We have followed le journey of our hero Stocky le Squirrel and his wayward companion Kara. Kara, who led us to believe that she was merely taking Stocky along to see the Olympics in London (in le United Kingdom), turned out to be a kind of comrade in booze as she visited every English pub with poor hapless Stocky in tow – and when she ran out of pubs, graduated to Irish taverns to, sure and begorrah, sample the Celtic brands of ale and fine Irish whiskeys. The seem to have visited every public house, dramshop and groggery in le British Isles and drunk them dry.
Just when we thought she and Stocky would at last turn their faces and their tails toward home – due to an unfortunate accident with an unplanned release of fermenting gut gases – she drags him not homeward, but Gaul-ward. Oui, the two barflys land in Paree and proceed to sample the local aperitifs, you might say. And every publican in turn had kicked them out the door, oui! What was next? A series of dirty, vermin-infested German rathskellers?
It is not enough that she continually abuses the poor little boy with doses of le alcohol. After all, for all we know, he is in squirrel years, old enough not only to drink but to vote!
But that was not the last straw. The last straw was learning that wee Stocky has come into shameful possession of un beer belly! (see “unretouched photo” above, nudge, nudge) It is one thing to show a guest some of the high life on one's travels – but to endanger his life with an alcoholic beer gut? Were we, his loving and caring (and worrying) family back home, supposed to throw up our hands and say, eh those crazy kids, eh? NO!
I for one could not stand by when our sweet innocent boy was so frightfully abused and endangered.
I flew like an eagle (on wings of love, or something like that – on wings of Delta anyway) – to a most un-gay Paree to find our Stocky and put him on a course for home!
First, to arrange le assignment. Our compatriot and comrade, Soovie, passed along a message to le Stocky to run for the local doughnut shoppe where I would be waiting.
Le Stocky managed to escape, I am told – but alas, I was done in by le jet lag and an overdose of the doughnuts with which I intended to feed le Stocky. I was out cold on the sidewalk in front of le shoppe.
AGH! I had missed le rendezvous!
When I came to, I learned what had transpired while I was, ahem, indisposed. A kind Parisienne called me a taxi back to the hotel, where I threw some cold water on my face and inhaled some good strong French cafe' – and I was good as new. Ready for action – with my will as firm as steel in my resolve. This time I would not fail! And also this time, I would deal with the slanderous aspersions cast on my character by le notorious Kara! How dare she sink so low!
A second taxi conveyed me to un avenue of disreputable low-class wine shoppes – their counters manned by modern equivalents of le malevolent Monsieur and Madame DeFarge – where Kara was sure to be lurking. I methodically searched them one by one. At last I detected my quarry and challenged her to a duel for the sake of my honor, not to mention for custody of le Stocky le unfortunate Squirrel.
She was no match for me! I thrust, I parried, I twirled in a scrimmage reminiscent of le famous sword fights on le silver screen with le Errol Flynn. There was no escaping my retribution as Kara felt my wrathful blade! An avenging spirit could not have vanquished her more thoroughly!
I scooped up the shivering Stocky, by now too pudgy to fit into his jeans stuffed into his little backpack. He wore just a long raincoat over his tee shirt and diaper – which of course needed changing again. Le P.U.!!!
Fortunately Soovie and I had packed a new backpack with whatever he would need: not only le diapers (couches) but also some nice warm sweaters to keep him from catching le cold. His true mommy, Soovie, knew just what he needed, oui. True mommies everywhere know just what their child has need of, even if said child is wayward and stubborn. Like Stocky.
But now Stocky – newly diapered, thankfully – jumped gratefully into my arms as I vacated the premises of the disreputable shoppe, much to the relief of the proprietor whose establishment could hardly be in lower esteem on the part of le public anyway.
Setting a course for home. Steady as she goes, Mr. Sulu!