🐾 Episode 6: A Most Bewildering Meeting

The morning sun gilded the rooftops of Wooftale Manor, casting long golden beams across the lawn. Birds trilled sweet notes in the hedges, the koi pond rippled softly, and a light breeze stirred the roses.

I, Sir Woofington, sat stiffly on the veranda, nose lifted with what little dignity I could muster. My fur had been freshly brushed to its usual luster; my round spectacles were straightened from their previous unexpected tangle when all the chaos ensued.

But inside? Dear reader, I was a maelstrom of nerves, like a soufflé left trembling on a shaky tray.

For today, a visitor was arriving. And not just any visitor.

A Beagle from America.
An executive producer.
The paws behind the whirlwind that had snatched my humble journal pages and turned them into… what? A proposition? A future? A terrifying unknown?

I waited. My tail twitched despite my best efforts to still it.

🎬 Percival’s Arrival

The carriage (or as the Americans so bluntly call it, a “car”) pulled up the long gravel drive. Out hopped a small, sharply dressed Beagle — gray vest, red tie, half-spectacles, a sporty black cap tipped jauntily over one ear. His eyes were sharp, his gait brisk.

He trotted up the steps with confidence, clutching a sheaf of papers under one paw.

“Sir Woofington, I presume!” he barked cheerfully, extending a paw.

I rose regally, inclining my head just so. “Mr. Percival. You have journeyed far.”

There was a beat.
Percival’s nose twitched faintly. “Love the… uh… accent.”

“Likewise,” I murmured, though in truth, I was rather baffled by the clipped, rapid-fire tone of his speech. I caught about every third word.

🐾 Misunderstanding Unleashed

Percival cleared his throat. “So! Let’s cut to the chase. We’re talking a full streaming series. Global reach, big backers. I’m here to sign you, Sir W. I mean, you’re the real deal.”

I blinked, ears flicking forward sharply. “Cut… to the chase? Are you proposing a hunt?”

Percival laughed. “No, no, just… jumping right in. You with me?”

“I do not, sir, habitually jump,” I replied stiffly. “And while I am fond of a brisk stroll, I seldom partake in chasing.”

Percival gave a little, puzzled smile, but forged on. “Look, the execs are excited, but they’ve got concerns. Your accent — charming, but maybe tough for younger audiences. Subtitles, maybe?”

I stiffened, bristling. “Are you suggesting I require translation? I speak the Queen’s English, sir!”

Percival chuckled awkwardly, scratching behind one ear. “Right, right. Totally clear.”

We both stood there a moment, smiling thinly, each pretending to understand the other perfectly, though neither of us did.

🐾 An Uneasy Proposition

Finally, Percival slid a pawful of papers across the small veranda table. “Look, Sir W. I know this is sudden, but I’m here to make a deal. Sign on, we greenlight the project. You come to California, meet the studio bigwigs, maybe sail over in style. What do you say?”

My heart thudded.
California.
Studios.
Bigwigs.
Subtitles.

I smoothed my fur, adjusted my bow tie, and lifted my chin. “Sir, I am no imposter. But I wonder… am I truly a star?”

Percival grinned, his eyes sharp and bright. “Sir Woofington, baby, you’re already a legend. You just don’t know it yet.”

🐾 Closing Reflection

As the Beagle chattered on about contracts, marketing, and worldwide streaming, I found myself gazing out across the lawns of Wooftale Manor, my chest tight with doubt.

Could I leave this life? Could I trade the quiet dignity of roses and koi for the bright, blaring lights of Hollywood?

Dear reader, one thing was certain:
My world was no longer my own.