From the Desk of Barry (Lemonade CEO, Paris-Bound Explorer)

This morning we realized a minor hiccup in our otherwise flawless Paris plan: we were a bit short on trabel monies. We hab the snacks, the enthusiasm, the oberpacked emotional support bear (that’s Batman, fank you), but not quite enuff funds for trabel juice. Or cheese emergencies. Or backup pastries.

But then the UPS man arribed wiff our Ratty Box – and it solbed all our problems! It was a pop-up lemonade stand, a good supply ob Nutri-berries, and a lemon themed toy and hammock which we will enjoy when we get home… So we did what any resourceful ratties would do—we launched our highly sophisticated financial initiative wiff all the principles ob diribitib theory: a lemonade and Nutri-Berri stand to make some quick monies.

Baxter found the perfect spot downtown and decorated it to “evoke citrusy optimism.” Fish brought out the Nutri-Berries from his personal stash (generous for him), and I handled pricing, customer serbice, and cash wrangling. The sign may hab been slightly crooked, but our spirits—and our lemonade—were perfectly balanced.

Business was brisk! People were drawn in by our charm, or possibly Baxter’s aggressive wabing. Either way, we earned enuff for the trip and a little extra for brie-based contingencies.

We set it up right in front of the deli where the breeze smelled like pickles and ambition. Baxter handled marketing and signage (he insisted on the yellow stripes), I ran the cash drawer, and Fish was in charge of quality control, which mostly meant taste-testing the berries. Repeatedly. For “safety.”

To our surprise, business was booming! A lovely lady bought five lemonades in a row “because she liked our ears.” Someone tipped us in coins and cheese coupons. We made more than enuff for our trabel and emergency cheese probisions. Bictory!

We packed up the stand just before sundown, pockets full and tails high.

Next stop: Paris. (Fank you Ratty Box!)

—Barry
Lemonade Tycoon & Traveler Extraordinaire

Reuben’s Trabel Journal Entry #17

Field Notes: Paris Catacombs, Day ???
Subject: An Unscheduled Incident Involbing Dougie, a Skull, and Possibly a Ghost

Today, against my better judgment, I accompanied Dougie on an underground excursion to the Paris catacombs. I know what you’re finking. Not a good idea…and don’t touch anyfing!

At first, it was oddly peaceful—dark, yes, and a bit damp, but the air smelled like old stones and quiet stories. I tried to enjoy it. I really did.

Then we saw it. A skull. Just sitting in the middle of the floor, not tucked neatly in the wall where it should be. Suspicious.

I stared at it. Dougie poked it.

“I fink it wants to go home,” he said.

Before I could stop him, he picked it up, whispered, “Pardon, monsieur,” and insisted we put it back where it belonged. Only problem—the skull’s former slot was much higher up on the wall.

Which is how I, a mild-mannered bakery enthusiast, ended up crouched wiff Dougie standing on my shoulders, wobbling and muttering something about “good bone feng shui” while trying to wedge a skull into place.

That’s when the wall creaked. No—opened. A full-on secret passage. The kind that smells like dusty cheese and forgotten secrets.

Dougie scrambled inside like he’d been inbited. I, frozen in a state of disbelief and bad posture, remained behind. Then I heard a clack. Possibly bones. Possibly… not friendly.

So now I’m writing this from a dim alcove while Dougie explores what I can only describe as a cursed corridor. There is a skeleton muttering in the shadows. I don’t speak ghost-French, but I think he’s saying, “Respect the arrangement!”

Will update if I survive. Or if Dougie finds cheese.

—Reuben
(Currently regretting eberyfing)

[Scrawled underneath in stubby pencil handwriting]
DOUGIE WAS HERE!!
I fink the ghosts are nice. They just want fings tidy. Also, I dropped a cracker and it disappeared sooo… maybe haunted, maybe snacky.—D.

Reubens Trabel Journal Entry #17


Field Notes: Paris Catacombs, Day ???

Subject: An Unscheduled Incident Involbing Dougie, a Skull, and Possibly a Ghost

Today, against my better judgment, I accompanied Dougie on an underground excursion to the Paris catacombs. I know what you’re finking. Not a good idea.

At first, it was oddly peaceful—dark, yes, and a bit damp, but the air smelled like old stones and quiet stories. I tried to enjoy it. I really did.

Then we saw it. A skull. Just sitting in the middle of the floor, not tucked neatly in the wall where it should be. Suspicious.

I stared at it. Dougie poked it.

“I fink it wants to go home,” he said.

Before I could stop him, he picked it up, whispered, “Pardon, monsieur,” and insisted we put it back where it belonged. Only problem—the skull’s former slot was much higher up on the wall.

Which is how I, a mild-mannered bakery enthusiast, ended up crouched wiff Dougie standing on my shoulders, wobbling and muttering something about “good bone feng shui” while trying to wedge a skull into place.

That’s when the wall creaked. No—opened. A full-on secret passage. The kind that smells like dusty cheese and forgotten secrets.

Dougie scrambled inside like he’d been inbited. I, frozen in a state of disbelief and bad posture, remained behind. Then I heard a clack. Possibly bones. Possibly… not friendly.

So now I’m writing this from a dim alcove while Dougie explores what I can only describe as a cursed corridor. There is a skeleton muttering in the shadows. I don’t speak ghost-French, but I think he’s saying, “Respect the arrangement!”

Will update if I survive. Or if Dougie finds cheese.

—Reuben(Currently regretting eberyfing)

[Scrawled underneath in stubby pencil handwriting]
DOUGIE WAS HERE!!
I fink the ghosts are nice. They just want fings tidy. Also, I dropped a cracker and it disappeared sooo…
maybe haunted, maybe snacky.—D.

Let’s Pack!

Home Base
Mood: Hectic but hopeful

Fish came home wiff a gleam in his eye, declared, “I’ve booked us a trip to Paris – we’re going to see Reuben!,” and immediately started packing his tiny backpack like he was on some kind ob secret cheese mission (which, knowing him, he probably is).

Naturally, the rest ob us couldn’t let him hab all the fun—or pastries. Barry started folding socks (eben though none of us wear them), and Baxter started looking for that thing that looks like a charger but no one knows what it charges. Fish was immediately deep into researching “top cafés near the Eiffel Tower wiff flaky crust integrity.” Also, Barry packed a full-sized teddy bear and said, “Don’t judge me, Baxter. He brings emotional stability.”

The room was full ob chatter about baguettes, mysterious underground tunnels (Dougie’s influence again), and whether Fish can rate éclairs by mouthfeel and presentation.

We are so close to being ready. Just need to zip the bag, find our tickets, and possibly start ober entirely.

P.S. Barry said he only packed the essentials, but his bag contains: four hats, one camera, a wedge of cheese, two maps, and a plush bear named Batman. So… yeah. Essentials.

Reuben’s Trabel Journal Entry #16


Paris, France
Weather: Clear skies, ideal for scooters and existential thoughts

We were up wiff the croissants again today—Dougie woke me up by whispering dramatically, “Reuben. The bones. We must go see the bones.” Which, if you’re wondering, is not how I usually like to start my day.

Instead ob heading straight to the Catacombs (which he is still campaigning for), we compromised wiff a scenic scooter ride fru the city to knock out some errands and soak in the morning light. It really was stunning—golden sun on cobblestones, a light breeze that smelled like espresso and pastries, and barely any traffic except pigeons.

We did a little cheese pickup (priorities), posed at the Arc de Triomphe (tourist classic), and then met up wiff Peter and the gang at the corner café for a quick snack before continuing the day’s adbentures.

Dougie is still muttering about “honoring history” and “descending into the underworld,” so… we might be heading underground later. I’m bringing snacks either way.

– Reuben xoxo

P.S. Dougie insists he wasn’t yelling “WHEEEEEEE!” the whole ride, but my ears disagree.

Fish logs in


Fish had been habing laptop troubles all week—somefing about a sticky cheese fingerprint on the trackpad and a rogue download involbing a “cheese aging simulator.” But today, finally, the repairs were done. He scurried back into the workshop, climbed up to his little table, and opened his laptop like it was the window to the world (which, for a rat like Fish, it kind ob is).

He’d missed a lot.

The screen lit up with images ob Reuben and Dougie in Paris: sipping espresso beneaff the Eiffel Tower, staring in awe at glittering museum exhibits, and even posing wiff a suspiciously Mona Lisa-looking mouse in a beret.

As the pictures loaded one by one, Fish’s tail started to wiggle. He leaned closer, wide-eyed, taking in ebery detail. He munched a corner of brie without eben realizing it, too engrossed in the adbenture.

By the time he reached the photo of the fossil hall at Jardin des Plantes, he was squeaking out loud: “THAT was a cheloniform jawbone—Reuben, you glorious baguette-brained scholar!!”

He slammed the laptop shut, launched off the stool, grabbed his laptop and scurried home to start packing.

Baxter would say he’s impulsive. Barry might say he’s dramatic. But Fish knew exactly what he was doing: Paris was calling. And there was still time for pastries, cheese maps, and one last group selfie before heading home.

He scribbled a note and stuck it on the fridge:
“Gone to Paris. Don’t touch the Roquefort.”

The adbenture wasn’t ober yet.

Reuben’s Trabel Journal Entry #15

Today Dougie and I bisited the Jardin des Plantes, specifically the Grande Galerie de l’Évolution, which is a fancy way ob saying a giant museum filled wiff ebery kind ob creature that eber lived (or pretended to).

There were whales hanging from the ceiling, glowing pink lights behind ancient fish bones, and what Dougie swears was a dinosaur, but I’m pretty sure was just a very old lizard habing a bad day – the dinosaurs are in the next building.

We were admiring the prehistoric fish display—well, technically we were focusing on sharing a piece of red licorice under the table and whispering so we didn’t attract the attention ob museum security. Dougie said we were being “stealthy scholars.” I said we looked suspicious, and we both agreed Teddy would hab made us wear lanyards and proper museum bisitor badges.

Anyway, as amazing as it all was—just being in this qwiet, glowing place surrounded by ancient mysteries and Dougie’s wild fish facts—I had a feeling sneak up on me. A homesick-ish kind of ache. I miss my brothers. I miss Fish pointing out extinct cheeses in the ebolution of mammals. I miss Barry pretending he’s bored but secretly reading ebery placard.

Dougie noticed I got quiet and handed me the last bite ob licorice wiffout saying a word. That’s what best friends do. But I fink I’ll call my brothers later tonight, just to say hi… and maybe see if they want to meet us at the end ob our Paris adventure.

Not because I’m done yet. But because adbentures are better when you know you get to go home to your people at the end.

– Reuben xoxo

P.S. Dougie tried to ride the giant squid skeleton like a pony. I distracted the docent wiff interpretibe dance. We are no longer welcome in the Cephalopod Wing.

Reuben’s Trabel Journal Entry #14


Starry Picnic in Paris
Seine Riverbank, across from the Eiffel Tower

Tonight was magic. Not the abracadabra kind—though Dougie did pull a wheel ob brie from under his hat—but the kind that comes from being in the right place, wiff the right people, at the right time.

We spent the whole afternoon setting up the perfect Paris picnic. Dougie and Teddy worked out the logistics: tablecloth ironed (twice), tin foil stars hand made and strung wiff care (and only a little tape in Teddy’s fur), plates stacked, fruit fluffed. I obersaw cheese placement. It’s a delicate science.

We picked this spot across the river so we could watch the Eiffel Tower do her sparkly dance. She twinkles ebery hour, like a big golden disco rat. Teddy gasped the first time she lit up—then dropped a grape out ob joy.

The rest of the crew is on their way—Peter is bringing little cakes he rated 4.7 for frosting swirl consistency, and the Cowsins are carrying a baguette so long it needed its own seat on the Metro.

But for now, it’s just us three under our homemade sky ob tin foil stars. And I gotta say, eben though Paris is full ob lights and art and buttery smells, this right here—wiff snacks, and stars, and best friends—is the most beautiful fing I’be seen all day. Wish you could be here wiff us.

– Reuben xoxo

P.S. Dougie tried to charge a tourist two euros to sit at our table. He says he’s “just testing our brand strength.” Teddy says we’re going to French jail.

Reuben’s Trabel Journal Entry #13


Loubre Museum, Paris | Morning, finally!

After a dreamy night in the courtyard, we were first in line when the doors finally opened. Dougie had our route planned like a tiny general—straight to the gallery, no snack detours (yet).

And there she was… the legendary Mona Cheesa. All the mystery ob the original, but now—wiff brie. I couldn’t look away. Dougie whispered, “She knows things,” which is a little spooky but probably true.

Teddy and Dougie climbed up for a better biew while I just stood there, taking it in. I fink I might’be fallen in love a little bit.

We saw dozens ob other masterpieces after that, but dis one? Dis one had cheese.

– Reuben 🧀

P.S. We did not lick the glass. (Except Dougie. He says it was “for science.”)

Trabel Journal Entry #12 – Midnight at the Loubre

After arribing in Paris, me, Dougie, and Teddy made a beeline for the Louvre, eager to see the treasures—particularly the tiny, mysterious painting Dougie insisted was called the Moan-a Cheese-a. But when we got there, the grand glass pyramid stood quiet and still. Closed.

Instead of heading back to their cozy little apartment for sleep like sensible kids might, we did what all excellent adbenturers do: found pastries!

Under the glow ob the pyramid lights, we set up a tiny table and shared flaky tarts, glossy blackberries, and a thimble ob raspberry tea. Dougie kept the conversation lively (mostly about snacks he planned to try next), while I admired the architecture and Teddy nodded sleepily but contentedly.

The museum might not hab been open, but the night had offered us somefing better—a quiet moment in the heart ob Paris, wiff good friends and good food. The art can wait until morning.

– Reuben