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!”

Maykin Contakt Unegspektidlee

Mom Says:

(Yeah, long blog = go to litterbox. Get used to it. We’re not going to tell you from now on.)

Agent Octavian quite liked his new friend Picotero Paco, the Brussels sprouts farmer and flamenco singer, but honestly! The beautiful mouse dancer was nice, but it felt like Paco had been singing for a whole week.

Ya no sufro! Noooooo!
Ahora yoy a dar mi corazòn,
mi corazòn sangrante,
sóloooooo a la lunaaa….

(No longer will I suffer! No!
Now I shall give my heart,
my bleeding heart,
only to the moon….)

“Huh!” Octavian thought to himself. “Suffr, suffr, moon, moon. Enugf alreddee! Is tim fer som disco!” But just as he was thinking this, Paco ended with a flourish. Timidora bowed. The guitaristas stood and bowed. Paco shook himself as if he were coming out of a dream. The crowd stomped and whistled and shouted, “Olé! PicoPaco! Olé!”

Musashi Sez:

So old Paco went off, mutterin that he had ben hijackd by “duende,” whutevr that is, an got himself a dringk. I assoom he got som likyoooor de sprowt de Bursels or like that, but I din’t talk to him again aftr.

An that wuz moslee cuz the pertee mousee laydee com to our taybul to talk to us. Malena pickt up the strugglin Gato and givd him to that othr gy, sayin, “Javier, tenemos camarones extra? Alimentan a este gato con la puerta cerrada. Entendido?”

“Si,” sed Haveeyayr, tryin to keep Gato wift jus 2 arms, but akshul he do okay.

The mousee lookd onlee a littul happier aftr Gato left. She kept givn me the hairy eyball. I tried purrin, but that not seem to halp.

Alek manidjd to calm her down by talking about her dansin as if he nu stuff. Huh. He spoktid in a mix of Spannish an Inglish, an somtimz Malena tranzlaytid an somtimz Perro did. I wuz not folloin the conversayshun until Alek did somthin to mai collr that he calld “chaynjin the freekwensee.” At ferst, I wuz insultd, thingkin he wer callin me a freek, but wen whut he did werkd, I figgrd it had somthin to do wift the mousee laydee’s reellee high vois.

Mom Says:

After making Señora Timidora comfortable with small-talk, Alek said, “You know, I think your husband and I, and my friend Octavian here, have a mutual friend in London, with his initials…”

Timidora squeaked, “O?”

And Alek said, “No. M.”

And Timidora said, “O! What U wan?”

“We’d like to meet with him, if we could.”

“Y?”

“It’s…complex. But his former employer is up to old tricks, and we are hoping to avoid a big mess. Entendido?”

“Ah…C…”

“Could you arrange it?”

“Ah… May B…C… Ah... I tell M. Mmmmm. Huh! C! Com wif Mee!”

And before any of them had planned to move, they were following her out of the bar and into the darkened city streets of Grrrranada.

That Rod Longr Than I Thogt!

Musashi Sez:

So ther I wuz, on the rod wift this innerestin Spaynish kittee whu smelld a littul bit of the ‘Nip, an he talkt an talkt an talkt. I asksd him whut his naym wuz an he sed, “Paco! Pero me llama Picotero!” An mai LingwaTron wuz telling me that he wuz callin himself a chattrbox. I agreed wift him.

He telld me how it wuz to be a free kittee in Espayn, to be a kittee whu choozd to driv the truk, whu groo an seld the Bursel sprowts, an whu sung the flamenco songz. Now, of cors, I hav herd of boft Bursel sprowts an flamenco from mai mom, so I kin talk about them both, eevn tho I hav not got the persnl egspeeriens. An that a gud thin, cuz mai tinee littul noelidj carreed us fer mylz an mylz, moslee cuz Picotero-Paco gotst lotsa opinions about evrthin, but partiklr about Bursel sprowts an flamenco. Yu migt not egspekt it, but, accordin to him, together, they ar the pinnakul of sivilizayshun. Huh. Whuu’da thunk? I bet eevn mai mom didn’t noe that…

Mom Says:

Meanwhile, even as Agent Octavian was having his cultural horizons broadened, Alek, Perro and Gato were facing the more distressing situation of ninjas following them with the clear intent of cutting off their horizons entirely. Even though the ninjas were traveling in a VW bus of uncertain vintage, our heroes naturally did what any of us would do in a similar situation: they panicked.

“Dooooooo somtheeeen!” howled Perro.

Alek did something. He shifted the car into “fifth gear.” A loud WHUMP! came from the rear of the car as it shot away from its own flame. Alek saw the speedometer hand race from 100 kilometers per hour to 115 to 130 to 145…

The ninjas’ VW bus disappeared behind them in a cloud of dust.