The voices faded, but Agent Octavian proceeded cautiously, padding along the dark, narrow ventilation shaft.
Life, he mused, was a lot like a spy's first practice mission. After a bumpy ride (born with brothers and sisters behind a couch), and a few easy meals, you're thrown into a complex set of problems you cant understand, with tools (claws, teeth, charisma) you don't know how to use. Most people don't even know you exist. Now maybe you'll figure out the problem and maybe you won't. Either way, you can't exactly count on the SPCA to come riding over the hill to save you.
All is uncertainty, darkness and doubt. You can only reassure yourself by purring gently the reminder: "Shur is a gud thin I'm a charmin, resorsful kittee wift suprcool spy toolz."
So aftr I girdid mai lion, I sniffd the sharpist soap smell evr. I turnd the last cornr and saw anothr grill, not neerlee as fansee as the one I kaym in bai. The spaysiz sent a greeny-yellr lyt in stryps acros mai fays. Sylintlee, I approacht the grill an lookt out.
Yu arn't goin to beleev what I saw!