From The Desk of Lulu Von Saggenbottom:

RE: Operation
Time: 1200 Hours
Date: 23rd November, 2010
Location: Low to the floor

This is Lulu Von Saggenbottom reporting from in between the third and fourth sectors of our safe house. I am currently nose to nose with a dust bunny the size of an armadillo, and there are feline destructo-bots surrounding me. I record this journal entry so that should my operation go awry, a testimonial survives, and all correspondence may be uploaded to the Saggenbottom home base. I strive for success, but the will has grown weak in the wake of the various tortures heaped upon me.

At 0300 hours I was infiltrating the human bed, nestled up against One-With-Boobs. Despite the allure of continued sleep, it was necessary to complete a patrol of the perimeter, and so I snuck from my position, only to be caught by One-With-Boobs near the bedroom door. It seems my toenails have once again given me away on hardwood. I watched One-With-Boobs flop out of bed, much like a dying fish, and together we secured the backyard against invading enemies. One-With-Boobs lacks my ninja capabilities, though, so it was more me wandering around the yard while she smeared her face against the sliding glass doors groaning for sleep.

Upon completion of urination on the deck proper (as I have intelligence suggesting biochemical warfare is afoot in the grass and I avoid it at all costs) I deemed it safe to return to the interior. Patrol one was a success. Before I would go back to the sanctuary of down comforters and fluffy pillows, though, I sat by the doors and demanded sustenance. My sweep of the night yard was exhausting and my body craved food. I refused to move even when One-With-Boobs began to abuse me by poking my hind quarters with her foot. She soon understood my silent plea – I will not sink to this lesser being’s form of communication – and I was given a proper snack for my efforts. We returned to bed thereafter.

Patrols commenced again at 0430 and 0600. The former was accompanied by a satisfying poopie on the deck, which did cause One-With-Boobs much upset, but in the vast scheme of this dangerous operation, I consider it collateral damage. Normal activities commenced at 0800, when the emergency siren began to blare. I promptly jumped to the defense, readying my lasers and EMP bombs, but once again this was merely a test of our emergency broadcast system. As I was now awake, and my stomach demanded more nutritious things, I followed One-With-Jang to the back end of the house, specifically the kitchen, and forced him to feed me, my lasers pointed at his back. He cried and begged for mercy, attempting to feed me Alpo Meaty Chunks, but I demanded human fare instead. I was sated with a meal of French cut green beans with a dollop of Greek yogurt over a bed of savory kibble. Extravagant, yes, but I accepted this offering for the securities I provide One-With-Jang and One-With-Boobs.

As much as it pains me to write, I am beginning to suspect awful things of One-With-Jang. Five days of the week he leaves the perimeter at 0830 and does not return until at least 0530. A thorough sniff of his person suggests he goes somewhere very clean. Too clean. I can detect no other agents of my variety, only cafeteria food and perhaps a bathroom within a hermetically sealed ward. I have informed the proper authority that we are perhaps dealing with a double agent in our midst, and they have suggested that they will address the matter in their own time. I pray for you, One-With-Jang, as I think you will need it. Your loss will be a sad one.

Home matters commenced at 0930, when One-With-Boobs wandered around the house, clearly drugged by one of my many enemies. She walked into a wall, a doorway, and tripped over nothing at all in her pursuit of a bevy of medications, all of which were swallowed down by delicious smelling juice I tried to get her to share. This mission was unsuccessful. One-With-Boobs was in a delirium and clearly did not see me asking for juice beneath her feet. I was resigned to follow her from the washroom to the office, silently distraught that I was juice-less. I cannot communicate the hardships I endure on a daily basis here.

I consider it my sacred duty to keep One-With-Boobs active, as her health has been delicate these past few months. As such I waited until her posterior met the wood of her office chair before demanding she let me secure the perimeter again. I spun in circles and made loud, demanding noises to rouse her from her stupor. She looked at me with something akin to annoyance. I would not bend to this emotional torture, though, and roused my sleepy (yet dim) partner, Deetles Von Saggenbottom, to aid me in the endeavor. Together we convinced One-With-Boobs that a thorough perimeter sweep was in order, and she relented, stomping through the house with a string of muttered curses to allow us outside.

During the morning patrol, I encountered some noteworthy things: two agents across the fence to my south, a single agent to the east, and a stick. I have exchanged information with the southern-most agents before, and we met through the single broken slat in the fence, whispering plans and exchanging pivotal information. We believe the agent to our east has gone mad. He spends much of the day making loud, annoying noises for absolutely no reason, and we decided despite the allure of having higher numbers, the easterly agent has clearly been tortured beyond any semblance of usefulness. We consider him lost to the cause.

After the fence meeting, I stumbled across a most interesting stick approximately twice the length of my own body. I assessed it, measuring its weight to see if it would make a viable improvised weapon should mouth to hand combat commence. I deemed it worthy, and placed it near the back steps for use later on.

I will not go so far as to suggest I have psychic powers, but I will say I know the patterns of One-With-Boobs, and I was able to estimate at approximately what time she would finish her morning sustenance and return to her work station. As such, when I knew she had just sat down once again, I communicated that my patrol was over. When my voice alone was not enough to inspire her to move, Deetles Von Saggenbottom joined, and together we chorused a loud demand to come inside. I know she is a simple creature, but I wish One-With-Boobs would understood that this was for her own safety.

One-With-Boobs’s resolve was nothing in comparison to the dual Von Saggenbottom front, and she arrived moments later to open the portal of the home base. Both Deetles Von Saggenbottom and myself sat for long minutes, expecting sustenance for our efforts, but One-With-Boobs is a cruel human and ignored our plaintive whines. I will starve to death by day’s end.

What I have to report next is where my infiltration mission went awry, and why I feel the need to communicate the day’s actions in case of unexpected tragedy. At approximately 1100 hours, a feline destructo-bot appeared, slinking from a hidden position beneath furniture. It was large and painted black and white, and seemed ready to explode at any time. I attempted to disarm the bombing mechanism inside of the destructo-bot, but I could not wedge my snout up the feline shaped entity’s rear end, which is its only vulnerable position. The destructo-bot went into self defense mode, its razors flying at my eyes. I attempted to cow destructo-bot with a loud series of shouts, but this proved futile. Destructo-bots are equipped with flying mechanisms, and much to my dismay once I had the enemy cornered, it sailed above my head, positioning itself on a high shelf so it could plot an aerial strike.

I lay in wait, hoping One-With-Boobs does not realize the peril the feline destructo-bot has placed all of us in.

It nears 1200 hours. Should you not hear from me again, I wish it to be known that I, Lulu Von Saggenbottom, regret nothing of the last two years. I lived true to my code, and acted as any agent in my position ought. It has been an honor serving Saggenbottom Headquarters. I salute you, my comrades, and I can think of no more honorable death than sacrificing myself to a feline destructo-bot’s insidious plan should the need arise.

Lulu, out.

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