cannot tell anneeone!”

That same night, down the hall, Perro, Gato, Sabaka and Picoterro Paco were settling into small suite. Octavian had tyrannically demanded that everyone “hitch-hikin” in the Citroen “praktiss their Inglish” or be left to walk. So they were still endeavoring to speak the so-called international language, with mixed results.

Musashi Sez:

OK. Let’s be cleer heer. If yu hadsd to fly in a verree littul plane, frum Paris to Versailles, wift 1 hoomin peeple, 3 doggee peeples, and that 1 an onliest othr kittee peeple singin “I Havta Liv” by that John Denvr fellr, egsept in Spannish!, then yah, yu’d be pertee tired of furrin langwidjiz, too.

Huh.

Caysin Le Pen-see-on

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.

Best to Avoyd the Yookliptis…

Mom Says:

Last week on Founder’s Day (08/08), our Writer Rabbits indulged in a small celebration involving gingko-infused carrot juice. What they did not anticipate was the group of panda cinematographers from the studio next door and the koalas from the lot down the street.

Now pandas are relatively trustworthy types even when they are cinematographers. But koalas, well, koalas are a different matter altogether. They’re Australian, after all.

Musashi Sez:

OK. Long storree short: By Sundae nigt, the bunneez’ car runnd out of gas an their littul bunnee blodstreemz runnd out of yookliptis likoor an ginko an all that carrit joos.

Which is jus as well if yu aks me, cuz them sekyooritee gardz at MGM (an 21 Cenchooree Fox an Dreemwerks an lik that) gottid reellee crankee about the bunneez zoomin around in their Ken an Barbee car.

I dunno why. It not lik ther wer all that mutch othr traffic to get in the wae.

But from our point of vyoo heer at Ajint 8’s Spy Jurnl, it has led to a sligt delay in the furthrin of our plotz.

Puttin Plot Messiz to Rigts, Part 2

Musashi Sez:

La, la, la. We is bak wift mor of that verree long “mon-tage” the bunneez writid fer us to get all our plot messiz bak in ordr. We ar mos graytful fer their artisitik skillz.

Mom (& the Bunneez) Sez:

“We’ll change all that’s gone before…”

* In the cabaret, Judi Dench, “M,” strolls singing among the tables. In passing, she pats Perro on the head, hands Alex a rose and winks. Alex unfolds the rose petals to reveal a note with GPS coordinates.

Cut to:

“Doing so much more…”

• The Greek boat ties up at a pier in Southern France. The white dog licks the Greek sailor’s face, while the black cat jumps down to the dock. The dog follows. There are many boats nearby. From one, steps a man in a pea coat, carrying a black cat-carrier and looking shifty. Gato and Sabaka nod to each other and follow him.

Cut to:

“Than falling in love…”

We see the cat-carrier on the man’s arms. We come closer and see wide yellow feline eyes look out through the black mesh.

Cut to:

“On an all-time high…”

An airfield by night. A taxi pulls up, lets out Alex and Perro, then pulls away.

Cut to:

“We’ll take on the world and win…”

Out of the darkness a jet-powered skateboard carrying an enormous grey cat, a Dachshund in a bowtie, a grey and white cat, and on top, a black cat with a black plumy tail, comes to a screeching halt, cutting off the music.

Cut to:

Alex says, “Agent Eight, M says that Felicity was last seen near Versailles. We have a Cessna. Perro’s flying us. Gato and Sabaka are already there. Let’s go.”

“Panther” says, “I’ll let my people know.” He trots off.

Eight says, “Meet Prof’soor. He comin too. He halpt me figgr out whu is behind it all. I egsplayn on the wae.”

Paco says, “Yo no puedo creer que corten mi solo.” (I can’t believe that they cut my solo.)

Agent Eight says, “Picotero, this no tim fer solos. This tim fer evrboddee workin together.”

Puttin the Plot Rigt

Musashi Sez:

OK. Yu has to imajin that Dame Judi Dench, whu we call “M,” is singing the Jimbond song, “All Tim High” whil the folloin “mon-tage” is happenin on yer compyootr screen. Kthxbai.

Mom an the Bunneez Sez:

“All I wanted was a sweet distraction for an hour or two…”

• In the basement under the Paris Agricultural Show, a Dachshund in a bowtie (Le Prof’soor) unrolls plans on the floor by walking across them. An overlarge grey cat (“Panther”) steps down from his couch to point to the rocket-car schematics on the page. A black cat with a white splash at the throat (Agent Eight) lashes his plumy black tail and narrows his pertee yellow eyes.

Cut to:

“Had no intention to do the things we’ve done…”

• A black cat and a thin white dog trot past the Greek Parthenon. They wander through town until they see a few old men playing cards at an outdoor café. The cat lashes his tail. The dog sits down grinning and scratches his ear.

Cut to:

“Funny how it seems in love, when you don’t look, you find…”

• Alex and Perro walk through the Left Bank of Paris. They come upon Cabaret à Noé and walk in. At the tables where the audience sits, there are dogs, cats, humans and the occasional parrot. On stage, Judi Dench sings.

Cut to:

“But now we’re two of a kind…”

• The Dachshund is pushing colored wires into plastic explosives. Agent Eight and “Panther” are building a jet-powered skateboard.

Cut to:

“We move as one.”

• At the outdoor café in Athens, Gato sits on the small round table and pulls all the money to himself. The two men in Greek fishermen’s caps bridle, but Sabaka, the thin white dog, bares his teeth.

Cut to:

An engine-powered fishing boat, steered by one of the Greek gamblers, passes the heel of Italy, sailing west. Gato and Sabaka stand in the prow with the wind blowing in their faces.

Cut to:

“We’re an all-time high!”

• The door of the basement cell explodes. Through the smoke speeds a rocket-powered skateboard, on which ride the low-slung brown dog, the enormous grey cat, and the black cat with the white tie and plumy black tail. They shoot through the flames and smoke, speed into the elevator. The elevator rises and opens on the first floor. The doors open and the skateboard shoots out, speeds through the Agricultural Show. Agent Eight scoops up Picotero Paco on their way out, as they are chased by Labradors, St. Bernards, and Bloodhounds into the night streets of Paris…

Mammal Resources Dept.

Mom Says:

Well, our Rabbit Writers drive a hard bargain. Here is the deal we finally negotiated with them.

Our subscribers have been paying $0/month for this blog since its inception, with no increase. So now we’re going to double the subscription fee. That way, we can also double the writers’ pay, since all of the subscription funds go directly to their salary anyway. We realize that this means that our subscribers will need to make some sacrifices, but we believe that showing our writers how much we need and appreciate them is important for the ongoing quality production of this blog.

Musashi Sez:

We also throws in a latte masheen an longr carrit brayks. Cuz we ar a Bunnee-Frendlee Employr. Huh.

Cleenin Up Othr Peeplz’ Messiz

MEMO

From: Cheef Writr Rabbit
To: Our Doofus Perdoosrz

Havin ben awae fer the las 3 monfts scoutin locayshunz, vacayshunnin, an cleenin ottrz pro bono, we mus admit our dismae to find the folloin plot messiz:

1. The star is bein held priznr in a baysmint unnr the Paris Agrcultoorul Sho, wift a French pefressr an a ovrgron CIA ajint.

2. The co-stars on locayshun in Paris ar “liayzin” wift the Paris polees (an yu can’t spel “liayzin” wiftout lazy) but they’r getting paid aneewae.

3. Our co-stars in Ejypt ar left hitch-hikin frum Cairo bak to Paris cuz our perdoosrz fergot to put their transport into the budjit.

4. Our egstra in Paris is tryin to steel co-star status (an salree) by singin disco at the Agrcultoorul Sho, an we can’t figgr whether this gud or bad, cuz it goin to add to the budjit, but the Paris polees kinda liks him, an also our Beljian audience is verree fond of him—he has a big fan bayse in Brussels.

So on account of all this, we writr bunneez demand a rayz. Huh.

Brussels Sprouts an Kittee Nip

Mom Says:

Silently Agent 8 slunk forward. Suddenly, just as he approached the last pile of boxes, a strange smell met his nose and then a long, brown, low-slung person stepped around the corner.

They met nose-to-nose. Agent 8 crouched in surprise, but the stranger barked out, “Zut, alors! Eet eez a kittee! Allo, Kittee. Venez avec moi. Come, let us go. Allons-y! Do you not speak?”

Octavian sniffed the odd dog’s snout curiously, wondering about his funny bowtie, but the dog gave him no time.

“Pardon, m’sieur! Je m’appelle Professeur Pierre Sebastian Agincourt. You may call me Prof’soor, as everyone does. Come!”

Bewildered, Octavian followed the waddly little dog around another corner to look up to see a couch, its cushions cast aside. And on that couch lay a grey cat the size of a German shepherd. The purr Octavian had heard before grew loud.

Prof’soor said, wth great apparent satisfaction, “I introduce to you, ‘Panther.’”

“His naym is Panthr?”

“Mais, non! Yu must say eet weeth the marks of quotation, like thees: … ‘Panther.’”

Octavian sat down abruptly, looking up at the overgrown feline person.

“So… ‘Panther,’ yer mom naymd yu wift yer own qwotayshun marks?”

The cat snorted. “No, foolish kitten. I am a spy wift the Amerikan CIA. ‘Panther’ is mai code naym.”

Oh no! The CIA? What had Octavian gotten himself into?

Halpin Cleen Up the Ottr-Cleenr-Upprz!

Musashi Sez:

Well, as yu all noez, our Bunnee Writrz has ben off fer qwit a whil, halpin cleen ottrz in the Golf of Meksiko. This wuz a messee job, an it tayk grayt strength of noz to do it. Cuz it turn out that yu can’t cleen somboddee els whu is that messee wift oil, witfout getting messee yerself.

But now our Bunneez hav fynlee com bak to us. They ar egzawstid an we ar still tryin to git the oil out of their fur. It is verree bad. We eevn had Vetrinarianz com ovr to the stoodio to halp us out. An that is not a pertee ideer, eevn if yu ar not a doggee. Huh.

We think that yu has seen pikchurz of the oil-coverd aminuls befor. Yu has seen the ottrz an the pelicanz, yu has seen the sea-turtlz an the fishiz, an of cors, yu has sended monnee to the conservayshun peeplez whu is halpin wift this HOOMIN PEEPLEZ’ tremendous awful STOOPID mistayk!!!

HOWEVR, if yu hasn’t given som monee to halp the creechurz yer carz an stuff haz halpd to mayk verree sik, or if yu has, but aftr havin seen the ugglee pikchurz of the oil-covrd aminuls, yu has that ick-oog!-whutkinIdooz? feelin agen, then we kin recommend some sorsiz fer halpin out:

ONE is the International Fund For Animal Welfare:

http://www.ifaw.org/ifaw_united_states/join_campaigns/emergency_relief/index.php

They does verree gud stuff all ovr the werld. ANOTHER is the Humane Society of the United States:

http://www.humanesociety.org/news/news/2010/06/gulf_oil_no_end_in_sight.html

All them aminulz an birdeez is tryin to liv an fly an swim an stuff wift all that icky blak oil on them. Yu hoomin peeplez wift thumbz gotta do somthin, if onlee becuz yu got them thumz and we dosn’t. Huh.

Kthx Vreemutch. Bai.

Not Egzaktlee a Dunjeon

Mom Says:

Dieter the Rottweiler carried Agent Eight downstairs to the “dungeon,” a basement filled with large, noisy machines. At the far end, a door opened to reveal a white room filled with big boxes. Dieter tossed Agent Eight inside, slammed the door, and trotted off muttering in German about fur between his teeth. Octavian, no happier about the “annoyin doggee slobbr,” sat down and bathed himself thoroughly before turning to examine his surroundings.

The room was a mountain range of boxes, many marked “This Side Up” with arrows interpreting “up” in creative ways. Octavian’s whiskers twitched. It would be fun to continue examining by leaping from box to box…

But no. This was a sort of dungeon, after all, even if it didn’t look it. Any one of these boxes could be filled with TNT or Gel-Ignite. Or Jack Russell terriers. Or water, even. He’d have to go cautiously.

He padded silently between the boxes, his whiskers forward, all his senses alert. His ears telescoped around at the slightest fall of dust on the grey carpet. And then they swiveled toward the far right of the room and he stopped rigid in a half-squat on his silky black haunches.

A deep regular vibration, like a purr, but not like the purr of any domestic feline on Ceiling cat’s good green earth—too deep, too loud, too—

But it was a purr of sorts. What was back there? A tiger? A lynx? A lioness?

Octavian quivered with anticipation.

Feeld Notz from Command Centrul

Musashi Sez:

Meenwhil, bak at the fansee orinj hotel suite in Paris, Alex wuz “liasing” (his werd. huh.) wift the Frentch polees on one phon and wift M on anothr. Pero wuz in the bedroom wift Alex’s vois-operaytid compyootr, maykin a feeld journl, keeping our noets all correct. Alex’s compyootr is reellee niftee, cuz that gy Q builded it. It has this AutoMatic AngliFier (AMAF) that yu kin “enable” (which is fansee techno langwidj fer “turn it on”). Innerestinlee, the saym programr whu thogted up the LingwaTron collr also thogted up the AMAF. Yu kin kinda tell…

Pero Reportz:

It has been much time since I kept a diary of the field, so don’t have practice. Also, since our rabbit contacts went abroad, everything has gone complicated. First, the mad English cat jumped into the fountain. Then our “opposite numbers” in Germany and Italy informed us of exceptionally large importations of herb of the felines from Turkey, Albania and the former Soviet Union.

Then that annoying Parisian cat of the fountain incident disappeared and her people are sniffing at our extremes and the French police are sniffing at our extremes, and Interpol, that he already knows that our extremes are clean, returns to us asking us for aid… And we still haven’t heard of “G.”

And in the midst of all this, “8” is gone “looking around” at the agricultural show, and I have just known something disorderly will happen!

Probably pronto.

Cairo in Smog

Musashi Sez:

Mai mom—er, I meen, Our Prodoosr—has pointed out that we hav ben needin som seeryus theem myoozic. If yu tayks Jimbond’s song, an mix that wift som of that Peetr Gaybriel fellr’z Last Temptayshun sountrak, cuz it has all that Middul-Eestrn forren-sounding myoozik, an mebbe add a disco backbeet, that migt giv us som yoosful at-mos-pheer-ik inflooens…

Mom Says:

It’s “Cairo in Smog,” Agent 8, not “Cairo in Song…”

Musashi Sez:

I noo that.

I was jus settin up the atmospheerik inflooens fer the chays sceen down the stonee streets of old Cairo, wift a white doggee, hiz eyz hyooj, an a blak an whit kittee on his bak, all clawz out, hissin in verree impolyt Spanish. The skrambul of clawz. Then silens.

Then a hyooj mewlin of a few dozin kitteez, screemin in all kinds of impolit langwidjiz, as they zoom down the saym stonee street.

Angree kitteez evrwher!!!

An then they ar all gon. A few bits of fur fluttr to the ground. Somwher not far off, the sound of the muezzin callz folks to get their carpets an com pray.

But tayk it from me, ther has alreddee ben prayin happinin on this stonee street this mornin, eevn if it dint egzaktlee sound lik it to yu.

A Noz fer Danjer

Musashi Sez:

So ther I wuz ridin on the big ol’ doggee’z enormous bak, throo the crowd, between rows of taybuls holdin all kindsa crops, incloodin som fayrlee aeronautic ‘nip (yu sniff it an yu’r in spays verree fast). The downsid wuz that I cud be ridin to mai doooom. The upsid wuz that I wuz feelin pertee darn relaksd. Ther wer still hoomin peeplez evrwher, but wift the big doggee undr mai pawz, they din’t seem so liklee to step on me. So cleerlee ther is upsidz to everthin. (I’m a bowl haf-full kinda gy.)

The doggee stopt in front of a door that had lotsa German shepprdz standin guard. I hoppd down.

They sed, “Ihr Name?” (Name?)

An he sed, “Dieter. Mit der Katze.” (Deetr. Wift the Kittee.)

“Huh. Tragen Sie ein.” (Enter.)

So I wuz lopin down the hall by this Dieter’s sid, mai ploomy tail held high. I sed, “Yer naym is Deetr?”

An he yawnd so big, I thogt he migt swollr me by accident. “Jah,” he sed. “Yu hav problem vith zis?”

“No! No, of cors not.” Ther a tim an a plays fer evrthin, an this wuz not it. Altho I had got lotsa joks in mai hed that I wuz considrin yoozin somtim wen he NOT around.

Deetr stoppd at another door. It wuz opend from insid, an Deetr an me went in. He sed, “Ich habe die katze gebracht.” (I’ve brogt the kittee.)

The room wuz doggee-sizd an reellee qwite classee. The wallz wer mayd of wud an ther wuz a verree big desk, an ther wuz a big ol’ lethr chayr behind it. But I not see whu Deetr wuz talkin to until it—he—talkd bak.

“Ausgezeichnet, Dieter. Vielen Dank. Haben Sie ein Getränk.” (Excellent, Dieter. Thank you. Have a drink.)

The door clozd behind us an I turnd to see one of them big shinee doggee bowlz filld wift wattr. Deetr drank verree noyzee from that, an aftr I had mai fill of watchin the messee wae he wuz havin his fill, I turnd and saw—

Well, akshullee, it wuz just a doggee, reellee. But I’d nevr seen a doggee quite lik this befor. He wuz hyooj an brown an wrinklee wift long eerz an a verree big noz. He strolld ovr to me an sniffd me so hard I wuz afraid I wud end up in his noz.

“Huh,” he sed. “So yu ar American, an yu don’t do ‘nip verree often, an yu hab, how yu sae, a fondness fer Tunfisch.”

Well, now that wuz justaboutanuff! I sed, “Yah, I liks the toonr fish. But yu not the onliest one wift a noz, yu noe!”

So I goez up to him an I sniffs him stem to stern an I am disturbd by whut I smells, cuz he smells of lotsa othr doggeez bein nervous, an hav also a punjint smell of hard rubbr.

But I has whut Jimbond wud probabul call guts. So I sez, “So yu ar one of them smug Continentl doggeez whu gotta be wher the akshun iz, an you has, how yu say? A fondness fer rubber chewy bonz.”

I sniffd agen. “Also raw-hyd bonz.”

The big noz caym towrd me. It filld up mai whol werld. “So, kleine katze, yu hab a noz too? Hab yu gotz ze noz fer ansrz? Wher kin we findz zis Fraulein Felicity? Hmm?”

“I don’t noe.”

“He doz not noe! Hah! Vell, Octavian! Habe yu gotz a noz fer danjr? It does not seem so! Hnrf, hnrf, hnrf! Dieter, tayk him to ze dunjeonz!”

Almos a dozen thogts thogtid throo mai head all at once as Dieter pickd me up by mai scruff an carreed me awae… I thogt:

1. Darn.
2. All becuz I din’t guess disco myoozik.
3. Mebbe I shudn’t hav mentioned the chewy bonz.
4. Mebbe now I won’t akshullee get that Nobel Pryz fer mai catnip custrd.
5. Mom is goin to be SO pissd off if I gets maiself killt.
6. They got dunjeonz at the agrcultchurl sho?
7. I nevr ben in a reel dunjeon befor. I wundr whut it’s lik?
8. At leest now I’ll get a chans fer a reel nap…