“What’s the story on Jean Luc? Surely he’s more than a courier pigeon?” Jean Luc made a sound that said two things. One was that he was hungry, the second was he didn’t like to be insulted. “Sorry Jean Luc, no offense.” The Prime Minister admired him very much.
“Jean Luc wasn’t your typical animal. He was trained by a very special member of the Intelligence agency. He has taken down three operatives by himself once. Attaching that cat is like attacking a tank.”
“I like animals who can defend themselves. He isn’t jaded though, he still seems to be a normal cat.” She said as he lay on the arm of the couch. “Yes, his operative trained him that way. “I’ve heard about that program. My adviser’s suspect that the former trainer might now occupy a seat in the Oval Office.”
As you know Mr. President, I could not confirm this, but I will say her intelligence is good. Instead I responded, “Does it matter? He’s a pure bred you know, his ancestor was a pet of the Tsar’s.” “Why Jean Luc? Why a French name for a Russian American cat?” “He was named after a soldier that gave his life saving his trainer’s life.”
Just then, Jean Luc meowed. He rolled off the couch, and headed for the kitchen. “Follow him, now!” We barely made it before the explosion happened. The tunnel under the stove lead to the street. We were in the SUV flying through Las Vegas as fast as we could.
“Vegas? You made me think we were still in Canada!” “Ma’am, I never said that, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t stop you from thinking it. We would have been dead no matter where we were if it weren’t for Jean Luc. He must have smelled chemicals they used to set the charges. He has heightened senses.” She looked over at the cat carrier. “Thank you my sweet little Animal Rescue.” Jean Luc purred.
He got compliments, I got complaints. “Why Vegas?” “It was flashy, it was obvious, and I thought it was safe. It also is an easy place to hide an off the charts air port. Next stop, the desert. Ever rode in a spy plane?”