Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Ther No Plays Lik Hoem & Othr Yoosful Lessnz


Mom Says:

Musashi had anticipated regretting leaving his alter ego, Agent Octavian, behind in London when he finally flew home, but now that he was on the British Air flight with the fluffy clouds outside the plane and the pretty stewardesses inside, he thought that the present was just fine after all. Sure, he was a suave, resourceful, nerves-of-steel kind of guy, but in the end what he was most was a cat, and cats are homebodies. Yes, he was cool in a crisis and could think on his paws, but some of life’s most precious joys involved sunshine, windowsills, and napping.

He could let go of the heart-rumbling danger, the exotic locales, the fascinating smells, and the pretty theme music playing in the background. He had catnip moussees to look forward to, and his burble-burble water fountain. He could pillow his head on Mom’s knee at night. He had his laser pointer to chase! and his friend Mr. Tiger Puppet to wrestle.

All a kittee person needs, he reflected, are the simple joys of—

Musashi Sez:


OK, so ther I wuz in mai fansee seet on the ayrplayn, havin deep thogts and lookin forwrd to goin hom, wen all of a suddin, this gy in the seet across the ayul, started callin fer the stooerdess to com get the “filfthee catt whu musta got loos!”

Well, natchurul, I wuz lookin around to see if I cud rekignyz this cat he wuz talkin about. Is this somboddee I noes?

Huh. As if. He wuz poyntin rigt at ME! Of all the nerv. Harrumph. An lik that.

But, see, this somthin I lernd from my mayt Jimbond. He tell me, alwaes be nys to peeples, espeshul the laydee peeples. So I had ben doin my bestest to be all swayv and polyt to the stooerdess (Her name Helen, lik that laydee whu start all the wars; I asksed if she wuz naymed aftr that laydee, and she turnd a funnee pink colr an gigguld, but she nevr did ansr, so I stil don’t noe).

Aneewae, mai frend Helen, she bring this rood gy a egstra pillo an say, “My deer sir, wud yu pleez refrayn from maykin sutch a nastee sceeen. Mr. Octavian has payd his fayr, jus as yu has, an he deezervs to be left in peece, don’t yu agree?”

Well, parentlee, he didn’t agree, cuz he kept on yellin about filfthee cats, an maykin asperzhuns, an bein prejoodist and derogatoree an lik that. Of cors, he wuz a Merikan, lik me, altho not from Masachoositz.

But the stooerdess kept bein egstra polyt an ignorin him. An heer the bestest thin yet: becuz the gy wudn’t shut up an be nys, I got moovd up to bizniz class, wher I met a verree nys gy whu nue all about catnip farmin. He nue so mutch that we talkt about it fer the whol 5 or 6 hours of the fligt. Turn out ther a pertee gud profit in it, so mebbe I try bein farmr next.

An that shud be gud to thingk about som mor whyl I’m nappin on the windo sill or sleepin wift mai hed on Mom’s knee.

Also, they giv me theez littul gold wingz on a pin, jus lik the onez the akshul pylot wayr on his yooniform!!! So mebbe I becom a pylot...

2 comments:

Pamela said...

Didja get your mom the Marmite?

Musashi said...

O yes! She say she put it in kitchin wher she kin see it an rememember mai bein sutch a nys kittee.