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“The Meowgical Misadventure of Timmy, Zane, and the Cat Council”

Timmy had just turned seven — a prime age for discovering that your backyard was actually a portal to the Interdimensional Cat Council. Zane, his best friend and part-time sandwich thief, was skeptical — until a tabby named Lord Whiskerstein emerged from the compost bin wearing a monocle and muttering about “the collapse of feline diplomacy.”

“Boys,” Lord Whiskerstein said — his voice like velvet dipped in sarcasm — “we need your help. The Cat Council is in chaos. Someone’s replaced our tuna reserves with... mashed bananas.”

Zane gasped. Timmy fainted. A squirrel applauded.

The boys were whisked — pun intended — through the portal, landing in a realm where cats wore robes, floated on hover-litter boxes, and debated loudly about the ethics of laser pointer warfare.

“Your mission,” said Madame Purrsephone — a Siamese with a penchant for dramatic pauses — “is to infiltrate the Dog Embassy and retrieve the Sacred Yarn Ball. Without it, our naps become... restless.”

“But we’re just kids!” Timmy protested.

“Exactly,” said Lord Whiskerstein. “No one suspects children — except mall security and librarians.”