Home Base
Mood: Hectic but hopeful

Fish came home wiff a gleam in his eye, declared, “I’ve booked us a trip to Paris – we’re going to see Reuben!,” and immediately started packing his tiny backpack like he was on some kind ob secret cheese mission (which, knowing him, he probably is).

Naturally, the rest ob us couldn’t let him hab all the fun—or pastries. Barry started folding socks (eben though none of us wear them), and Baxter started looking for that thing that looks like a charger but no one knows what it charges. Fish was immediately deep into researching “top cafés near the Eiffel Tower wiff flaky crust integrity.” Also, Barry packed a full-sized teddy bear and said, “Don’t judge me, Baxter. He brings emotional stability.”

The room was full ob chatter about baguettes, mysterious underground tunnels (Dougie’s influence again), and whether Fish can rate éclairs by mouthfeel and presentation.

We are so close to being ready. Just need to zip the bag, find our tickets, and possibly start ober entirely.

P.S. Barry said he only packed the essentials, but his bag contains: four hats, one camera, a wedge of cheese, two maps, and a plush bear named Batman. So… yeah. Essentials.

Fish had been habing laptop troubles all week—somefing about a sticky cheese fingerprint on the trackpad and a rogue download involbing a “cheese aging simulator.” But today, finally, the repairs were done. He scurried back into the workshop, climbed up to his little table, and opened his laptop like it was the window to the world (which, for a rat like Fish, it kind ob is).

He’d missed a lot.

The screen lit up with images ob Reuben and Dougie in Paris: sipping espresso beneaff the Eiffel Tower, staring in awe at glittering museum exhibits, and even posing wiff a suspiciously Mona Lisa-looking mouse in a beret.

As the pictures loaded one by one, Fish’s tail started to wiggle. He leaned closer, wide-eyed, taking in ebery detail. He munched a corner of brie without eben realizing it, too engrossed in the adbenture.

By the time he reached the photo of the fossil hall at Jardin des Plantes, he was squeaking out loud: “THAT was a cheloniform jawbone—Reuben, you glorious baguette-brained scholar!!”

He slammed the laptop shut, launched off the stool, grabbed his laptop and scurried home to start packing.

Baxter would say he’s impulsive. Barry might say he’s dramatic. But Fish knew exactly what he was doing: Paris was calling. And there was still time for pastries, cheese maps, and one last group selfie before heading home.

He scribbled a note and stuck it on the fridge:
“Gone to Paris. Don’t touch the Roquefort.”

The adbenture wasn’t ober yet.

Starry Picnic in Paris
Seine Riverbank, across from the Eiffel Tower

Tonight was magic. Not the abracadabra kind—though Dougie did pull a wheel ob brie from under his hat—but the kind that comes from being in the right place, wiff the right people, at the right time.

We spent the whole afternoon setting up the perfect Paris picnic. Dougie and Teddy worked out the logistics: tablecloth ironed (twice), tin foil stars hand made and strung wiff care (and only a little tape in Teddy’s fur), plates stacked, fruit fluffed. I obersaw cheese placement. It’s a delicate science.

We picked this spot across the river so we could watch the Eiffel Tower do her sparkly dance. She twinkles ebery hour, like a big golden disco rat. Teddy gasped the first time she lit up—then dropped a grape out ob joy.

The rest of the crew is on their way—Peter is bringing little cakes he rated 4.7 for frosting swirl consistency, and the Cowsins are carrying a baguette so long it needed its own seat on the Metro.

But for now, it’s just us three under our homemade sky ob tin foil stars. And I gotta say, eben though Paris is full ob lights and art and buttery smells, this right here—wiff snacks, and stars, and best friends—is the most beautiful fing I’be seen all day. Wish you could be here wiff us.

– Reuben xoxo

P.S. Dougie tried to charge a tourist two euros to sit at our table. He says he’s “just testing our brand strength.” Teddy says we’re going to French jail.

After arribing in Paris, me, Dougie, and Teddy made a beeline for the Louvre, eager to see the treasures—particularly the tiny, mysterious painting Dougie insisted was called the Moan-a Cheese-a. But when we got there, the grand glass pyramid stood quiet and still. Closed.

Instead of heading back to their cozy little apartment for sleep like sensible kids might, we did what all excellent adbenturers do: found pastries!

Under the glow ob the pyramid lights, we set up a tiny table and shared flaky tarts, glossy blackberries, and a thimble ob raspberry tea. Dougie kept the conversation lively (mostly about snacks he planned to try next), while I admired the architecture and Teddy nodded sleepily but contentedly.

The museum might not hab been open, but the night had offered us somefing better—a quiet moment in the heart ob Paris, wiff good friends and good food. The art can wait until morning.

– Reuben

Sproing!

Off he went—soaring fru the air like a fuzzy cannonball ob joy and regret.

We all watched in stunned silence as he arced fru the sky… and splashed directly into the moat.

He emerged a few moments later, soaked but triumphant, wiff a lily pad on his head and a very pleased expression.

I rushed over wiff a towel. He did his best to dry off, wringing out his ears and shaking off like a soggy puppy. But then Ronald came bounding over wiff an idea.

“I can help!” Ronald announced proudly. He took a deep breath, puffed up his little cheeks, and gabe Dougie a blast ob his baby dragon fire.

It wasn’t exactly what we had in mind.

There was a sudden whoosh, a smell like toasted socks, and a small sizzle noise. Dougie blinked. His fur was dry, sure—but also slightly crisp on one side. Ronald looked horrified.

“I only singed you a little bit!” he squeaked. Dougie patted his own head, then gave Ronald a thumbs-up.

“Perfect,” he grinned. “I like my style wiff a bit ob crunch.”

We laughed all the way back to the Vespa.

—Reuben xoxo