C'est Paradis! — Robert Sullivan

The TTDA was meeting in its usual spot in the picnic area close by the side of the Little Dog enclosure. There was an expectant buzz in the air. The Squirrels were a little late and Rambo couldn't help himself.“Yo! Cochise! What’s doin’? See any antelopes on the way over?”“What?” said Terry.“Ignore him” snorted Charlene.“Yes” said Perkie, re-adjusting her Pashmina. “We have other things to discuss.”Ike and Rambo sniggered and high-fived each other. Charlene sniffed. Perkie huffed. Petunia glowered. Everyone else looked puzzled. Graeme burped.It was time for the Boss to step in. As usual.Teddy called the meeting to order. It was an important meeting. The first batch of cases had all been solved, in double-quick time, and everyone was looking forward to discussing the next batch. And what a batch it was: Busted Eatin’ the Custard – this one sounded delicious!; Shakedown at the Spa – no free buzz-cuts here; or Incident at the Staten Island Steak House. What, no apple pies? Yep, the next round of cases was a smorgasbord, and the team couldn’t wait to get started. But… something had come up.“I thought we were going to discuss our cases” said Ernie.“We are, and we will, but…The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglay!” Teddy looked very pleased with himself. It drew a murmur of puzzled grunts and burps and not a few confused looks.“What’s a glay?” asked Graeme.“What gang?” asked Pilsbury.“I think it’s a seafaring term” said Ike.But Charlene shook her head. “It’s a famous reference” she said. “Robert Burns. Eighteenth century Scottish poet.”Ike and Rambo wrinkled their noses and twitched their whiskers. “Really?”“Really!”“Nope. It’s a seafaring term for sure. It’s about someone walkin’ the plank.” Ike was adamant.“Walkin’ the plank? What’s that?” asked Terry“It’s what the pirates do, you know, they make ‘em walk the plank, at the point of a sword. Straight over the rail and down to Davy Jones they go.” Ike and Rambo high-fived.“Pirates?” Graeme burped again and started to sob. Petunia patted him on the shoulder. “There’s no pirates, or swords” she said. “It’s just a saying about trying to plan things better.” She glared at Ike and Rambo. “Seafaring!” she sniffed. “How terribly erudite.”Ike and Rambo sniggered and high-fived again. Erudite!“It’s all a bit hard to understand” grumbled Terry.“It does sound a little bit like Douglas” mused Ernie. “Or maybe Ewan?” He looked pensive for a moment. “Yep. Definitely more like Ewan.”Terry nodded in agreement. His Mohawk was damp in the early morning air and had tilted to one side.Graeme burped, then a strangled sob. Pirates!“Suck it up G-man” said Rambo, but his tone was kindly.There was a long silence, it was still early after all, then a murmur of sniffs, snorts and hiccups, interspersed with mice and men, glays – whatever they are - and afts and gangs. I mean, seriously, what about rats and dogs and pigeons and squirrels? It’s just not fair.Graeme leaned over and whispered to Terry. “I think it sounds more like Mungo.”Teddy waved his paws to quiet the chatter.“We’ve had a suggestion” he said. “It’s for something completely different. We’re going to write a cookbook.” This brought a stunned silence. Teddy pushed on. “Perkie, Petunia and Charlene have come up with the idea of a Tompkins Tap Recipe Cookbook. It’s a great idea. We all have our favourite recipes. Everyone can put forward their top three recipes for inclusion in the cookbook. Perks, Petunia and Charlene will curate.”Curate! Ike and Rambo sniggered and high-fived, yet again. Milo and Charlene frowned. Perkie tut-tutted and fiddled with her earmuffs. Petunia shook her head and scratched at the ground.“My uncle has a curate in his fireplace” said Graeme.Ernie took a deep breath through his nose and maintained eye contact with Milo.Teddy turned to Perkie.“Over to you Perks.”