Location: Country road to Paris
Date: Sunny, grape-scented

Dear Journal,

After the whole castle-catapult-moat-singeing situation (which eberyone swears they’re not going to bring up again, but Dougie still smells faintly toasted), we made our way down the hill and met the farmer Dougie accidentally grape-bombed during the balloon ride.

Good news: he wasn’t mad! In fact, he said it was the best “top-shelf sky snack” he’d eber received. He was so nice (and because our Vespa isn’t exactly built for cross-country trabel), he offered us his little red truck to get to Paris.

We could’ve all squished into the cab, but Dougie and I called dibs on the back. Best. Decision. Eber. There’s just something magical about bumping down a country road wiff the wind in your whiskers and the sky wide open abobe you.

We watched the hills roll past, golden fields wabing in the breeze. We shared jokes, half a baguette, and a berrry squishy cheese. We wabed at cows and cyclists and one berry confused goose. For a little while, we didn’t talk about what was next. We just were — just two friends in the back ob a truck, grateful and grubby and full ob stories and secrets.

It was one ob those moments you tuck away in your heart and carry wiff you foreber.

Paris is just over the hill.

—Reuben xoxo

Location: Outside Château Fromage
Date: Time for next adbenture

Dear Journal,

Dinner in the great hall was magnifique!  There were chandeliers, endless courses, and a tiny harpist who played “La Vie en Fromage” while we sipped sparkling juice from golden thimbles. But all good feasts must come to an end, and after many hugs and a group photo wiff Ronald, it was time to go.

On the way out, we passed the catapult—the berry same one Ronald had (accidentally) launched a boulder from earlier. I gabe it a respectful nod and kept walking, but Dougie? Dougie got that look.

Before I could say, “No, Dougie,” he was already climbing up and yelling, “C’est l’heure du VOL!” (“It’s flying time!”)

He nestled into the launch scoop and gabe me a wink. I hesitated. I really did. But then I pulled the leber…

Location: Château de Ronald
Date: Touching Almost Nothing

Dear Journal,

We landed safely in a field near the castle, thanks to Ronald’s heroic fire-breath (and a lucky breeze). After a lot of cheering and a little bit of crying (mostly from Dougie, but happy tears), Ronald invited us inside for a proper castle tour.

“Just one rule,” he said, puffing out his chest like a tour guide in training. “By order ob the monarch: NO TOUCHING ANYFING.”

Teddy wrote it down immediately. Dougie nodded solemnly. I tucked my paws behind my back.

We made it fru the Grand Gallery wiffout incident. We almost made it through the Belbet Throne Room. But the music stand in the Royal Music Salon? It was just so… shiny.

Before we knew it, Dougie had climbed up for a better look. Teddy followed to inspect the “craftsmanship.” And I—I may have tapped one ob the keys on a berry old piano that played a note that definitely echoed.

Ronald gasped.

We froze.

But instead ob scolding us, he leaned in and whispered, “Okay okay just don’t tell the monarch. Or the butler. They’re snitches.”

We kept exploring—secret staircases, golden libraries, a hallway ob portraits with eyes that follow you (berry unsettling).

Teddy rated it 4.5 stars for decor, 5 stars for the cheese platter. Dougie says if we ever need a hideout, this castle is perfect.

And me? I feel like we’re libing inside a storybook.

Just… next time, I’ll keep my paws in my pockets.  Gotta run, we don’t want to be late for dinner in the Grand Hall!

—Reuben  xoxo

P.S. We did not touch the crown. Technically.

Location: Somewhere Above France
Date: Very High Up

Dear Journal,

Today we are in the sky. Actually in a basket. Hanging beneaff a hot air balloom. Me, Dougie and Teddy were in one, and the rest ob the gang were in two others.

This was Dougie’s idea, ob course. “Imagine the biews!” he said. “Fink ob the stories!” Teddy added, already adjusting his travel scarf and polishing his binoculars.

I nodded slowly. But inside, my whiskers were buzzing and my tail was in full curl. I’be neber been sure about fings that float because they’re full of hot air—except my cousin Scott, and that’s more ob a personality thing.

Still, I couldn’t be the only one who stayed behind. So I climbed in. Teddy held my paw. Dougie pointed toward the horizon and shouted, “Adbenture awaits!”

And then… we launched.

At first, it was berry qwiet. Peaceful. The ground below looked like a patchwork quilt made of toast crusts and green grapes. But then the breeze caught us, and we swayed just a little—and I might have squeaked louder than I meant to.

Teddy whispered, “You’re doing great, Rueb,” and I beliebed him.

I peeked down again. There was the village, the bakery with the jam that always dribbles, the cheese museum, even the crooked alley where we saw the accordion cat.

And then my paws relaxed. My tail unfurled.
I wasn’t scared anymore. I was floating—wiff my best friends, above the land ob cheese and croissants.

I still wouldn’t call it relaxing. But magical?
Oui.

—Reuben xoxo

P.S. Dougie dropped a grape. It hit a farmer. He waved. We waved back. It’s fine.

Reuben’s Trabel Journal – Entry #6
Location: Village of Fromagerie Fantastique
Date: The Day the Dream Came True

Dear Journal,

Dreams are real. I’m sitting at a tiny café table wiff Dougie, surrounded by cheese.

Gruyère. Brie. Camembert. Roquefort. Some wiff truffles. Some that crumble. Some that melt just by looking at them. I’m not even sure all ob them are legal.

Dougie and I wandered deeper into the cheese village, following our noses, and each turn rebealed another delicious surprise. Shops filled wiff cheese wheels stacked taller than we are. A cheese fountain! A soft cheese so stinky we had to wear tiny clothespins on our noses!

And then—we saw it:Le Musée de Fromage.

That’s French for “cheese museum.” I’m not crying, you’re crying.

Inside was the map. The map. A giant wall-sized chart of ebery cheese maker in France. I pressed my paw to it like I was touching legend.

Fish would hab fainted. I took notes for his map. I took a rubbing. I took a napkin and drew my own bersion. We are now officially on the Cheese Tour ob Destiny™.

We ended the day at this cozy table inside a cheese shop. Teddy picked a triple-cream. Dougie is currently doing a dramatic reading of a Brie label. I don’t want to move. I might be made of cheese now.

More tomorrow, unless I roll away like a wheel of chèvre.

—Reuben

P.S. I saved you some Roquefort in a napkin. Don’t tell customs.