VFF: Can you pramise there will be no violence at all?
ME: Sure, as long as your next sentence does not mention hugging and/or learning…Oh, and fourth, what’s your deal with violence?
I let myself in for it there, for real. Had to endure an hour-long lecture, which boiled down to the fact that Venus Fang Fang has had some bad, bad experiences with violence, none of which (unfortunately) she would describe in detail for me. But clearly she has strong personal evidence that violence is, like, really bad. So, bless her heart, she retired from the spy business when Young Larry was born, and has spent the past fourteen years fine-tuning her philosophy of defeating the enemy through non-violent means.
And so, as my first task, she wants ME to stop all fisticuffs with EvilOne. Chaaaaa! She thinks I’M the guilty one??????
Later
Have looked back at journal entries and clearly I AM the guilty one. As evidenced by the scuffle of June 14. Why would any reasonably badass defyer of death and mocker of defenses go and punch someone in the face WHILE MOSTLY PARALYZED??????? That’s just…not bright. Oh, and let’s also refer to the tussle of June 22, which I instigated by kicking my double with MY FULLLEG CAST. Am disappointed in self at the moment.
Later
Note to self: If I am ever in need of self-worth again, should remind myself that Venus Fang Fang, world’s foremost spy trainer, wants to train ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
June 29
trips through the abstacle garden, 12; muscles yelling at me, 850
Am getting less soft. Spent a lot of time working on endurance in the abstacle garden. Have not yet met the goal Venus Fang Fang set for me. Need to shave another three minutes off my time. Maybe tomorrow. Finally we moved on to Locks 101. I picked every lock on Venus Fang Fang’s practice door; then replaced each one with a new lock of my own design. She told me it was a good effort and cracked all five of my locks in one minute flat.
Also, to supplement my growing skills, Venus Fang Fang has called in an expert on devices. Her name is Queenie Kew. I find her tedious and have had to forbid her to explain how her devices work. At least that way I can enjoy them for a couple minutes. Their real, intended functions may not cause them to spectacularly self-destruct like the functions I invent for them, but flatting bugrits, hearing Queenie Kew explain ANYTHING makes me so tired.
Some of Queenie Kew’s devices post-Me
Next came a crash course in Advanced Empathy. Venus Fang Fang says that I have all the mechanical abilities I need to make (or defuse) excellent booby traps, but that I’m clueless when it comes to predicting what the enemy will do next, which is critical to primo booby-trapping skills. So, my lameness with booby traps essentially stems from my inability to understand the enemy. I can feel that, all right. I definitely don’t understand EvilOne. Submitted to two hours of emotionally draining empathy practice. Am glad it’s over.
It’s OK, though. I need the help. I KNOW I used to be good at this stuff. Blast EvilOne for taking my skills!!!! Hanging out with Venus Fang Fang and Queenie Kew is painful but necessary, in the way that relearning to walk after breaking every bone in your body is painful but necessary.
In other news, I caught myself with my finger up my nose three times today.
Later—back at home
Came home real pooped tonight, but AT LEAST I did not race upstairs to my bedroom with no thought for booby traps. Was able to detect and defuse a stink bomb inside the doorknob. Am extremely proud of self and grateful to Venus Fang Fang. When I finally, safely opened the door, EvilOne looked up expectantly at me through her gas mask, then glowered when she saw there was no stinky cloud. We said nothing. I grabbed some bedding and went to sleep in the birdcage.
June 30
locks picked, 23; codes cracked, 123; satellites hacked, 3
Venus Fang Fang says I am racing through the basic levels of espionage tradecraft and making her pull out her best tricks. Am feeling self-worthy again.
Tonight she analyzed my night vision. I can distinguish sixty-seven more shades of gray than the average person. It seems my eyes just have more rods than most people’s do. Who knew? Anyway, she says we can stick to night work from now on. YESSSSSSSSSSS. I am back to sleeping days.
Later
Excellent night of training. Am feeling much better equipped to take on EvilOne. Here are a few of the best lessons Venus Fang Fang has taught me:
Winning arguments while making it seem like you’re resolving differences.
Developing a very sensitive nose for traps, tricks, double crosses, and deception of many kinds.
Thinking up and implementing traps, tricks, double crosses, and deception that will be undetectable by your enemy because of her hidden psychological weaknesses.
Cobbling together said traps and tricks in a pinch using common household objects.
Ferreting out said hidden psychological weaknesses in your enemy.
Making allies and cultivating their willingness to do you favors.
Developing your powers of intuition and persuasion. (Though the way Venus Fang Fang does it, it’s more like ESP and mind control.)
Wiring, splicing, soldering, gauging, calibrating…I am already an advanced student in this department, but Venus Fang Fang does have some nice techniques that I’ve picked up.
Creating superior diversions.
Disguising oneself effectively. (We have not covered accents. Accents are not one of Venus Fang Fang’s strengths.)
Speedy maneuvering through fiendishly difficult abstacle gardens.
Surviving in wilderness settings. (A wilderness-survival arena is one of the many large areas in her massive backyard.)
Avoiding physical confrontations.
Later
Have learned from Queenie Kew that Venus Fang Fang is not only the world’s foremost expert on spy training, but is also renowned for inventing the spy diaper. This is a little item a spy wears on extended stakeouts, or long interrogations, or whenever it would be counterstrategic to take a bathroom break. Was pleasantly appalled by the thought, and clearly it showed on my face.
QUEENIE KEW: Don’t give her THAT look when she offers you one. She’ll be terribly ansal—er, insulted.
ME: [Now UNpleasantly appalled.] Why’s she going to offer ME a spy diaper?
QK: Because she’s PROUD of it! And as a token of her esteem! Come on, you’ve had SOME empathy training! What are you, new?
ME: Oh. Right. [Secretly planning to diplomatically turn down offers of the spy diaper.]
Note: Spy Diaper = great name for…the right kind of band.
Later
Bad stuff! Very bad stuff!
Venus Fang Fang had left me with Queenie Kew for a refresher course on Advanced Explosives, and when she came back there was an ominous expression on her face. She took me aside for a chat and the news was not good. Not good at all. It seems that Binary Larry was at the skate park earlier tonight, and EvilOne (AKA November December, who as far as he knows is ME) was brutally mean to him. He will not tell his mother what was said, but apparently he left the park in deep shame. Venus Fang Fang knows it was not me, but is a great believer in letting chaldren (not to mention spies-in-training) work out their problems on their own, and thought it best to let me explain it to him myself. Great. What fun it will be convincing Binary Larry that I have an evil twin. Really should have cleared this up before now.
He was refusing to answer any of his mother’s knocks on his door, so I said my goodbyes and went straight to the sewer in hopes he would show up. No sign of him!! I spent the rest of the night working on my mural. I think it’s done, finally. And it’s definitely beautiful, though possibly lacking an ounce or two of heart/soul/dark power/aching haunting depth/etc. At least I can take a small (very small) consolation in reflecting that this is MUCH better than anything EvilOne could produce. Although…I can’t help thinking that if I had just a drop of her evil, my mural would be the better for it.
Interesting!
Later
r /> Have been to the skate park for some spying. Hobbling lintcakes!!!! Things are not all fun and games with EvilOne’s popularity power play. I now understand the sinister body language and ripped-off sleeves I witnessed on those teens four days ago. Their outfits uniforms have progressed into something all too recognizable.
So. It wasn’t enough that she warped their minds with our Strangeness, but now she has to zombify them into DRESSING like us? And perform synchronized skateboarding routines at her bidding?
Am filled with eXtreme horror at this scene.
Will fix things here if it’s the last thing I do!
Later—daylight—in treehouse—half asleep
Have just woken myself up with the realization that—OK—clearly I’ve completely forgotten that Venus Fang Fang is Mistress of Deception! If her training has accomplished nothing else, it has given me a severe case of hero worship, distracting me from whatever is hidden in the super secret sewer. I should have spent all those unsupervised hours last night inspecting the west walls for ways in, and I didn’t even think about it!!!!
Still no leads on what might be in there, but here are my top guesses:
Enough lethal nerve gas to destroy all human life on Earth. (DELIGHTFULLY HORRIFIC!!!!!)
The Ark of the Covenant, Golden Fleece, Holy Grail, Andvarinaut, wreck of the Titanic, or some other relic likely to fetch pots of money at auction.
Pots of money.
First-edition copies of Defeating Your Enema (with typo).
The suspiciously absent Mr. Fang Fang. Bonus points if he is mummified. HUGE bonus points if he is taxidermied.
Spy lab full of prototypes of delectable spy gadgets.
Crates and crates of spy diapers.
Venus Fang Fang’s great-grandmother’s china.
Refugees.
MONSTER MONSTER AIIEEEEEE!
Some sort of horrendously unholy summoning chamber for the Dread Cthulhu, or one of his associates.
Extra food and water supplies, in case of apocalypse. (Seriously, it had better be something more interesting than this.)
Command center from which Venus Fang Fang can control every…uh, traffic signal…in ALL OF SILIFORDVILLE!!! Bwwahhh hahha hahhhahah!!!!! OK, am clearly sleep-deprived. This list is OVER!
July 1
hearts broken and smashed, 1; best friends lost forever, 1
Am crying my heart out as I write this. My beloved sweet Mystery is dead. I found her in the yard, all stiff. There are no words, etc. I want to die kill I don’t even know. Mom is crying her heart out too. No tears from EvilOne. OF COURSE I suspect she is guilty of this, but she has not taken credit like I would expect her to do.
BUT IF SHE DID HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THIS—
I don’t even know what I will do to her, but it will be THE END of my promise of nonviolence to Venus Fang Fang.
My mouth is filled with horror and the taste of blood.
Later
Have dragged myself up to my room to look for mementos of Mystery to put in her coffin. Have no heart for this. Have always had a businesslike relationship with Death, but this has put us on very unfriendly terms. Am TOTALLY REJECTING this! Cannot handle it AT ALL!!!!!!
The worst part is that for the last month of Mystery’s life there were zero cozy snuggles, zero delightful petting sessions, zero playful romps, and zero sweet meows of love.
I miss my Mystery soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much.
Three minutes later
I just opened up one of the hidden compartments under the floorboards that EvilOne and I built weeks ago when we were friends. I could have sworn it was the one we used to stash assorted cat-related mementos. Instead I found sixty-seven copies of the Manifesto of Strange in easily portable CD format. I’m sure this is very bad news, but at the moment all I can think of is Mystery, and where EvilOne might have moved her old collars, baby toys, and kitten teeth.
Later
EvilOne just came storming up the stairs, catching me crashed out on the floor in full weeping mode. She yelled, “Have you seen the skateboard?” and was about to search the room, but let me tell you, it was not the right moment for her to be searching the room for the skateboard. I leaped up at her like a mother bear and roared in her face. She stepped back, going, “Whoa, whatever,” and hustled downstairs.
Later
Am torn between rage and joy. Mystery is ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And EvilOne will PAY IN BLOOD for making me think she was dead. I have HAD IT with that evil thing in my house, going after all that I hold dear! She is GOING DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Here’s how I found out. I was stumbling aimlessly around my bedroom, crying my heart out, bumping into things blindly in my search for mementos of Mystery, and calling out to the other three cats to come and comfort me for CREPES’ SAKE, but of course they were mostly hissing from under the bed at me. It was like sulfuric acid splashed on an open wound to hear them hissing at a time like that, and I just couldn’t take it anymore, so I sat down at the cat translator and fired it up. Our conversation went something like this:
ME: Posse, I really need you to not be hissing at me right now.
MILES, NEECHEE, AND SABBATH: [Spirited hissing.] [Apparently there is no English translation for hissing.]
ME: [Weeping hysterically.] I’ve had Mystery since I was BORN. I can’t handle losing her! Can’t one of you come comfort me a little? I’ll pay in liver!
N: I do not understand all this crying.
S: Liver?
M: You have not lost Mystery.
ME: Yeah, yeah, yeah, her spirit will always be with me, etcetera. I WANT MY KITTYCAT!!!!
N: She’s lying on the kitchen counter.
ME: I know. Mom’s making a coffin for her. You guys don’t understand, she’s DEAD!!!!
M: She is not dead.
ME: Sorry guys, she IS. I found her in the yard, all stiff. You know…as in lifeless.
N: Have you forgotten the effects of paramytosilicate extract on mammals?
ME: [Sharp intake of breath.] Are you saying…
N: That you have been the victim of a cruel prank? Yes. Now stop trying to pick me up.
S: Liver?
Have calmed myself. Have remembered my training and frozen my face into an expression of deep, hidden pain and stoic resignation. Am going downstairs for a funeral.
Later
Am hanging out in the secret sewer, silently communing with Great-Aunt Millie about the day’s events. Have attended Mystery’s funeral with Mom and EvilEvilOne. Cried a few dignified tears for the look of the thing, and then Mom and I buried the coffin. For effect, I piled the heaviest rocks I could find on top of the grave, watching EvilOne’s reaction. Not even a flinch! Oh the evil!
Am reeeeeeeally hoping that EvilOne plans to dig up the coffin. She will regret this!!!!!!!!!! (Note to self: Will need a new skateboard. The one I buried in Mystery’s coffin will never be rideable again.)
Mystery’s stiff but indeed living body is here with me and Great-Aunt Millie. I have about three hours before she wakes up. Have brought her favorite treats and toys with me. Am really hoping she does not hiss and run away.
Am also taking the opportunity to pet her as much as I can, while she’s still knocked out!
Later
Have just heard Binary Larry arrive. He has not come around to talk to me. He is over in his wing, painting west walls with lines of code. I should probably go try to explain the whole evil-twin situation, but am too exhausted from emotional ups and downs of the day. Maybe later.
About three hours later
Mystery is awake and unhappy. Have explained that she will be living in the secret sewer for a little while.
Am wondering what EvilOne’s motives could have been. Does she just enjoy seeing me and Mom suffer? Would she really harm the cats? And what on earth was she doing with sixty-seven copies of the Manifesto of Strange? I mean…this town couldn’t get much stranger. So what would she need more copies for?
/> Unless…
Oh no…
Could she be planning to spread her evil to other towns?
Am more motivated than ever to eliminate her at any cost!!!!
Later
Am sleeping in the sewer today. Even though I hate sleeping on the concrete, I can’t bring myself to leave Mystery. She will not snuggle, but has camped out a few feet away.
July 2
body parts bruised by concrete floors, 17; revenge plans, ½
Have come up with passable plan for taking down EvilOne. I was walking along, wondering to myself why there were so many skateboarding teens on the streets. To be specific, skateboarding teens who did not look like zombies dressed as ME. And therefore, skateboarding teens who were clearly from out of town. That’s when I suddenly realized that the huge, unauthorized, unsupervised skate rally is this evening. Hot on the heels of that idea was the startling insight that, OF COURSE, EvilOne would be gearing up to make a grand appearance at the rally, out-skate the legendary Fishballs, out-popular the celebrated June July, disseminate copies of the Manifesto of Strange to the out-of-town kids, and be crowned Rally Queen, or whatever. She MUST be stopped!
—OK, must run home now, will write more in a bit—
Later
AHHAHHAHHAHAHAHAH! I am back in the game. When I got home, I practically flew (cautiously) upstairs and (silently) rigged a lovely, lovely trapdoor right outside the bedroom. When EvilOne woke up and tried to leave the room, she fell through it into a chute that dropped her, screaming, all the way through the stairwells of the house into the basement, where she landed in the huge antique birdcage, where she is currently shaking the bars, mad as yarbticks, spitting and threatening me.