Agent Octavian considered his situation. On the plus side, he had the fancy laser cutter from M, and he only needed to cut out a few strips of grill to squeeze through—three inches or four. Make it five, then for safety’s sake.
On the minus side, the drop would be about eight feet, and he might be seen jumping.
On the plus side, he was a cat.
In short, it was what he thought of as a “win-win sitchooayshun.”
He hummed a little tune (“What’s New, Pussycat?”) as he pulled out the laser cutter and hit the “silence” button with one claw. Noiselessly, the eerie red light cut through three slats on the left side of the grill. He stopped to look at his paw-work. Still too narrow. He sliced through two more and holstered the cutter. Hooking his claws on each slat in turn, he batted it inward. The slats shrieked in protest, but above the rattle and bang of the conveyor belts, no one appeared to notice.
Still, Octavian paused to pant. What if he were caught? How could he talk his way out of that? “Um, I wuz jus taykin a walk an I endid up in yer bank’s baysmint”? Huh. A likely story…
I stud ther in the shaft, lookin down an considerin. Soon, tho, mai bak end started to wiggul and then mai front end jumpt! down into the room. I hit the floor an rolld an endid up rigt undr the sudzin conveyr belt--jus lik I pland, egsept a whol lot fastr and dizzier.
Wen the room fynalee stopt spinnin, I peekt out an saw lotsa hoomin peeple’s shooz marchin out, lyk it wuz naptim or somthin, so I skeddaddlulld (this wurd is hard to stop spellin) across the room. Ther, in the far cornr, sittin lik a buntcha frogz in a swamp, wuz the ansr I wuz lookin fer…