Reuben’s Trabel Journal – Entry #2

 

Location: Home (still)
Date: Portal Day

Dear Journal,

It’s happening. The portal is ready.

Professor Whooot just rang the bell—twice—and the air in the dryer room is buzzing. I don’t mean like a little static. I mean it’s humming. The gears are turning on their own, the pendulums are swinging backward, and there’s a soft blue shimmer at the base of the big dryer. Dougie says that means it’s calibrated. All systems are go.

I wasn’t scared before. But now my paws feel kind of… sweaty? Is that a thing? I keep checking my suitcase even though I KNOW I packed everything:
✔ Teddy
✔ Notebook
✔ Four snacks (maybe five)
✔ Emergency croissants
✔ Extra socks (Baxter said it would be “sophisticated”)

Mom gabe me one last hug and smoothed my ear floof and said, “You’re going to do great things, Ruby Doo.” She also slipped a little note into my bag but I promised not to read it until I missed her. (So probably in, like, ten minutes.)

Dougie boice came ober the locket loud and clear. “You ready?” he asked.

I nodded. And then I squeaked. And then I laughed. And now I was standing in front of the portal, glowing and swirling and pulsing like a jellyfish made of sky.

This is it. I’m stepping fru.

—Reuben

Reuben’s Trabel Journal – Entry #1

Reuben’s Trabel Journal – Entry #1
Location: Home (for now)
Date: The day before the portal opens

Dear Journal,
Teddy and I are packed, excited and perched by the door, just waiting on Professor Whooot to gib the all-clear. Dougie says France smells like croissants and labender, and honestly? I’m already hungry.

Mom helped me fold my clothes and reminded me twice to write her as soon as we arribe. Barry rolled his eyes and said I better not come back wiff a “weird accent,” but Baxter says he expects a full report on French pastry technique.

I told Fish I would keep his cheese map safe, and in return he gave me a wedge ob somefing soft and stinky “for emergencies.”

Tomorrow, we go. Fru the time-space continuum, first to Dougies house, then ober the moon (maybe), and straight to France. I don’t know what we’ll find, but I’m bringing an open heart, an empty notebook, and at least four snacks.

Wish us luck! xoxo
—Reuben

Reuben’s Adbenture

Reuben flipped open his little suitcase, stuffing in two scarves, a fresh bowtie, emergency croissants, and his trabel cheese journal (on loan from Fish). He tried not to get too nerbous as he told his mom he was going to France wiff Dougie – hoping to make his scooter dream come true. His whiskers twitched and he was waiting for word from Professor Whoot as to when the portal would be open.

“Are you sure you don’t mind if I go?” he asked his mom.

“Yes, baby,” she said, smoothing the fur between his ears. “Just remember to send postcards and stay close to Dougie. You will hab a wonderful time!”

He had insisted on shipping his blue scooter to their destination, ready to glide through time and space, right into the cobbled streets of Paris – just as he dreamed.

Adbenture was calling. And Reuben answered. He was so excited to spend more time wiff Dougie!!

MORE

Barry had told himself—promised himself, in fact—that he’d just get one sundae. A modest treat. A polite cool-down. Something sensible.

But then the waffle bowl showed up.

There it was: rich chocolate ice cream cradled in a golden, crispy shell, topped with a dramatic flourish of whipped cream and just a suggestion of caramel drizzle. Barry stared at it, paws lightly pressed to his cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of awe, longing, and mild panic.

He had already polished off his first sundae. And now here sat a second one. Entire. Untouched. Towering. Daunting.

His spoon lay quietly on the table between them, like a tiny silver question mark.

“Maybe I got carried away,” Barry whispered to the dessert. “But it’s not myfault you looked so photogenic.”

He glanced left, then right, hoping no one was watching. He was already full, but also… he was Barry. And Barry didn’t back down from beautiful snacks.

Besides, he reasoned, you don’t come to Fentons to be reasonable.

It’s Hot.


Barry had been melting all afternoon—melting, he insisted, dramatically flopping onto the nearest patch ob tile floor like a Bictorian fainting goat. The summer heat had turned the house into a slow cooker, and no amount of fan-hovering or freezer-door-peeking could soothe his frizzled nerbes. So when the idea struck—Fentons!—he was up in a flash, ears perked and whiskers twitching with purpose.

Fentons was exactly the kind of place Barry loved when he needed to cool down and feel a little glamorous. The striped awnings, the jingling bell ober the door, the glass cases glittering wiff ice cream tubs in colors too cheerful to be real—it was like stepping into a time machine. An old-fashioned parlor, full ob promise.
Barry ordered a Black & Tan Sundae, because it felt like the right amount of drama: rich vanilla and toasted almond ice cream, smothered in both chocolate and caramel, wiff mountains of whipped cream and a cherry that Barry berry politely asked to hab on the side, because he didn’t like sticky paws.

Behind him, the soft clatter of spoons and laughter drifted fru the parlor. Barry didn’t notice. He was already halfway to ice cream nirvana, spoon in paw, ears slightly askew in pure bliss.

Outside, the sun still blazed. Inside, Barry sabored ebery bite like a tiny, shy mobie star on holiday—cool, quiet, and perfectly content.

Reuben

Rocket Rat

I did some arting!

I was kind of amazed at the stylized print that came out of the effort!! It’s called block printing where you carve an image and then ink and stamp it onto a thick paper.

If you love it and want some rat art, or just want to support us and help us refill the vet coffers after Waffles, limited edition prints are available in the StoreObCuteFings.com.

“Rocket Rat — Limited Edition Block Print
Hand-carved & printed with love by the artist (MM)
Blast off into imagination wiff this charming hand-pulled block print featuring a bold little rat soaring fru space in a rocket ship! Each print is individually inked and pressed, capturing the energy and whimsy of a rat on a big space adbenture.

Title: Rocket Rat
Medium: Original block print
Complete size: 12″x12″
Ink: Archival black ink on bright white paper OR printed with color (blue/green/pink)
Edition: Signed limited edition

Perfect for space lovers, rat enthusiasts, and fans of adventurous art! If you are interested in a framed version, or shipping outside the US, please contact me.

Add a little lift-off to your walls — because every rat deserves to reach the stars.
Ships flat and protected with care.”

(Fanks to Wendy Glanville for the arting session!)

Italian Dream

Reuben stirred in his sleep, his little paws twitching ever so slightly as a soft smile tugged at the corners of his face. In his dream, he was no longer curled up in the corner of a cafe in New York—he was gliding through the charming alleys in a small Italian village, the wind tugging gently at his ears.

They rode in a little blue scooter, naturally, with Reuben in the driver’s seat and Dougie tucked in a sidecar outfitted with cushions and a bell. They zipped through cobbled villages where old women waved from balconies and tossed them grapes. At a quiet vineyard, Dougie discovered a fondness for chilled lemonade, while Reuben happily nibbled at fresh focaccia under a fig tree. The pair marveled at crumbling ruins and sun-drenched piazzas, where Reuben insisted they pause for every espresso and every single scoop of gelato—“for research,” he claimed.

One night, they ended up in Venice, drifting in a gondola under a sky speckled with stars. Dougie hummed softly while Reuben leaned against him, watching reflections ripple in the water like soft memories. They spoke of time, of friendship, of the perfect cheese, and of never rushing through beautiful places or beautiful moments. When Reuben awoke back in his real bed—his travel dream fading like mist—he found a crumb of biscotti tucked under his whiskers and the unmistakable scent of lavender and lemon on the breeze.

Determined, he wanted to make dreams like this more of a reality.

Camping Trip

Dis weekend, on the first ob summer ebening, the boys packed up their tiny satchels wiff snacks, maps, and extra socks (eben though none ob them wore socks) and headed off on a grand camping adbenture.

They set up their campsite deep in the forest with cozy tents shaped like s’mores and soft glamping teepees with pom-pom trim. Baxter popped his head out of his cookie tent, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Tonight, we roast marshmallows!” he declared.

Barry fluffed his sleeping mat wiff extra care. “Let’s not forget the chocolate. It’s not a s’more without it!” he said, holding up his perfectly stacked graham cracker supply.

Reuben, eber the practical one, built a felt campfire wiff just the right amount of glow. “We’ll take shifts watching for bears,” he said solemnly, nibbling a marshmallow just to test its freshness.

As night fell, they gathered around the “fire,” roasting marshmallows on tiny sticks. The s’mores were gooey perfection, and they giggled with delight between bites.

Suddenly, a twig snapped in the distance. All three froze. Baxter held his s’more mid-air. Barry slowly peeked out ob his tent. Reuben whispered, “Did you hear that?”

They dove into action—Reuben doused the pretend fire wiff water, Barry zipped the snack bag shut, and Baxter squeaked out the password: “CheddarCheddarCheddar!”

It was just a curious squirrel.

Relieved, they snuggled back into their tents. Baxter whispered, “Next time, let’s camp in the living room.” But deep down, they all agreed: nothing beats the thrill of the wild.

Except maybe the s’mores.

Fank you Ratty Box for the fun adbenture!


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