Memoir of a Domestic(ated) Spy, Part I -- Introducing Bertha Kitt-Bumperhead

(As told to and transcribed by her faithful servant)

Finally, the world will know my story and the truth will emerge!  After a dozen years of training and waiting for my moment, it has arrived, and I am on the brink of saving the world!

What's that, you say?  A mere housecat?  Saving the world?  To be sure, I am not alone in this endeavor.  There are hundreds of secret agents like me, all around the world -- thousands, perhaps.  Each of us engaged in the cause of preserving the fate of the world for all of nature's living creatures.  Certainly, my bipedal friends, you must have noticed that you have done a particularly terrible job of caring for the earth, and despite the best efforts of some of the more enlightened members of your species, little progress has been made.  Well, the animal kingdom has been planning and plotting and working for generations, now:  we're here too, in case you have forgotten, and we've had more of an impact than you can know.

Let me start with my own story:  I am Bertha Kitt-Bumperhead, known to those in my line of work as Agent 11z-Felix.  I was trained by Her Majesty's Secret Service Companion Unit which, as I'm sure you know, was created during the second world war as a response to the Nazi Denkenheimlichhundprogramme (literally, "Thinking secret dog program").  The story is old by now, as much legend as fact, but the details are worth repeating.  In September of 1938, German Chancellor and all-around psychopath Adolf Hitler met with jelly spined British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain.  Hitler assured Chamberlain that he had no desire to begin a war in Europe, and Chamberlain returned to England and proclaimed to the world that Hitler was not a threat.  Of course, less than a year later, the world would know that Hitler was a liar.  What the world DIDN'T know at the time was that in Munich, Chamberlain had been wavering in his support of Hitler.  He wrote in his diaries that he wasn't sure if the German madman could be trusted.  That all changed on the final day of the summit, when Hitler presented Chamberlain with a going-away gift -- two purebred German shepherds named Hans and Inga.   They were well-behaved and affectionate creatures, and Chamberlain figured any man who could raise two noble creatures such as this couldn't be all bad.

(Servants Note:  Bertha insists that this is Hans and Inga, but I don't think they had this kind of color photography in 1940).

Of course, Chamberlain was so proud of his new dogs that he bred them in England, where they produced three litters of pups whom Chamberlain gave to his advisers and friends in the military.  What Chamberlain didn't realize until too late is that Hans and Inga had been trained by the Germans to intercept British military codes and transmit them back to Berlin via German spies already planted in Britain.  Inga, for example, was fond of laying on Chamberlain's lap during high level meetings regarding the new RAF training procedures and procurement of new fighter planes from America.  After each meeting, she'd ask for walkies, and while on her rounds, would bark out a series of coded messages which were recorded by a German spy working as a gardener.  The tapes were sent to German for decoding.  Hans and Inga had also trained their offspring, so by 1941, there were no fewer than 37 trained companion animals spying for the Nazis.  Many of them began to recruit the other German dogs who served as companions to British citizens -- by the end of the war, it was hard to find a dachshund, rottweiler, schnauzer, or doberman who had not been approached by a "friend of Hans and Inga", and more than a few, I am sorry to say, ended up turning on their masters and revealing secrets to the enemy. 

By 1943, of course, the dastardly ruse had been discovered, and Hans and Inga and most of their brood were rounded up and sent to Iceland, where their progeny live today (they are good citizens and have done excellent service to their adopted country).  That's when Winston Churchill -- a cat lover who had once famously refused a bitch from Inga's first London-born litter -- decided that there could not be an animal companion intelligence gap.  He set his top veterinary scientist (who had been working futilely on perfecting the flying armored horse) to begin training animal spies under the auspices of HMSS.  I was, as you can tell from my code name, a product of the 26th (z-class) generation of companion espionage operatives, 11th in my class of 99 cats (the dog agents are designated as -canis). 

Of course, that training was long ago -- over twelve years.  And then I was assigned what was considered the dream job -- California, in America!  I imagined myself decoding information from the naval base near San Diego, or lounging in the desert son as I tracked the coming and going of planes near Edwards Air Force Base, or even lurking in the alleys of Chinatown in San Francisco, where nefarious deeds are always afoot.  One of my mentors, the great Lady Iris McFluffersons, used to tell us about her days as a shopcat in that cities North Beach district, and I imagined myself feasting on leftover sushi and chicken marsala.

But no.  Instead, I was assigned to suburbia, with a dim-witted servant who disappears for hours at a time, and who reacts to my demands for critical information with gentle laughter and what I can only assume is human baby talk.  (Servant's Note:  She likes the baby talk, or at least usually acts like she does).  I thought for sure I would be put into immediate action, but instead I find myself warring for dry food and the good sunbeam spots with two uncouth beasts who barely do justice to the name of cat.  One of them, Theodora, is a wild-haired monster of a local, who just screeches at me whenever I begin to discuss the important work we companion pets need to do.  The other, Coco, is an attractive but aging French native, and let's just say that the French don't call their cats "pussies" for nothing.  She's more interested in fine food and drawing compliments on her svelte figure and fashionable Russian blue features to be bothered with anything as important as the fate of the world.

(Theo, who is not very nice to us).

(Sweet, beautiful, vain Coco).

So that leaves me, here, with little to do except continue studying my decoding manuals, listen for communications from my nearby agents, and wait for my assignment.  But I feel that day is coming soon, for I recently received a notice that my status was being upgraded to "on alert."  (Servant's Note:  Where does she get a notice?  She doesn't even respond to the doorbell.)  My time is coming, I can feel it!  But for now, I must go.  A cat's work does involve excessive napping, after all, and I must remember to tell the servant that the new food is inadequate for my needs.  He usually only listens to me after a few rubs of my head on his hands and face ("You love me!," he squeals, the poor pathetic fool)....I do promise next installment, however, to tell you more about my training and also the story behind my hyphenated name.

Until then, be kind to your companions.  You can never be sure to whom they are reporting.

(Our heroine, in repose).

Comments

[Ermine_Violin]

JDS this is a fabulous story

Your imagination and creativity need to be rewarded!

Pet your kitties for me - who is also lonely.... for feline companionship at least.

[momof2kitties]

HAHAHAHA!!! I LOVED this!!! Can't wait for the next installment.

Please do tell Coco that the lovely and demure Miss Mia would enjoy spending an afternoon with her comparing the most efficacious beauty treatments, and perhaps sharing a nap or two. They sound like peas in a pod, those two.

(and for pete's sake, go get a male marmie. They're the best, I had one for 16 glorious years. Sounds like you need a pick me up and Michigan is a little far to take you out for a drink...)

[Dogbreath]

No wonder they all look so suspiciously innocent when I get home every evening.....

[Gail]

You know, I always thought my boy, "Baby" (white with black spots) was talking to an imaginary friend when he stands in the kitchen, "yelling". Maybe he's part of the network! Hmmm, it might explain certain "quirks"!!