by Rocky the Diabolical Catâ„¢ Aboard the plane I was seated amidst the members of an evangelical group.

Like any reasonable person in such a predicament, I tried to feign sleep, but my ploy failed.

My neighbor poked me in the ribs and asked, "Where are you goin', you little booger?"

"To Rome," I replied, "to put the finishing touches on my next book. I'm a writer."

"D'ya hear that? This little booger here's a writer!" he laughed loudly, prompting his co-religionists to guffaw wildly.

"Uggo," I sighed to myself.

"Where are you folks going?" I inquired.

"We're Jesus Ambassadors for President Bush, and we're on a mission to see the pope to convince him to repent and join our church before it's too late," he said with a gleam in his eye. "And if he don't, then the US of A is gonna invade Vatican City!"

His compatriots began chanting, "Vatican City 2006! Vatican City 2006!"

"You seem to be in the know," I said. "Is the plan with the Valerie Plame investigation for Attorney General Gonzales to quash a criminal indictment of Karl Rove in exchange for nomination to the Supreme Court?"

"You got it, you little booger!" he laughed.

I looked out the window and watched the wing gently flexing. I then peered down to the ocean and thought I saw Angelique's face in the water. Saddened and exhausted, I dozed off.

I awakened a few minutes before landing. I slipped away to the restroom and climbed into the outfit that would gain me, Rocky, banned by the Berlusconi regime, entrance into Italy: my Fifi the Calico disguise, complete with false pussport.

I returned to my seat just as the plane touched down.

"Thank you, Jesus!" the church group cried. My neighbor poked me in the ribs. "We don't believe in physics," he said. "That Newton was a terrorist. This plane got us here on Jesus-Power!"