08-SAN SHABBY FUR ISLAND

SAN SHABBY FUR ISLAND I headed for baggage claim. On the way there... ... AN ENORMOUSE BAGGAGE HANDLER with bulging muscles ran over my tail with his cart... ... a lady mouse stomped on my paw with her high heels...

...Bratfur threw a glass of orange juice all over my best suit jacket... ... I lost the keys to my suitcase... ... I stopped in the restroom and dropped my passport into the toilet bowl. It took me a while to fish out my passport. By then, I was ready to cry. So I sat down on the luggage carousel and began to sob like my cousin Wimpy Whiskers the time he got hit on the head with a Whiffle ball. Right then, the carousel began to move. Slimy Swiss rolls! My tail

was stuck in the gears. I yanked it out. After TWENTY minutes, I spotted my suitcase. Then I saw it again and again. Yep, there were seven suitcases that looked just like mine! I had to wrestle my bag away from a lady mouse who insisted it was hers. At last, I was ready to leave the airport. I held out my passport to the customs mouse.

It was stinky, just like me. I left the airport exhausted. It was already late at night. I was dying to reach my hotel. Outside it was pouring rain. I looked around for the mouse who was supposed to meet me from the TRUST ME, YOU'LL LIKE IT! travel agency. I spotted a slimy-looking rat carrying a sign: welcome, GERATTIMO STILTON. TRUST ME, YOU'LL LIKE IT!

I waved him over. "Are you GERATTIMO STILTON?" he asked, looking me over. I shook my head. "Yes, I mean, no, I mean the name is Geronimo. Geronimo Stilton." He stared down at his sign. "But it says here 'Gerattimo,"' he squeaked. I took a deep breath. I practiced a little meditation exercise I had learned. "Remain calm," I chanted under my breath. "Don't get upset." "They must have gotten it wrong at the agency," I explained in a slow voice. "My name is Geronimo. G-E-R-O-N-I-M-O ," I repeated. The mouse scratched his whiskers. "Are you sure?"

By now I was ready to EXPLODE. So much for that meditation class I took last year. Maybe I could get my money back. "Moldy mozzarella balls! Of course I'm sure!" I screeched. "Don't you think I know my own name?" He shrugged his shoulders. "If you say so..." he muttered. Meanwhile rain had SOAKED through my fur. "Does it always rain so hard here?" I asked. The rat from the Trust Me, You'll Like It travel agency blinked. "Didn't they tell you?" he snickered. "On the island, it either pours or it's SO HOT you can fry your own fur." I put my head in my paws. I knew I shouldn't have trusted my cousin and that slick rat Smoothie.