Mr Tinkles was strolling about the house in which he lived with three
batty, overprotective, suffocating maids. It had been 2 years 3 months and
a day (to be precise) since those darned puppies had foiled his plan to
make the whole world allergic to dogs. Once again he had a plan to take
over the world so that cats may rule once more, and this time... no-one was
going to stop him.
As the bedroom door clicked shut, Mr Tinkles jumped from the chair in which he had been pretending to sleep and shook the bonnet of his head.
"Degrading...demoralising..." he muttered as he made his way over to the window.
Jumping up on the sill he pulled the handle open and in hopped two Russian cats.
"Meeeaaaowwww!" they exclaimed, pausing to search the interior for enemies.
"Why do I continue to trust the Russians?" Mr Tinkles asked himself, watching their idiotic display with nothing but utter disgrace.
"Because," one of the cats answered once he was convinced that no-one was about to kill him, "we're all; you've got."
That much was partly true. Mr Tinkles didn't have an army of cats at his beck and call, most of them had went into hiding at the embarrassment of being tricked by a group of flea-bitten mutts. So, as a last resort, Mr Tinkles had contacted the Russians and when they had taken him up on his offer (which had mostly consisted of begging, pleading, bargaining, money and catnip) he had been more than welcome to invite them over.
The first stage of his plan was the part that needed careful planning; it was going to be dangerous and deadly. This was partly why he was using the Russians; he was willing to risk their lives. The first moments had to be carried out in complete secrecy, otherwise the dogs would catch on to them and there was a chance that the plan could be shut down before it every really started.
"Right men..." began Mr Tinkles, but he was interrupted by a hiss from one of the two recruits. He glared at them, "What?" he hissed back. No reply came. "So, as I was saying, you men..." Again another hiss from the line-up.
"Err...Snowflake would appreciate it if you didn't keep calling her a man." Answered the other cat.
Mr Tinkles was shocked. This was something you didn't get every day. He was all for equality and all that but he had never in his life came across a female Russian spy, especially one named Snowflake. Russians were more likely to be called Chekhov or Natasha. "Sorry Snowflake." Mr Tinkles apologised. This was too weird and he had the distinct feeling that something was going to go dreadfully wrong.
Before anyone could speak again there was a frantic scratching at the window. Mr Tinkles looked up to find a fat, depressed looking grey tabby balanced precariously on the outside window sill. He was mouthing something frantically but no-one could hear him through the thick doubled-glazed windows.
For a moment no-one did anything and Mr Tinkles was comparing the agility of the Russians (who had managed to both stand on the sill at the same time) with the awkwardness of this fat lump (who just happened to be his 'advisor').
After a few, long, seconds Mr Tinkles shook his fluffy white head,
"Let him in." he ordered Snowflake. The cat leapt over to the window and thrust in open. There was a time delay as the tabby was shoved off the window and continued to run in mid air or a minute before dropping vertically downwards.
"Oh...no." stated the other Russian.
Mr Tinkles sighed and walked slowly towards the wall.
"Why-does-this-al-ways-hap-pen-to-ME?" he groaned, hitting his head off the wall between each breath.
Just when the Russians were getting worried and were considering stopping Mr Tinkles, there was an almighty noise from outside. It sounded as though the wall just outside the window was being scraped away. All three cats looked up just in time to see the tabby appear once more at the window and attempt to jump through it. Halfway way through, he got stuck.
"Umm...help?"
As the bedroom door clicked shut, Mr Tinkles jumped from the chair in which he had been pretending to sleep and shook the bonnet of his head.
"Degrading...demoralising..." he muttered as he made his way over to the window.
Jumping up on the sill he pulled the handle open and in hopped two Russian cats.
"Meeeaaaowwww!" they exclaimed, pausing to search the interior for enemies.
"Why do I continue to trust the Russians?" Mr Tinkles asked himself, watching their idiotic display with nothing but utter disgrace.
"Because," one of the cats answered once he was convinced that no-one was about to kill him, "we're all; you've got."
That much was partly true. Mr Tinkles didn't have an army of cats at his beck and call, most of them had went into hiding at the embarrassment of being tricked by a group of flea-bitten mutts. So, as a last resort, Mr Tinkles had contacted the Russians and when they had taken him up on his offer (which had mostly consisted of begging, pleading, bargaining, money and catnip) he had been more than welcome to invite them over.
The first stage of his plan was the part that needed careful planning; it was going to be dangerous and deadly. This was partly why he was using the Russians; he was willing to risk their lives. The first moments had to be carried out in complete secrecy, otherwise the dogs would catch on to them and there was a chance that the plan could be shut down before it every really started.
"Right men..." began Mr Tinkles, but he was interrupted by a hiss from one of the two recruits. He glared at them, "What?" he hissed back. No reply came. "So, as I was saying, you men..." Again another hiss from the line-up.
"Err...Snowflake would appreciate it if you didn't keep calling her a man." Answered the other cat.
Mr Tinkles was shocked. This was something you didn't get every day. He was all for equality and all that but he had never in his life came across a female Russian spy, especially one named Snowflake. Russians were more likely to be called Chekhov or Natasha. "Sorry Snowflake." Mr Tinkles apologised. This was too weird and he had the distinct feeling that something was going to go dreadfully wrong.
Before anyone could speak again there was a frantic scratching at the window. Mr Tinkles looked up to find a fat, depressed looking grey tabby balanced precariously on the outside window sill. He was mouthing something frantically but no-one could hear him through the thick doubled-glazed windows.
For a moment no-one did anything and Mr Tinkles was comparing the agility of the Russians (who had managed to both stand on the sill at the same time) with the awkwardness of this fat lump (who just happened to be his 'advisor').
After a few, long, seconds Mr Tinkles shook his fluffy white head,
"Let him in." he ordered Snowflake. The cat leapt over to the window and thrust in open. There was a time delay as the tabby was shoved off the window and continued to run in mid air or a minute before dropping vertically downwards.
"Oh...no." stated the other Russian.
Mr Tinkles sighed and walked slowly towards the wall.
"Why-does-this-al-ways-hap-pen-to-ME?" he groaned, hitting his head off the wall between each breath.
Just when the Russians were getting worried and were considering stopping Mr Tinkles, there was an almighty noise from outside. It sounded as though the wall just outside the window was being scraped away. All three cats looked up just in time to see the tabby appear once more at the window and attempt to jump through it. Halfway way through, he got stuck.
"Umm...help?"