Back in his days at Saint-Cyr, the elite military academy in France, Monsieur Christian started out as a grunt. An ordinary working class cat...but he strove for something bigger than himself. He wanted to be a Drill Sergeant for the French military.
Within weeks of training there through rigorous and quite frankly, relentless courses at the time, he pounced his way up to Lieutenant. His litter all admired him for his bravery, leadership skills, and persuasiveness.
Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why underneath one of his last photos in France sits the title The Turncloak. I'm here to answer the burning question. I recently sat down with Christian and interviewed him on his time with the army. Hesitant to go into any detail initially, I convinced him to spill the beans.
"It all started way back when I got promoted for the 3rd time. The constables and monsieurs of the academy loved me. The kittens loved me. Women loved me. Well...I noticed shortly after reaching Lieutenant that the French kinda stink. Like..literally smell! It wasn't just the military either. Everywhere I went; croissant here! croissant there! pastries over yonder! I couldn't take it anymore, so I planned my escape. Being my age at the time (19) I wasn't allowed to just leave, being an Amerikitten. It was frowned upon, and would be rejected from the country if I took my Bugatti to the nearest boat and yelled bon voyage! I had to go though, the wafting scent of dough & French toast was sending my little stomach into a frenzy!
I had a plan. I was going to say à tout à l’heure to my woman Claurice. I was certainly going to miss that ass, but a kittens gotta do what a kittens gotta do. Pulling up to the gatehouse at the academy, the asshat guard started picking my brain about where I was going, who I was going to see, etc. I simply told him it was none of his gah-damned business. So, what does the asshat do? Well, he calls my superior officer, Le Capitan Jean-François Chaucer Bonhomme III. He starts blabbin' about how I was planning to leave, yada yada. Long story short, Jean meets me at the gate to question me. I said, "Monsieur you must understand, my little pastry of a woman is at home and ready to give birth to my second child! I need to leave, bonjour!"
Being completely understanding of the situation at hand (thanks to my persuasiveness) he let me roll out. Little did he know, I wouldn't be back for Le Basic Training at 2300. I was kissing the Eiffel Tower goodbye, giving Claurice a petite kiss on the cheek and getting back to NYC! But...something happened.
Upon reaching my apartment flat, I see that Claurice is with another man & getting into his car. She had her ankles showing too! The harlot! Enraged of the thought of her living her own life without me, I waddled over to her and let out the loudest meow this smelly country has ever heard! Windows shattered, eardrums ruptured, worst of all I shit my fucking pants! Excusez-moi!
So, I ran. A self-proclaimed turncloak.
More from Christian & his tales in Western Europe soon.
The team here at the CAS hasn't forgotten about updates on Christians Christmas. We have an entire post coming in the next day or two detailing evverything that happened. It's alot.
