My Easter/Passover/Whatever you want it to be present to all of you. This is short, because I left my Math notebook at school, and it has some of Presto in it, including Raoul's transformation. But I've got Little Jammes and the Persian for you.

I pretended like I knew French in here. If I confused you, there's a translation thingy at the bottom. This chapter is very, very random.


"Whoa. Where in the world did you come from? I've never seen you before."

"I am the greatest dancer ever. I swear on your life, mademoiselle."

"Truly? Show me."

"Very well."

Silence. The soft pitter-patter of tiny feet. A very, very loud thud. Whump!

"Why, you dance like a calf in a field!"

"My feet…aren't quite normal…Please, believe me!"

Little Cecile Jammes, a tiny tortoiseshell, tremblingly, triggered a terrifyingly tumultuous tear-fall. (A/N: Say that ten times in five seconds, and I'll let youborrow Misto and Erik for a bit, okay? They've been getting on my nerves. Erikdoesn't like Fish! He says Carl couldn't have invented the toaster if he lives underwater...Pooh.)Victoria wandered away, her tail held snobbishly in the air.


The Persian, a big fluffy Persian with evil jade eyes, wandered the junkyard unhappily, with Darius, a meek little tabby, at his side.

He knew he was a cat.

He was pretending he knew why he was a cat.

He was, for the latter reason, taunting Darius in a sing-song voice.

"I know something you don't know! I know something you don't know!"

"Will you just shut up already?"

"I know something you d—"

"Will you tell me then?" Darius already knew what it was; he just wanted the cat in front of him to shut up already, as was previously stated. Also, when the Persian gets excited, he sheds lots of fur—which he had no shortage of—all of which was blowing into Darius' face.

"Will you keep it a secret?"

"Cross my heart and hope for pie."

"Apple?"

"Cherry."

"With whipped cream?"

"Extra fluffy."

"Okay." The Persian paused, glancing back and forth mysteriously before continuing in a stealthy whisper. "Erik's up to his old tricks again."

"Really?"

"Yes," He allowed his voice to fill the junkyard. "Erik's up to his old tricks again! Like in the rosy hours of Mazenderan!" He lowered his voice again. "Darius! Sssssh!"

"Le gasp! M. le Fantôme est jusqu'à ses vieux tours?"

"Oui, oui."

"Le Chat Eternel charmant!"

"You're not a cat. Stop talking like one."

"Oui je suis!"

"Oh well. I don't care. You're not French, either."

"Mais je peux faire semblant d'être, M. Effrayant-Chat!"

"Once again, I don't care."

"Pouvoir vous brûle dans les fosses les plus profondes d'enfer!"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"That was a funny sneeze."

"You sneeze funnier."

"Nuh-UH!"

"YUH-HUH!"

"Nu—AFLAFLA!" The Persian sneezed. His fur flew everywhere.

"Ew."


For those of you who are multi-lingually challenged, I have prepared a small translation doohickey. Yay. These are in the order of appearance.

1. Mr. the Phantom is up to his old tricks again?

2. Lovely Everlasting Cat!

3. Yes I am!

4. But I can pretend I am, Mr. Scary-cat!

5. May you burn in the deepest pits of hell!

Oh, and the aflafla thing is an inside joke. Don't ask.