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It was a dark and stormy night.
The moon played hide and seek with the black cat clouds, the wind howled,
and a faint light shown in the distance.
"Alas" said Sebastian. "What a dreary evening - I wish someone would
visit and rescue me from this dull, clichéd existence!"
Sneezing his way up the stairs, Claude yelled "Sebastian, stop whining
and close the window".
"That's the last straw, Claude", Sebastian said, "I'm out of here, I
can't take your emotional abuse anymore" and he stormed outside, jumped
into his Smart Car, and drove off into the thunderous night.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, Claude telephoned the Federales. "He was
upset and yelling and saying crazy things. What?! What the hell do I know
what type of underwear he was wearing!"
"Just look for a calico cat driving a Smart Car! How hard can that be?"
While the Federales gave chase to the driving cat, Claude tended to his
steer on the ranch and wondered if Sebastian would ever know the real
truth about his checkered (pants?) past.
All the while Moira wandered from room to room, moaning - weeping. How
did I come to this end, here I am tending to whining, underwear clad
(tools?) fools. Sebastian always has the Smart Car so there seems to be
no escape. And when oh when will there ever be any furniture in this
place.
To relieve her despair, Moira found the hidden CD player and began to
play her favorite CD, The Buxton Brass Ensemble plays Cole Porter.
Meanwhile, Sebastian the cat careened down the Blue Ridge Parkway at top
speed. "Damn it!" he thought. It would help if they let cat's into
drivers ed." Headlights appeared behind him. "Damn it! Must be those
Federales! They always want to look at my underwear."
Sebastian slammed on the brakes, and as the Federales flipped over the
armoured Smart Car, he called Moira on the cell phone and asked her to
grab Claud, Marvin, Mushmouth, and Al, and start Plan B.
Moira quickly ran to the top secret strategy room hidden behind the
bookshelves in the old library, and punched up the GPS map detailing
Sebastians location.
"Hey, hey, hey it's . . . "
Operations! Shouted the super-model/spy in an uncharacteristic outburst.
Section would not approve of Operations using these underwear-clad
(tools?) fools on a mission. Must be a secret FBI plot to cover up the
alien invasion of driving cats.
There was a knock on the door, Sebastian stood there with a sheepish look
on his face - "Hello", said the tall dark, handsome, tanned Italian
massage therapist. I'm here for Moira's 3-hour full body massage and
pedicure.
"Thank God you're here! We need you for Plan B," said Sebastian.
After having his secret passphrase acknowledged, Mushmouth, the
oddly-named massage therapist, said, "I'm not starting Plan B until
someone brings me a damned drink."