The momint I dragged maisalf free from the weird green scragglee twigs, I hads maiself a brain-splosion. I turned to Mr. Tygr, hoping that whut he saw wud be diffrunt from whut I was seein.
I sed, “Mr. Tygr? Do yu thingks we are still in Bostn?”
He seds, “Um. Nope.”
“Does yu thingks we are in Narnia?”
Then Mr. Tyrgr lukt rigt an left. He snuffd up a whol lotta air, which almos included me, but I pulld maiself awae frum his migty, stripee noz.
“This not Narnia,” he sedsd. “Ther no Ceeling Cat smell heer.”
O-M-G, I thougted, whut we do now?
I seds, “Um. Does yu have thogts about wher we migt be? Cuz this is wae beyond whut I had been anticerpaytin…”
An Mr. Tygr sed, “Hm. Wull, it’s lik this. Eethr we is becom a seemless part of som noo (fer us) realitee, or, possibul, we has ben sukd into a fairee tayl frum our werld that also got som powr in this othr werld.”
An, intellijintlee, I seds, “Huh?”
An he sed, “Wull, lik, fer egzampul, if ther is an alternit werld wher folks all walk backwards, we wud figgr it out perty qwik, an we wud start walkin backwards. So we shud pae lotsa attention to whuts we does, cuz that will tell us whut theez folks heer do.”
“Are they hongree fer peenut buttr ‘n jellee?” I aksd.
“Um,” sed Mr. Tygr.
Which at the time seemd lik an egstreemly conservative answer. So I aksd a diffrunt qwestshun. “Whut yu thingk thoz poppee-lookin flowrz ar? An also, why I feels so sleepeeeeeeee….?”