Entering the coffee house, Gertie felt stunned by the bewildering array 
of technology within.  On one wall she saw an enormous picture of a mouse
dressed in light purple coveralls, but it was moving, and speaking to a 
tiny human on the stage who seemed to have a blue, winged lizard perched 
on his shoulder!  Everywhere she looked, there were colored lights and 
pushbuttons, and all sorts of unidentifiable hardware.  She had nearly 
bolted back out through those strange sliding doors, when her dazzled 
gaze fell upon a familiar face in the crowd.
Hawnurra was sitting alone at a table in the farthest comer, heavily 
bandaged and looking as though he would much rather have been absolutely 
anywhere else.
She made her way to his table, determinedly refusing to rubberneck as 
she passed through the throng of Chips, Dales, Gadgets, Montys, and 
others too numerous to imagine.  It wasn't easy to maintain her 
composure when every Chip was slightly, or dramatically different from 
all of the others.  There was one wearing a shoulder holster containing 
some sort of handgun, like she'd seen on a few humans wandering through 
her part of the wilderness!  That wasn't the Chip she knew--she was 
certain of that!
Hawnurra looked up as she approached, and growled.  "Are there more than one of you, too?" 
"Hon, if there are, I pity 'em!  How'd you get so beat up, you ol' cat?!"
"I tried to stop the wrong car - from now on I don't touch anything with a 
license plate on it." he said looking disgusted.
"Mind if I sit?  This looks like a kind of place where a soul could use 
some company even more than that coffee I smell."
"Oh, sorry about that, Gertie, I've been a little under the weather lately.  
Please sit down and tell me how the valley's been since our last meeting!"
Gertie looked down at him, "You mean the one when you tried to kill us, 
and got your head knocked in for your trouble?"
Hawnurra shrugged, "Any good story needs a villain.  Go ahead and sit, 
I'm off-duty right now." He gestured to the empty chair.
"I noticed you were talkin'different, hon," Gertie commented as she sat, 
"I guess the fancy language is just for the story, huhh?"
"Indubitably, my dear!  Please allow me to suggest the cinnamon mocha 
capuccino with shaved dark chocolate curls, it's quite exquisite here!"
Gertie laughed, "As long as it doesn't have chicory in it!
It turned out to be not such a bad evening after all!