(Readers, please recall that Bob Schmingus is a top cat agent who has recently saved America from a humilating loss at the hands of the Chinese King Liu Wei, who wished to purchase MacDonalds and rename it MacWangs.)
Bob Schmingus had just returned from his recent successful adventure, convincing the King of China, who had recently desired the purchase and renaming of the iconic American restaurant chain MacDonald’s to MacWangs, and was enjoying his reward of 20 boxes of Fancy Feast. He was lounging on a beach in the Carribean, at this moment, shades on, feet up, and licking his paws clean, when his phone rang.
It wasn’t his usual ringtone, Ain’t Talkin’ Bout Love by Van Halen. No, it wasn’t that, but it was a familiar ring: The Star Spangled Banner. And that could only mean one thing.
The President Of The United States was calling.
Bob Schmingus sighed. This wasn’t exactly what he wanted right now — he wanted waves and sun. That’s why he came to the Carribean, duh. But when the Prez calls…
He took the call.
“Talk to me, Jim Bob,” said Bob.
“Schmingus, I told you not to call me that. My names Carl. At least call me Carl, if you won’t follow the proper formalities.”
Schmingus chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. He loved messing with the President.
“Alright, Carl Bob. What do you need? Surely can’t be more trouble with the King of China? After we just had such a pleasant time together?”
“Ugh…” Groaned the President.
“It is.”
“Come on. What a guy! Isn’t he ever satisfied?”
“He’s a wily one. We can’t keep heads of tails of him. And we’re in for a long time with this guy… I hate to think about it.”
“So what’s the deal? I’m not exactly his babysitter here. That’s for the Chinese ambassador.”
“I know, Schmingus… I know. But… you know how to work him.”
Schmingus smiled. It was true.
“He respects you,” continued the President.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Birds of feather. So what’s his deal now? What geopolitical problem are we solving today? Wait, don’t tell me. He wants to buy Burger King and rename it to Burger Kang?”
“You know Schmingus, I understand why you two get along. You must have the same brain. That’s exactly what he’s trying to do.”
“You’re kidding me.”
The President sighed.
“I wish I was, Schmingus… I wish I was.”
Bob stared out at the lolling waves through his black Raybans, but he hardly saw them anymore. His mind was on the mission.
His mind was on China.
“He’s offered 100 trillion dollars for it. They’re thinking of selling. We could block them, but, the legalities, the politics… We need it done quick. You know what’s at stake—the geopolitical blowback, we could lose the culture war—”
“I get it, Pres. It would be a national tragedy, the loss of an American gem, yada yada. What’s the pay?”
“Same as usual.”
“I want Friskies, sardine and anchovy this time.”
“You keep Burger King American and you’ll have whatever flavor of Friskies your little paws could possibly desire.”
“I want Greenies too. Ten boxes.”
“Dammit Schmingus, you glutton! Don’t you ever tired of your hedonic binges? Don’t you ever want something more fulfilling? For a mind so brilliant, you live like a heathen!”
“I like this lifestyle. It suits me.”
The President was silent for a moment.
“There’s something else, Schmingus.”
“Uh oh. I don’t like that.”
“We’re teaming you up for this one.”
Schmingus bolted up, knocking the half-eaten tin of Friskies off of his lap and into the sand.
“Teaming? There is no teaming. I don’t do teams. You know that.”
“This time you do. The situation is getting dicey in the East. You need backup.”
“Like Hell I do!!”
“Dammit Schmingus, I’m not your damned butler! I give you the orders, and you aren’t going alone, dammit, and that’s that!”
Schmingus took a deep breath. The President was really testing him on this one.
“Just tell me who it is, Pres. And it better not be a woman. I’m not looking for any romance—”
“It’s your old pal, Schmingus. It’s your old Navy buddy.”
“No.”
“No one can fly a chopper like him Schmingus. He’s just what we need for the job—”
“NO!”
Schmingus was enraged, and without thinking he slammed his phone shut and hung up.
Immediately, he had regrets. He just hung up on the President of the United States. Not exactly recommended procedure. But…
The President was out of his mind. To suggest that he, Bob Schmingus, international ace, detective, dealmaker, assassin and schmoozer? Go to China with his greatest nemesis and archrival?
Schmingus had kicked his fallen can of Friskies and had thrown himself back on his chair, stewing with rage, when his phone buzzed.
“Pickup point Gorganzola. 11pm.”
— Carl Bob
Bob Schmingus wasn’t sure if he would go. But in the end, he wasn’t one to walk away from a trip to see the King. No he wasn’t. China was one of his favorite countries to work with. Something about the Orient that appealed to him. And he wasn’t going to give it up just because of that damned bastard Boldchungus… the grin that must be on his face right now.
Boldchungus probably hated the assignment as much as Schmingus did. He didn’t play with partners either. How did the President get him on board? Must have offered him a lot of Friskies. Greenies, Churu treats too…
They had that in common, at least. They were both greedy, thrill-seeking bastards.
Schmingus packed his essential gear, a lockpick and his trusty Barret .50 cal, and headed to the pickup point.
Someone was there to meet him.
Standing by the chopper, a model 450x SteathKite, with quad-lazer rotors and a radio-drive cloaking device (a top of the line stealth chopper, undetectable by all modern equipment known to man—or at least, America), and looking as smug as a bug in a rug, was Charlie Boldchungus.
That smug asshole.
“Well, well, well… Little Kitty’s gonna get his paws wet again, huh?”
“Save it, jackoff,” growled Schmingus, throwing his Barrett in the SteathKite’s storage hold. “I’ll rip that loose tongue right out of your mouth. What the hell does that even mean, anyway?”
“It means whatever I want it to mean,” Boldchungus retorted. “Tell me, how did the old man get you on board? What flavor of Friskies was it this time? Sauteed Salmon? Pink Antarctic Krill?”
Schmingus rounded on him in a flash, claws unsheathing.
“At least I don’t work for some god damned Fancy Feast. Pathetic.” Bob spit on the ground.
“You can’t buy taste.”
Boldchungus looked on with his iconic, smarmy grin spread across his face.
“Oh, and you’ve got it, do you?”
Charlie’s eyes screamed disdain. He hated being with Schmingus as much as Schmingus did being with him.
“Listen to me,” said Boldchungus, glaring at his arch-rival. “We don’t have to do play this stupid game. You get me in, you get me out. We both get paid. We don’t have to say as much as kum-ba-yah to each other.”
Boldchungus laughed, and climbed up into the cockpit. “Whatever you say, captain. Me, I’ve decided. I’m going to enjoy this.”
“I’ll enjoy it when I’ve got my Friskies,” muttered Bob, hopping up in the co-pilot seat. “And not a minute before then.”
Bob and Charlie went way back, if you can’t tell.
They were two of the hottest hotshots known to catkind. Two of the top feline agents in the entire world.
Six billion cats on Earth, and only a handful could do what these two could do. Part of an elite ring of feline actors, they were employed by governments and private businesses and wealthy individuals worldwide to carry out their respective desires. If the price was high enough, chances are you could find a cat to do it. Some stayed loyal to their countries — others only called a place where they could hoard their Friskies or Fancy Feast home.
Bob Schmingus and Charlie Boldchungus were both American cats, so to speak, and they had stayed loyal—for the most part. Boldchungus was known to run a mission or two for the French. Schmingus got the occasional call from the Japanese Prime Minister, the King of Danes, and Moldovan High Crown.
And, there is some speculation that he might have worked for the current King of China, King Wei. That might be why he had such close ties with the King. But, currently, it’s only speculation…
As far as Boldchungus goes, he was a top-flier. Boldchungus lacked the charisma, the geopolitical brain, intellect and charm of Bob Schmingus—that’s mainly why he despised him. But, of course, there was Lucina—better not to dig that up, not just yet. But what Charlie Boldchungus lacked in brains, he more than made up for in grit and sheer damn luck.
Charlie could find his way out of a truck in a deep muck, blindfolded. He had saved one the world’s top energy executive from an assassination attempt by shooting the assassin’s bullets out of the air. He had managed to find his way home after being buried alive in a Mongolian bunker twenty-three thousand miles deep (he was the only survivor). And in one of his most legendary feats ever, he was said to have flown his helicopter through another helicopter.
No one even knows how that could be possible, really. But he did it.
Why did Schmingus hate Boldchungus then, aside from the fact that he was an insufferable idiot?
It all goes back to the Iran incident…
But that’s for another time.
HAKUMUSU 
This is too good! Thank you!
Sent from my iPhone
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