Octapoodle

“Sire, the octapoodle is missing again.” Francewald bowed and rolled his eyes. Fourth time this week. God almighty knew how an octapoodle could so much as move its eight furry legs in tandem, let alone escape from the Tower, but it had. Somehow.
“Very well, Waldo. Send the boys.”
The boys were already out searching for Jack the Ripper; they had larger and greasier fish to fry than recapturing a pet for their illustrious, capricious leader. But God forbid Francewald bringing that up.
“Indeed, Sire.” Only Francewald knew that Jack and the octapoodle were in fact one and the same.