the good, the bad and the odd

News...  I've got good news, I've got bad news and I've got some odd news, as well.  Where shall I begin?  Hmmm...  let's see...

The other night, I was watchin' a movie with the peeps.  It took place in Tasmania which, if you didn't already know, is an island off the coast of Australia.  The movie was kind of scary but I was gettin' chin tickles and behind-the-ear scritches so I didn't particularly care.  Eventually, I fell asleep so I'm not really sure what happened.  Probably though, some peeps got eaten by the monsters before and after some other peeps fell in love and then the few who survived were likely rescued at the last, possible moment savin' them from gettin' eaten, themselves.  That's usually how those things go.  As I said, I fell asleep so I really don't know.

Anywho...  as I was bein' lulled to sleep by the tickles and the scritches, I overheard a conversation between the two peeps.  They were discussing this place called Tasmania.  Peep #1 was pretty sure it was a state or province in Australia.  Peep #2 was positive it was near Australia but a country in its own right.  Then they started talking 'bout New Zealand.  I have no idea where New Zealand fit in, to the conversation, 'cause it certainly wasn't part of the movie.  But as you know, peeps get so easily distracted so, I suppose, it was only a matter of time before they talked 'bout something else.  Had I stayed awake any longer, their minds would probably have wandered over to Santa Clause or something like that.  One never really knows how a peep's mind works.

Oddly enough, when I woke up the next morning, I had Tasmania and New Zealand on my mind.  Those peeps must have washed my brain in my sleep or something.  Given me subliminal suggestions of some sort.  I just had to know more 'bout these two places.  So I headed on into my office and turned on my computer.  A few clicks later, I had my answers.

Turns out Peep #1 was right 'bout the whole Tasmania thing.  It's an island state that is part of the Commonwealth of Australia.  I must admit, it was a little confusing and if I was confused it's no wonder the peeps were.  The site talked about states and territories and other islands and all sorts of stuff.  I typed in, Tasmania-Australia relationship, thinkin' that would tell me the whole truth and nothin' but it.  No such luck.  Google sent me to a dating site.  So not the information for which I was looking.

That's when my my mind turned to the business 'bout New Zealand.  "Now, what were those peeps of mine wondering about?" I asked.  Oh yeah... they were wonderin' to which continent New Zealand belonged.

Now, as we all know, the business of continents has drifted into my mind on more than one occasion.  I have peeps and cats - not to mention dogs, bunnies and turtles - reading my blog from six of the seven continents.  That's right...  I have fans in North America, South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa.  I've kind of given up on gettin' any penguins to read my blog in Antarctica.  As I understand it, most penguins don't have Internet access.  Unfortunately, I have come to the realization that Antarctica will be a no-show, blog wise.  Such a pity.

Anywho...  I had to find out about this New Zealand.  A few more clicks on the computer and I had my answers.

Well...  I sort of had my answers and that, my friends, is part of the bad news.  Talk about confusion!  For every source I found, I found a different answer or at least a variation of some sort.

Turns out that New Zealand is not part of the continent of Australia.  Well, the peeps and I knew that anyway.  No news there.  Some peeps said it wasn't part of any continent at all but I found some other peeps who said that no, it is part of the submerged continent of Zealandia.  Zealandia?  That's right...  Zealandia.  I asked myself, "Is this an eighth continent and if so, why have I never heard of it before?  And is it anywhere near Atlantis?" 

And that, my friends, is the bad news.  This whole Zealandia business opens up the realm possibilities of submerged continents.  You all know how I wanted to have fans on all of the continents.  If I can't get a penguin in Antarctica to read my blog, how on earth am I gonna get anyone to read it from some continent under the ocean?  I mean...  who lives on a submerged continent?  Fish, that's who.  And fish don't have computers.  I know that for a fact.  At least that's what I heard...  Gosh, I'm never get readers on all the continents now.  Talk about bad news.  That's news of the worst possible kind, I think.

But I do have some good news.  Zealandia is only partially submerged.  New Zealand is above the ol' sea level and New Zealand has cats and peeps and...  and...  and INTERNET ACCESS!  What's more, I have friends in New Zealand.  I have good friends in New Zealand.  Friends who read my blog.  So, Zealandia might be mostly submerged but I have readers from the dry parts and am I ever so pleased about that.  That's good news for sure!

Okay...  now here comes the odd 'cause I just know you were wantin' to hear about that.

They say that this thing called Zealandia is a continental fragment that broke off Australia and then sank.  This all happened sometime between sixty and eighty-five million years ago.  Well, sixty million years ago is pretty ancient history, right?  And Peep #1 is pretty ancient.  I call her ancient all the time so it must be true.  So I find it extremely odd that she didn't know about all this breaking up and drifting and sinking and stuff.  I mean...  wasn't she there to witness it all happening?  Very, very odd.  Don't you agree?

e is for ekiscatics

E is for ekiscatics.  Did you know that?  Well, you do now 'cause I just told you.

There once was a word...  a word called ekistics.  It meant - accordin' to the good folks at Oxford - "the study of human settlements and their development," or somethin' like that.  I suppose humans would want to study their own developmental settlements.  That's fair.  We cats, on their other paw, want to study the development of cat settlements and now, thanks to me, we even have a word for it. 

That's right...  I'm back to the inventin' of the words.  Did you miss me?  'Cause I kind of missed the month of May.  No new words last month.  What a shame.  MOUSES!

Ekiscatics is a very in-depth study.  There must be at least one university out there wantin' to add it to their curriculum.  Now that there's an official word to describe the science, I would expect many universities to hop right on the ol' bandwagon and start offering undergraduate degrees in the subject.  It's only logical.

And speakin' of bandwagons...   they are NOT used in the development of cat settlements.  Cats don't hop on bandwagons.  Bandwagons are strictly for peeps.

So just how do cat settlements, develop?  It turns out, there are many ways.  Some good and some bad.  The bad ones almost always involve the nasty side of the species that is peep.

I, myself, belong to a good cat settlement, also referred to as family.  The twelve of us cats settled in quite nicely to this house.  The peeps think they invited us in but the truth is, we all staked a claim on this here property and made it our own.  As luck would have it, the house came with two full-time servants.  Bonus!

There are many cat settlements similar to mine but on a smaller scale.  There are also some that are larger.  Basically, however, this type of cat settlement is quite standard.  It involves a structure in which cats live in association with peeps.  The laws of the land are dictated by the peeps once we cats tell 'em what to dictate.  The peeps are allowed to believe they are in control of the settlement.  They're not, of course, but it's always easier to let them think they are.  Peeps, by nature, are quite gullible so this is an easy task.

Population of the settlement is strictly controlled.  This is done by the neutering and spaying of the populace.  Population expansion is allowed, on occasion, but only through immigration, otherwise known as adoption.  The system works.  It has been a number of years since my settlement has undergone an expansion and that would have been with the adoption of my brother Rushton.  There are no further expansions in the foreseeable future as the size of our settlement is currently at a comfortable level.

Some cat settlements, however, develop quite differently. 

Let me tell you the story of a cat named Catrina.  Catrina is not an actual cat but the story that I will tell you has been played out, over time, more times than I care to admit.  It's a sad story but one which must be told.  It should be told to peeps over and over and over again until they learn.

Catrina was a cute little kitten.  Of course, kittens are always cute.  Catrina, however, was particularly so.  Calico colouring with silky long fur and a purr that could be heard miles away.  When Tommy scooped her up and out of the box at the yard sale he held her tightly to his chest and looked up at his mom.  "Please?  Oh, please mom?  I'll take care of her.  I promise.  Cross my heart and everything."

The mother hesitated but looking into her little boy's pleading eyes, she finally acquiesced and the two headed home with the new member of their family.

Tommy's dad wasn't all that happy with the arrival of Catrina but he huffed and he puffed and grumbled an agreement that his son could keep the cat.

About six months later, Catrina started to make loud noises.  Noises she had never made before.  Tommy was worried that his little baby was sick and pleaded to his father to take her to the doctor.  "Damn cat's in heat, that's all!" was the father's reply.

One day, a few weeks later, Tommy hopped off the school bus and ran down the driveway.  He called and called for Catrina.  Where was she?  She always met him at the door when he came home from school.  Where could she be?  "Damn cat's gone," his father told him.  "She went and got herself pregnant."

Tommy was beside himself but that was nothing compared to poor little Catrina.  Left alone by the side of a country road, Catrina looked around.  Still a kitten herself, she had kittens on the way and no home.  No place for her and no place for her babies.  What would she do?

Eventually, Catrina found an old, abandoned farmhouse.  It was shelter from the elements, if nothing else.  There was no food and no water but she had a roof over her head.  A dirty old blanket, too tattered to have been taken by the house's previous owners would provide a bed.  It wasn't much but it was something.

In the following months, Catrina made the most of her new home.  She now had five precious babies in her care.  They were beautiful.  She taught them to mouse and clean themselves and most importantly, she taught them to fear humans.  Feral cats need to fear humans.  Humans can be cruel.

The years passed and Catrina had become the matriarch of the settlement.  She looked old and was frail even though she had lived through only five or six winters.  The life of an outdoor cat is a hard one and the years pass slowly and cruelly.  So much loss had Catrina suffered.  Babies lost to illness, hunger and coyotes.  She thought about all her babies now gone.  Then she thought about her children and grandchildren still with her.  What would become of them?  Would they lead a life of hardship such as hers?

That night, Catrina slept peacefully.  For the first time in a very long time, she slept straight through the night.  Her body had been so tired and so weak for so long.  She needed her sleep.

Morning came and one of Catrina's grand babies nudged at her, trying to wake her up.  Catrina didn't move.  She didn't wake up.  The kitten meowed, repeatedly, before the meows turned into cries of loss.  Catrina was gone.

If only...  if only Tommy's mom had not allowed him to take Catrina that day at the yard sale.  If only Catrina had been adopted by a responsible peep.  A peep who knew that if you love cats, you get them spayed and neutered and you never, NEVER abandon them out in the country - or anywhere else - forcing them to fend for themselves.  If only...

Every school in every land should teach peeps the science of ekiscatics.  Peeps need to be taught how cat settlements develop and the part they play in that development.  Peeps need to be taught the difference between right and wrong.  The difference between responsible and irresponsible.  The difference between good and evil.

friggity-frack der quack-der-knack!

...for when "MOUSES!" just isn't enough.

I've got problems.  Oh do I ever have problems.  I've got problems like no other cat has ever had problems.  Yes, yes...  I know...  two of those problems are my peeps but, believe it or not, I've got even bigger problems than that!  Them...  Whatever...  Yes, I have e-mail problems.

It all started just over a month ago.  Well...  it started long before that but it was just over a month ago that I realized just how serious my problems were.  It was just over a month ago that I was forced to invent my new saying, "friggity-frack der quack-der-knack!"  It takes some pretty serious problems to have to invent a sayin' like that, I can assure you.

One day, all my e-mails stopped.  Stopped!  Not a single e-mail was coming through.  Now, some might suggest that I just wasn't gettin' any mail...  that no one liked me anymore...  but I knew that that was not true.  You see, I have comment moderation on this here blog of mine so every time a friend leaves a comment on my blog, I get an e-mail.  Pals were leavin' comments all over the place but I wasn't getting any e-mails.  So you see, I knew for a fact that something was apaw.  Duh duh duh duhhhhh.....

I called out, "Peepers!  Prepare my teleportation device!" 

Ol' peepers replied, "Nissy, you don't need your teleportation device for this.  We'll just call the phone company."

"Fine but you do it.  I've got stuff to work on," I mumbled as I went back to pouring over my blueprints for the time machine I'm building.  Don't tell anyone 'bout that last part, okay?  It's top secret.

So the peep got on the phone.  A very nice lady from the phone company tried to help ol' peepers with my e-mail prob.  Three hours later, the problem had been solved. 

It turned out, there was a back load of e-mails on my server.  You see, I had been deleting e-mails after reading them but apparently, when I was deleting them, I wasn't really deleting them at all.  And all those e-mails were causing a big ol' traffic jam.  All forty-four thousand of them!  That's a lot of e-mails. 

Apparently, there was some stupid little check-mark in some stupid little box that told the server to save all the e-mails even after they had been deleted.  The peep swears up and down that she did not check that box and to be honest, I kind of have to believe her.  As we all know, my peep #1 is a technologically impaired duffer.  She wouldn't know where to find that box to check if her life depended upon it.  I'm thinking the box was checked by gremlins.  Either that or leprechauns.  Neither one is a trustworthy species.

So, after the three hour phone call, all those messages still had to be erased.  The peep did that part on her own.  Two hundred at a time, she deleted all forty-four thousand.  What a job that was.  It took her another an hour.

After all that work, the peep thought she'd check my e-mail for me.  The little box appeared tellin' the peep we were receiving mail.  E-mails started pouring in.  One...  two...  three...  four...  FIVE THOUSAND E-MAILS!  Yes, you read that correctly...  FIVE THOUSAND OF THEM!

Some of them were a month old.  They must have been stuck in the server traffic jam.  A whole whack of them were duplicates.  Three, four and five identical e-mails.  The peep thought maybe that had something to do with all the times our password had been changed during the three hour phone call but really, she was just guessing.  All we knew for a fact was that the flood wouldn't stop.  My peep was drowning in e-mails.  MOUSES!

Once they finally stopped, she cleared out the second lot and sat back to admire her handiwork.  My e-mail was workin' like a charm.  All was right with the world.

The following week proved quite eventful.  I had my knee surgery, spendin' two nights and three days in hospital.  I masterminded "the great fancy feast grilled chicken pizza caper" and broke out of "the cone of shame" not once, not twice but three times.  Yes, it was quite a week but my e-mail was running smoothly.  Then, out of nowhere, everything came to a screeching halt!

One day, I went to check on my mail.  The little box popped up saying that I was receiving some and boy was I receiving mail.  It started pouring in.  It was another flood!  Seven hundred e-mails.  Every message from the past week had been duplicated several times but they all had to deleted, one by one.  During the process of deleting them, I made the mistake of readin' a couple.  I took too long...  the box reappeared...  the box tellin' me I was gettin' mail.  Another seven hundred e-mails!  MOUSES!

This has been going on for a month.  I keep tellin' the peep I need my teleportation device to head on over to the phone company.  She keeps assuring me that she'll call them.  She hasn't yet made the call. 

Ol' peepers says she simply doesn't have time for another three hour phone call but will, soon.  Perhaps after my period of recuperation is over.  I don't know how much longer I can take this.  If she doesn't soon fix it, I'm gonna have to take matters into my own paws and make that call myself.

These e-mail issues are ruining my life.  I can hardly face the seven hundred plus messages I know I will have to delete if I go to check my mail.  Messages I've already read.  Messages I've already deleted.  Messages that simply refuse to go away!

And it's having disastrous consequences upon my social life.  I'm missin' some of my favourite blogs.  Blogs I normally follow by e-mail instead of on my Blogger reading list.  I can't take the time to access them from my e-mail because I know that if I do, I might return to my e-mail to find thousands upon thousands upon thousands of messages.  It's a nightmare, I tell you.  A bloody nightmare.  Stephen King should write about this.  On second thought, this would be too frightening for even him.  This is a problem no man or cat should ever have to face.

I've said it before and I'll say it again.  FRIGGITY-FRACK DER QUACK-DER-KNACK!   ...'cause MOUSES! just isn't enough.

just call me Houdini

There was an incident, last week.  A bad one.  I wasn't bad.  It was the incident that was bad.  Just gettin' that straight, up front.

Anywho...  ol' Peep #1 thought she'd pot up her tomatoes.  I know...  you're probably wondering why they're her tomatoes and not mine.  Most of the things in the garden are mine but I leave the tomatoes to the peep 'cause, quite frankly, I don't like 'em.  The leaves smell funny and aren't much good for munching.  In fact, if you try to munch 'em, you get even more of that funny smell.  Gosh...  you get the smell just by brushing up against them.  My dad, on the other paw, kind of likes tomato sauce but I've come to the conclusion that that's weird.  Tomato sauce is not for cats.  Neither are tomatoes.  Icky.

I told the peep that if she was going to be outside in the sun for a whole afternoon, so was I.  I was sick and tired of bein' cooped up in the livin' room and I wanted a little fresh air.  This house arrest business sucks, I tell you.  It simply sucks.

So the peep got out my harness and put it on me.  I'm getting used to the harness, now.  I still won't walk around the garden with it.  The peep has to carry me for garden inspections but I'll now wear it without a whole lot of complaints.  I don't like it but I'll wear it.  I'm not happy about wearin' it but I'm getting used to it.  Also, you can play with the leash end.  That part is kind of fun.

Ol' peepers figured she could secure the leash to a fence post by my primrose garden.  There, I would be in dappled sun so I wouldn't get too hot.  I could sprawl out on the driveway if I wanted or snuggle in among the primroses.  Whatever tickled my fancy at the moment.  We were at the bottom end of the driveway, near the road, but I wasn't on the road or anything.  No, the road was on the other side of the primroses and some trees.  We were pretty safe.  Or so I thought...

Peep #1 hauled over the recycling bin to use as a make-shift potting table and gathered all the other stuff necessary to pot up those tomatoes.  She had a whole whack of stuff there.  Of course there were tomato plants but I also saw potting mix, manure, a watering can and some organic fertilisers.  I must admit, she was pretty prepared for her afternoon of playing in the dirt. 

Everything went smoothly for a while.  The peep was on her third or fourth tomato plant and things were lookin' good.  I watched the peep walk over to the house to fill the watering can with some water and, from what I could see, she was doing it correctly.  The tomato plants may be hers but she still requires guidance, you know.

Peepers was still filling up the watering can when I heard the noise.  It was a horrible noise.  I heard the rumbling of an engine coming close and closer and closer to where I sat.  The noise got louder and louder and I just knew it was approaching.  The peep called out to me, saying it was okay and that I was safe but I didn't believe her.  She came over to me, still saying everything was fine and that I needn't be scared.  I looked at her in disbelief.  Did she not hear what I was hearing?  Was she nuts?  A monster was approaching.  A monster of all monsters.  Of course I should be afraid.

Through the trees, I could see the movement of the humongous yellow beast.  It roared with life and I just knew it was coming to get me.  I had the terrifying beast on my left, my crazy peep on my right and there I was...  stuck in the middle of the two.  What to do...  what to do...

I decided to make a run for it.  I bolted for the house.  WHAM!  That darned harness had me in its grip.  It stopped me dead in my tracks.  I leaped into the air, doin' a mid-air ninety-degree spin, landed on all four paws and made a run for other other side of house.  WHAM!  BAM!  That darned harness again.  The peep was frantic, tryin' to catch me.  I was even more frantic, trying to escape.

I squirmed and I wormed.  I rolled this way and that and...  and...  and miracle of all miracles...   I WAS FREE!

I was out of that harness and runnin' for the backyard as fast as my little paws would take me.  The peep was left behind, amidst a cloud of dust.

Then I saw some grass.  Grass...  Fresh, tender, green grass.  I love grass and as I hadn't munched on any since the start of my involuntary confinement, I had to stop and have a little nibble.  The big yellow monster had left.  Turned out it was just the school bus droppin' off nosey neighbour cat's brother.  Who knew?

I was chowing down on my greens when the peep arrived out of nowhere and scooped me up into her arms.  In between the cuddling and kissing and chin tickles, she comforted me, sayin' I was safe and that the big noisy monster was gone.  "Yeah, I saw it leave, peepers.  I'm over it," I told her.

Once I began to purr, the peep had the nerve to scold me.  She said I could have hurt my knee again, or something like that.  Blah, blah, blah...  Heard it all before, I tell you.

Then she looked at me, quizzically, and asked, "How did you get out of your harness?"

Sure enough, I had managed to do that.  The harness was left behind, still over by the fence post and still fastened together.  Yup, both parts were still securely fastened. That's right...  I had squirmed and wormed and wriggled my way out of that harness like no other cat has ever done before.  I looked at the peep and narrowed my eyes before tellin' her, "Just call me Houdini," and I left it at that.

I won? I won! I WON!!!

I can hardly believe it but...  I WON! 

...and it's all official now and everything.

That's right...  I won the 2013 Nose-to-Nose Best Blog Writing Award. 

It was two weeks ago, yesterday, when the winners were announced.  I wasn't there, of course.  I was still bein' held hostage in the livin' room because of recent knee surgery.  I was recuperating.  I was bein' held against my will!  MOUSES!

Peep #1 said I could watch the awards ceremony on the computer 'cause BlogPaws was live-streaming it.  I'm not quite sure what live-streaming means but I'm thinkin' it has something to do with salmon or something, swimmin' upstream.  So, due to the upcoming salmon convention, I made sure ol' peepers had plenty of salmon treats on paw.  They were delicious.

About fifteen minutes before the ceremonies were due to start, the peep turned on the computer.  Just as she was headin' over to the salmon stream from facebook, I heard the news.  All over the place, cats were saying, "Nerissa's Life won!"

I was a little confused 'cause according to ol' peeper's time calculations, the ceremony had not yet begun.  I quickly did my own time travelling mathematical calculations and realized that, of course, the peep had screwed it all up.  I gave her a good ol' stink-eye before reminding her that, "time travellin' is for cats, not peeps."  You see, time travellin' is complicated enough, as it is.  Throw in a couple of time zone differentials tossed about with a daylight savings versus standarized time equation and you've got some pretty complex mathematical calculations.  Generally speaking, peeps can't handle the math.  So, as I said...  time travellin' is for cats, not peeps.  Never have any truer words been said.

I immediately went into a state of shock.  Not 'cause ol' peepers had screwed up the math.  No, I'm used to the peep screwing stuff like that up.  That doesn't shock me in the least.  Not anymore, anyway.  No, I was shocked 'bout the possibility that I had won the award...  the award I had wanted to win so much...  the 2013 Nose-to-Nose Best Blog Writing Award.  Even though twitter and facebook were all abuzz 'bout my having won, I could hardly believe it.  It just seemed so...  so...  so unbelievable.

But it was true!  It was absolutely true.  WOW.

As I mentioned before, I wasn't at the big BlogPaws conference.  Earlier in the week, I had asked my dear and wonderful friend, Savannah, if her mom would consider representin' me if I should happen to win.  Savannah is the author of the world-famous blog, Savannah's Paw Tracks.  You have heard of it, I am sure.  If - by some remote chance - you have not, you need to head on over right away.  It's a great blog and Savvy is an amazing author. 

Anywho...  I knew that Savvy's mom was goin' to the conference and hoped she wouldn't mind helpin' me out.  I also hoped that Savvy wouldn't mind my borrowing her mom for the occasion.  I was so very pleased and honoured when Savvy's mom agreed to represent me and Savvy signed off on the deal.

Savvy's mom immediately went on a search for Plush Nissy.  Every cat has a plush version of themselves, you know.  These plush kitties are like our twins, or something.  Savvy's mom had already discovered Savvy's twin so, obviously, she has a knack for such things.  She went on a world-wide search and before anyone knew it, Plush Nissy had been found!  I must say, the resemblance is amazing.  Remarkable, in fact.  Peeps can hardly tell us apart.  Is it Nissy?  Is it Plush Nissy?  Is it Plush Nissy?  No, I think it's Nissy.  Yup, that's what they're saying.  Peeps, that is.  We cats can usually tell the difference.  We're kind of smart that way.

Luckily for me, the peeps running the BlogPaws conference had anticipated the time travellin' calculation screw-up of Peep #1.  They got the whole awards ceremony on tape.  Thank goodness someone was thinkin' ahead.  I got to watch the whole thing.  It was fantastic.  I actually watched it more than once.  Yes sirree...  it was that good.

Savvy's mom did the most amazing job.  She accepted my award like a real pro.  For a moment there, I thought I was watchin' a movie star acceptin' an Oscar or something.  Then I realized that winnin' the 2013 Nose-to-Nose BlogPaws Best Blog Writing award was better than winning an Oscar and that Savvy's mom was way better than any ol' movie star.  She was a star of stars!  Yup, she really was.  Still is, in fact.  Still is...

And did you know that I got a trophy?  It's true.  Savvy's mom packed it up and sent it to me.  The UPS man arrived a few days later with a parcel that had MY name on it.  That's right...  it was addressed to Nerissa the Cat.  How proud I was to open that box and find my new gorgeous trophy.  I've never had a trophy before, you know.  I got Peep #1 to display it next to the teeny-tiny little trophy she once won for growin' some flowers or something silly like that.  Mine is four or five times the size of hers.  Prettier, too.  Way prettier.  It's a way better trophy, for sure.

And did you know that I got a box?  It's true!  The trophy came in a box.  I've been in it numerous times, now.  It's an excellent box.

And I mustn't forget to mention the cat and dog food.  Two of the BlogPaws sponsors donated two hundred pounds each of cat and dog food to the winners' choice of charities.  That's right, Natural Balance Pet Foods and Petcurean both donated all that needed food.  I chose the Homeless Animal Lifeline, as the recipient for my award.  HAL is based in New Jersey but rescues animals from many other states, as well.  I know that the good peeps at HAL will put all that food to excellent use.  Those peeps work so hard at rescuing animals and do it so incredibly well.  If you've never heard of 'em before, please check out their website where you can read all about 'em some more.  And even if you have heard about HAL, you can still visit their website.  I'm pretty sure they love havin' visitors over at HAL.  Just love 'em, for sure.

So that's my big news.  My big new about BlogPaws and my award and HAL and how Savvy's mom helped me out in such a wonderful way.  Life is good, you know.  It's really, really good.  I'm a blessed kitty cat, for sure.

she just doesn't understand

So the other day, total chaos erupted in my house.  And when I say total, I mean total.  And when I say erupted, I mean  ERUPTED.  For a moment there, I thought Mount Vesuvius was gonna blow its top or something. 

"THERE'S A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!"  Yup, that's what I heard.

I, of course, was in the livin' room, still under house arrest and therefore did not get to witness the events first hand.  I have, however, interviewed all those who did witness the catastrophe of catastrophic proportions and even those who might be considered persons of interest.   Or in this case, cats of interest.  Actually, there's no big mystery here.  No mystery at all.  Everyone has fessed up to what they did or did not do and no one is denying a thing.

From what I understand, my sister Constance appeared at the kitchen window and very nonchalantly, waltzed in with something in her mouth.  Peep #2 was witness to this event but, I am told, thought nothing of it at the time.  Why, I don't know.  I mean...  when one sees a cat walkin' around with something in his or her mouth, one might want to investigate further.  Especially if that cat happens to be my sister Constance.  Connie, you see, is an habitual snaker.  Yup.  Peep #1 is always rescuing garden snakes from Connie.  She thinks they're toys or something.  Connie, I mean.  The peep doesn't think snakes are toys.  The peep feels sorry for the snakes and, like I said, rescues them.

Some time passed.  Exactly how much, I do not know.  As I was being held hostage in the living room, it felt like an eternity, I am sure.  Everything feels like an eternity when being held hostage in the living room.

Connie was then spotted nosing around the door leading to the basement.  There were a couple of bags of papers gettin' ready to head downstairs for the purposes of recycling.  They were leanin' up against the wall and Connie was stickin' her nose in between them.  Obviously, there was something there of interest.  It could have been a toy, perhaps.  We cats do tend to have toys scattered around the house.  Peep #2 noticed the odd behaviour on Connie's part but, again, thought nothing of it.

Peep #2 really needs to start thinking more about what is going on in this house.  There is evidence of illegal activity all around and the second peep never seems to do anything about it until it's too late.  I mean...  this could have been really serious stuff.  Constance could have had one of my pens from my pen collection.   She might have managed to get one of my pens from my pen collection out from underneath the refrigerator and bat it all the way over to the doorway.  One of my precious pens!  The door leadin' to the basement and the refrigerator are only a few feet apart and I, being locked in the living room for eons upon eons, have not been able to inspect my collection or guard it from potential cat burglars such as my siblings.  I shudder at the thought of what could have happened.

Anywho...  eventually, the second peep must have become curious regarding Connie's odd behaviour and decided to check things out.  That would be about the time when I heard, "THERE'S A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!"

So, as usual, it was Peep #1 to the rescue.  The first peep is the rescuer of all things needin' rescuing in this house.  It's just the way things work, I suppose, although I, myself, seriously need some rescuing from this darned living room and would appreciate it if the first peep would do something about rescuing me!  I mean...  I've been stuck in here for the last millennium or so and she has had plenty of time break me out of my jail cell and yet, here in this cell, I still am.  MOUSES!

But I digress...

Peep #1 emptied out the little garbage can in the downstairs bathroom and headed over to the door leadin' to the basement.  She put the garbage can on it's side before pulling out one of those bags of papers for recycling.  There, behind the bag, she found the mouse.  The first peep used her paws to encourage the mouse to go into the plastic can.  In less than five minutes, she had the mouse in the garbage can and was heading outdoors.

I do want to mention that although the peep used the garbage can to catch the mouse, in no way did she consider the mouse to be garbage.  The can was simply used as a transportation device to take the mouse outside for its release back into the wild.  Release...  RELEASE...  How I long to be released from the captivity of the living room!

Peepers probably took the mouse over to the brush pile or perhaps the compost.  She never said where.  Didn't want us cats headin' over for a second go at the little critter.  She could have told me, though.  It's not like I can go find the little guy.  I'm still locked up behind bars in the living room.

Ol' peepers said the mouse was fine.  A little slobbered over but fine.  The little guy scampered away when he realized he was, once again, free.  Free...  Freedom...  Lucky mouse.  I haven't tasted freedom in what seems like centuries...

For at least half an hour after the incident, Constance was still nosin' about around the door leading to the basement.  She was looking for her mouse.  She just doesn't understand...

Obviously, Connie doesn't understand that once the peep takes a mouse outside, the mouse can no longer be found in the house.

But more importantly, Constance doesn't seem to understand the whole concept of mousing.  I mean...  cats catch mice all the time.   For some cats, mousing is their job.  Usually, what happens is that there already is a mouse in the house and the cat's job is to catch that mouse and remove it from the house.  Remove it from the house.  Connie was doing stuff backwards.  Apparently, she's a backwards mouser.  Connie brought the mouse into the house.  What she was gonna do with, I do not know.  Maybe she was gonna have him over for tea and sandwiches or something.  I just don't know.  And Connie just doesn't
                                                               understand.

hey... I'm so cool

Hey...  I'm so cool.  I look so cool in these shades.  Everyone says so, so it must be true.  Right?

Actually, they're not really shades.  They're goggles.  Now that I've got a pair of goggles...  I need a motorcycle!

But all joking aside, these goggles are special goggles.  They're special hospital equipment goggles.  I wore them when I had my laser treatments on my leg.  Bet you thought they were photo shopped or something, huh?  Nope, they're the real deal.  I was really wearing 'em.

After havin' my knee surgery, my doctor recommended that I undergo laser treatments.  The laser was supposed to make my knee heal faster and I think it kind of worked 'cause I'm feelin' pretty good.  I wanna jump and run and play but ol' peepers won't let me do anything too strenuous.  She has no idea how bored I am.  I keep tellin' her but my complaints seem to go in one ear and right out the other.  I don't think there's anything between those two ears of hers.  Otherwise, why wouldn't she be listenin' to me?  And not just listening.  She should be doing something about it!

I do, however, have some concerns about these laser treatments.

When I first heard the word laser, I immediately thought about starships on television battling it out in some futuristic war.  I was a little worried.  The peep reassured me that the laser my doctor was gonna use was not a weapon but rather, a medical instrument made for healing.  Whew!  That was a close one.

But then I got to thinking about all those advertisements on television.  Advertisements for laser treatments.  It didn't take me long to realize that a whole whack of those laser treatments bein' advertised were for hair removal.  Hair removal?  HAIR REMOVAL!!!  Hair is like fur and my fur is not needin' to be removed!

Peep #1 said, "No, no, no...  don't worry.  You won't be having that kind of laser treatment."  That's what she said but I'm not so sure 'bout what happened. 

Have you seen my leg?  I've got a moused-up poodle cut.  It's true.  Just look at the pictures!

The peep says that the fur on my leg was shaved for my surgery but how do I know that that's true?  How do I know that my missing fur is not actually due to these laser treatments?  How do I know that my fur will grow back?  Laser hair removal is supposed to be a permanent thing.  And by permanent I'm not talking 'bout getting curls.  No, I'm talkin' about never getting my fur back.  My beautiful sterling silver tabby fur! 

This is a really big deal.  I can't go through the rest of my life with a poodle cut.  Sure, poodle cuts look fine on poodles.  They might even look great on poodles.  But I'm not a poodle.  I'm a cat!  I'm Nerissa the Cat and the poodle look is just not for me.

Then, the other day, I caught a glimpse of my back in the mirror.  What did I find?  I found more missing fur.  I have two patches of missing fur on my back.  I immediately went to the peep and demanded an explanation.

The peep says that the nurses shaved off two patches of fur on my back for my surgery.  One was for the anaesthetic while I was havin' the surgery and the other was for my pain patch that I wore after the surgery.  I do vaguely remember the pain patch business.  I vaguely remember managing to escape the cone of shame for the third time and yanking off some funny bandage thingy that was annoying me to no end.  It was in my way and pulling at my fur.  The peep says that my pain patch was under that bandage.  But after I yanked it all off, the peep threw out the pain patch so she has no physical proof that there ever was one.  And even though I vaguely remember it, I was pretty doped up on the pain meds so I'm not sure that I can trust my memory.  It could have all been a dream.

The only real evidence I have is the fact that I underwent six laser treatments and I have fur missin' on three parts of my body.  I'm connecting a lot of dots here and I'm not likin' the picture those connected dots are forming.

The peep must fancy herself to be a comedian or something 'cause when I was confronting her with my evidence, she said, "They also use laser treatments to remove wrinkles."  Wrinkles?  WRINKLES!!!  I don't have any wrinkles and even if I did, my fur would cover 'em up.  That is if I had any fur left to cover 'em!  MOUSES!

And something else happened when I was unconscious during my surgery.  They gave me a mani-pedi.  That's right...  a mani-pedi.

I never signed up to have my nails done but when I awoke, my claws had absolutely no sharp points.  Not a one.  The indignity of it all!  My peeps never clip my claws.  Never!  I can care for my claws, myself, than you very much.  But there can be no denying the fact that my claws were clipped.  They're dull as dull can be.  Well...  actually...  they were dull.  I've been sharpening 'em up.  It's a lot of work but it has to be done.  Claws are meant to be sharp and that's all there is to it.

I suppose I should just be thankful that they didn't paint 'em or something.  All I need is four pawfuls of hot pink claws.  I know I look cool wearin' the goggles and everything but a pink mani-pedi just isn't gonna enhance that look. 

It's such a dilemma.  I actually quite suit the colour pink.  It goes so well with my nose.  Pink also looks good with my fur.  Sterling silver and pink are a winning combination, you know. 

But I'm a mancat and even though mancats can wear pink I'm not sure that mancats with girls' names should wear it.  It's too confusing for the peeps, you see.  Peeps are so very easily confused.  How else does one explain that I'm a mancat with a girls' name and a poodle cut?  And all that needs some explaining, for sure.

she's doin' it all wrong!

As you may have heard, I'm still under house arrest.  Oh yeah...  sure...  the peeps call it rest and recuperation.  I call it like I see it...  HOUSE ARREST.   The peeps say I have to give my knee a chance to heal, properly.  I say, MOUSES!  I'm bored.  I'm bored as bored can get.  Bored as a floor board in an empty boardroom floor.  I WANT OUT.

Well, I guess ol' peepers was listening 'cause last week, she took me outside on a harness, twice.  Turns out, I don't particulary like bein' on a harness. 

I think the peep thought we would go for a little walk in the garden.  Check out some flowers and whatnot.  Well, she might have thought that but, let me tell you, I thought otherwise. 

There wasn't a whole lot of walkin' to be done.  At least, not on my part.  Instead of goin' for a walk, I just had a little sit in the grass while Peep #1 stood there and watched me...  sitting.  Okay, I admit it.  I did bat at a couple of bugs.  Maybe more than just a couple.  But those bugs deserved bein' batted.  I'm sure of it.  They were bugging me, you see...

After the peep watched me sit for a bit, she picked me up and carried me around the garden.  I saw some stuff.  Some stuff other than those bugs.  I saw some flowers.  There were tulips and primroses and a daffodil or two.  The daffies were fading fast but there were still a few left.  I even saw some blossoms on the peach and nectarine trees but, I am told, they are all gone now.  Good thing I caught a glimpse when I did.  That's more than I can say for the bugs.  I didn't catch any of them.  Just batted 'em.

But I also saw some other stuff and after seein' that other stuff, I have come to the conclusion that...  SHE'S DOIN' IT ALL WRONG!

Never let a peep loose in the garden, unsupervised.  It should be a law or something.

At the front of my house, I have a bed of primroses.  They're kind of pretty when they bloom in the spring.  Pretty enough for me to pose among them and whatnot.  Well, all along the edge of that bed of primroses, I have been carefully cultivating some grass.  It's just the ordinary kind of grass that one might find in a lawn but this particular grass is fresh and tender and in the perfect location for grazing.  With grass for grazing, location is everything!  You know what they say...  "location, location, location!"  Cats were sayin' that about grazing grass long before peeps ever said it about properties, you know.  It's a fact.

Location is important 'cause you want your grazing grass in a convenient spot.  I don't like to have to walk too far when I feel the need for a nibble or two.  If I have to walk all the way to the other side of the yard, I might forget what I'm aiming for by the time I get there.  Don't laugh.  It happens.  It happens a lot.  It happens to cats and peeps.  Don't believe me?  Have you never seen your peep standin' in front of the refrigerator, peerin' inside and wondering what on earth he or she was after?  Like I said...  it happens.

Accessibility of the location is also extremely important.  I chose this particular spot for my grass garden 'cause it was accessible from the driveway.  Nothin' worse than havin' to pad through dewy, wet lawn in the morning.  It can be cold and...  well... obviously, damp.  Icky.  The driveway, on the other paw, dries up quickly.  It dries up far more quickly than the lawn.  It's warm, too, when the sun shines on it.  The driveway makes for nicely heated seating while munching on ones grass.  Very nice and not icky at all.

So, like I said, I have been carefully cultivating my little plot of grass in my perfectly chosen spot.  I have been cultivating it for quite some time, now.  So you can imagine how shocked I was when the peep carried me over to the primroses and I looked down to see...  I looked down to see...  I can barely formulate the words.  I looked down to see that my grass was GONE!

Peep #1 had been let loose in the garden with the tools of evilness - namely, one garden trowel - and had been allowed to dig up my grass.  She says she was weeding.  Weeding.  Weeding?  Those weren't weeds!  That was my grass!!!

Now, I know stuff and one of the things I know is that a weed is a plant growing where it's not supposed to grow.  Well, that grass was growing exactly where it was supposed to grow.  That grass was growing in the perfect spot.  It was in the ideal location.  The ideal location which I had so carefully chosen for my little grass garden.  MOUSES!

The peep is not entirely to blame.  My sister, Mason, played a part in this catastrophe, as well.  You see...  on the day the unthinkable happened, my sister Mason was supposed to be out in the garden, supervising the peep.  My sister, Mason, was supposed to be keeping a watchful eye on her.  Makin' sure she didn't get into too much trouble out there and whatnot.  Makin' sure she didn't dig up my grass!

Now, just what was my sister, Mason, doin' when she was supposed to be supervising?  She was posing!  She was posing in the daffy down dillies in the back yard.  Posing among the daffies in the back while ol' peepers was devastating my grass garden in the front.  I have proof of this neglectful behaviour on Mason's part.  She was caught in the act.  Caught in the act of posing.  I have the pictures to prove it.  MOUSES!

when good men do nothing

A very wise man named Edmund Burke once wrote, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."  He may have written that hundreds of years ago, but it still applies today.  Wisdom transcends centuries.

There was an incident, in our neighbourhood, the other day.  An incident involving evil and good men, doin' nothin'.  A woman in the neighbourhood found a carrier containin' four kittens.  Four beautiful kittens.   Quite possibly, four of the most beautiful kittens to grace this world since the arrival of my siblings and me, ten years ago. 

Said woman, found the kittens in a carrier on the side of the road, by her house.  Had it been either one of my peeps who had found those precious babies, they would have scooped them up, right there and then, and taken them to safety 'cause...  well...  'cause that would have been the right thing to do.  But this woman didn't do that.  Instead, she left them there.  Just left them there, by the side of the road.

Said woman, refused to take the kittens inside, to safety.  She refused to pick up the carrier and take it away from the side of the road.  She didn't want to keep the kittens.  Well, that's okay.  No one was expecting her to keep them.  But, nevertheless, my peeps and I would have expected her to take them to safety.  All she had to do was pick up the carrier and bring it into her yard - where they would have been much safer than they were at the side of the road - before calling Animal Control.  Animal Control would then have taken these precious babies to the Companion Animal Protection Society where they would be cared for and loved before bein' put up for adoption.

Instead, said woman came and got my peep.  She refused to call Animal Control herself, which peep #1 found to be very odd and just a little suspicious.  She had so many excuses and not one, single, actual reason. 

When ol' peepers realized that the kittens were still at the side of the road in that carrier, she flew into action.  We had a friend visitin' and he went with the woman to go save the kittens.  He went, I think, 'cause my peep was gonna walk over.  She didn't want to get into the same car as the woman.  She didn't wanna hear any more excuses.  My peep was mad.  Mad, mad, mad...  Mad as a mad hatter.  Mad as a mad hatter squirrel wearin' a mushroom hat, made of questionable mushrooms.  Ever seen one of those?  I have.  It's pretty scary.

Now, here's the difficult part...  Edmund Burke also wrote, "Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little."

The woman did come and get my peep and, for that, I am truly grateful.  At least she did something.  Something is always better than nothing. 

But I still have a serious problem with the fact that those kittens were left in that carrier by the side of the road, unattended.  In a matter of seconds, disaster could have struck.  Disaster with disastrous consequences.  They could have been run over, either accidentally or intentionally.  They would have died right then and there.  Had that happened, that would have been that woman's fault because she could - should - have moved the carrier to a place of safety.  I know for a fact that there are four dogs livin' in our subdivision who are allowed to roam, occasionally.  What if one of those dogs had come across the kittens?  They wouldn't have been able to escape.  They could have been mauled to death.  That, too, would have been that woman's fault for she should have moved that carrier to a place of safety.  And I know that that woman COULD have moved the carrier to safety.  I know that she was perfectly capable of movin' it.  There was nothin' stoppin' her from doin' the right thing except for the fact that she didn't want to do it.  Her excuses for not doin' so were exactly that...  excuses.  I, Nerissa the Cat, know the difference between an excuse and a reason and I heard no reasons that day.

Even though doin' something is better than doin' nothin', should we not, still, always strive to do our best?  Perhaps our best is only a little and, if that is truly the case, then that little must suffice.  But we must never do just a little when we could do more.  We must never do just a little, far less than our best, and think that that's good enough.  Think that that somehow makes us better people 'cause...  it just doesn't.  The world demands more from us.  And when those demands are made, it's our time to shine.  It's our time to shine and do the world proud.  We shouldn't just slack off and think, well...  I did something.  That little something may not have been enough.

And what if that woman had not found my peep that day?  Would she have left the kittens there to die?  She was adamant that she would not move the carrier to safety.  Adamant that she would not call Animal Control.  I shudder at the thought of what would have happened had my peep not been home that afternoon.

Thankfully, there are truly good peeps in this world.  Good peeps who always do their best 'cause they know that doin' their best is what is always best to do. 

The kittens are now safe.  They're in the care of the good peeps at the Companion Animal Protection Society...  otherwise known as CAPS.  There, they are bein' loved and well-cared for and will soon, along with fourteen other kittens thrown away this spring, be put up for adoption.  CAPS also has plenty of adult cats, lookin' for good forever homes.  I urge all my readers to take a peek at the CAPS' website.  Just click on the word CAPS and you'll be teleported over in a jiffy.  And, if you live in Nova Scotia and happen to be needin' another furry friend, you just might find yourself a real cutie over there.  Bet you will...  Yup, I just bet you will...  'cause matching up cute furry friends with peeps and other cats is what CAPS does best.  purrs

peepers be jeepers!

There can be no doubt about it...  spring has sprung.  Yup, it sprung all right.  Sprung right out of the sky and covered the ground with daffodils and whatnot.

Normally, I would be overjoyed at the sight of all those beautiful daffodils bloomin' but this year is a little different.  This year, as you may have heard, I've been confined to quarters due to the recent surgery on one of my hind ones.  One of my hind quarters, that is.  Well...  actually...  it was just my knee. 

I'm on strict bed rest, you see.  Well, not really bed rest.  It's more like crate and couch rest.  Haven't jumped up on an actual bed since my surgery.  I miss jumpin' up on beds.  Beds are comfy and they're cosy and make pretty much the perfect spot for nappin'.  I sure would love to snuggle into some blankets on a bed right about now.  Guess that won't be happenin' for a few more weeks.  MOUSES!

Due to my involuntary confinement, I have unable to do my daily inspections of the daffies.  Not a single one!  I haven't been able to pose among them, for picture taking, either.  I just know how disappointed everyone must be about this and I sure am sorry 'bout that.  If it's any consolation, I'm pretty disappointed, too.  I would have looked so handsome posin' among those daffy-down-dillies.  The bright yellows and white complement the sterling silver tabbiness of my coat, so very well.

I sent the first peep out to take some pictures and she did an okay job of it, I think.  I have also been sendin' my brothers and sisters out to do some inspections and maybe a little posin'.  Seems to me though, they're more interested in the posin' part than the inspectin' part.  I just hope someone is actually inspectin' stuff, making sure my daffies are okay and that nothin' is botherin' them. Nothin' like mice or voles or any other little critters that might damage my pretty little flowers.  I also hope that those whom I send out to make sure nothin' is botherin' my daffies, aren't bothering my daffies...  if you know what I mean.  It's very important that when you pose among the daffies, you don't sit on 'em or anything.  Especially if you weigh twenty pounds or somethin' like that.  Like my brother Rushton does.  Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration.  He probably only weighs nineteen.

Not only have I been missin' the blooming of the daffodils but I've also been missin' the nightly nightlife.  You should hear the parties goin' on around here.  The last couple of weeks have been pretty mild and the peepers are out in full force.  There must be thousands of 'em.  Maybe even millions!  Who knows for sure?  I don't think there's any kind of peeper registration or anything like that.  But if there was, the line to sign-up would be a mighty long line.  Longer than the audition lines for American Idol!  Can you imagine how tired those judges would be if they had to audition all the peepers?

Now, you might be thinkin' that I'm talkin' about my peep #1 whom I often refer to as the ol' Peepers.  Nope, not this time.  This time, I'm referring to the little froggy frews who peep and cheep and generally make a noisy ruckus every spring...  peepers.

Well, the peepers have been out there doing their stuff.  They've been singin' and singin' and singing.  They've been singing their little hearts out.  Gosh...  they sing so loudly, they can even out-caterwaul my peep!  Hard to believe but it's true.  The biggest difference between the peep and the peepers is that the noise the peepers make is quite pleasant.  Loud, yes, but pleasant, nevertheless.  The peep has been leavin' a window open for me at night so I've been able to hear the peeper chorus quite well.  It truly is a beautiful sound.

I swear those peepers are out there callin' my name.  Most of the time, they sound kind of like sleigh bells or something, sort of off in the distance.  I half expect for Santa to arrive, hearin' all those sleigh bells, but know that that's not possible.  Santa never arrives in daffodil season.  Well, at least not in Nova Scotia. 

Every now and then, the general peeper chorus is interrupted by a loud soloist peeper.  This soloist sings out, "Nerissa...  Nerissa...  Nissy..."  It's true!  I heard one callin' my name last night and the night before that, too.  Bet one will call me tonight, as well.  The soloist peepers sound so close.  It's like they're right outside my window.  Right outside there, waitin' for me to answer them.  I feel so terrible, not bein' able to visit them or anything.  I hope they'll forgive me.  I think they will but one can be too sure about these things.  I've heard that peepers can be fickle.  Don't know if that's true or just a rumour but that's what I heard.

In the summer, a few of those peepers usually come visit me in my garden.  Well, I don't know if they're the very same peepers or not.  I've never actually asked them.  But we always have a few froggy frews hoppin' about in the summers.  They like the hostas a lot, I think.  Must be yummy bugs in there or somethin'. 

I wish I had a little pond for those visitin' peepers.  I think they'd like that.  I think they'd like that a lot.  I should mention it to the ol' Peepers.  You know...  my peep.  My peep #1.  And I should mention it while I'm still under house arrest.  Might manage a sympathy pond, or something like that.  Hmmm...  I wonder what a sympathy pond looks like.  Does it look any different from a regular pond?  Does anyone know?  Somethin' to ponder for sure.  Hmmm...

Tobias was a mama

HAPPY MAMA'S DAY !!! 

That's right...  here in Canada, and many other parts of the world, today is Mama's Day.  Today is the day we set aside to celebrate all the mamas, mothers, muzzers and mummies out there.  It's a great day, for sure.

Last year, on Mama's Day, I wrote all 'bout my very own mama in a post entitled, "mama's day".  My mama's name was Madison and she was just about the best mama on earth.  Now, she's just about the best mama in Heaven.  I know that she looks down upon me, from up there, and keeps watch over me, day and night.  That's the kind of mama my Mama Madison was.

My peeps are very much into the philosophy of havin' all us cats altered so that we can't ever become mamas or dads.  My peeps love kittens as much as the next person - maybe even more - but they love cats, too.  Peep #2 says that kittens are cute - obviously - but so are cats.  Peep #1 says that too many of the kittens born today will end up at kill shelters in the not so distant future so, there will be no kittens for any of us kitties.  We will forever be the kittens in our peeps' eyes.

Sometimes, however, plans work out differently than planned.

Many years ago now, my sister Tobias came to live with us.  She had been livin' outside for three years before the peeps convinced her to come inside.  Toby was a truly feral kitty.  Terrified of all peeps...  even mine.  For the first year, she wouldn't even let the peeps see her.  They just caught glimpses now and then.  Eventually, she allowed them to see her and then even hear her.  Then, one bitterly cold night, Tobias came inside.  She lived in the basement for the next few months.  Not because the peeps kept her down there like a prisoner or anything but rather, 'cause she was still too scared to let 'em touch her.

Now for the three years Toby had been outside, the peeps thought she was a little boy...  thus, the name.  They soon learnt otherwise.  Tobias went into heat!  What to do?  What to do???  The peeps couldn't catch her to take her to the hospital to be spayed.  She wouldn't let 'em near her. 

Plus, my older brother Calista, who was just about as feral as feral can be, had never been neutered.  Peeps couldn't catch him if their lives depended upon it.  He had started coming into the house and they were seeing the day in the distant future when they might be able to pick him up and take him to the hospital but that day had not yet come.  So they formulated a plan...  a plan to keep Calista away from Tobias.  The two must never meet.

Like I said, sometimes plans don't work out like planned. 

One day, one of the peeps thought Calista was outside when he was actually in and opened the door to the basement.  That's all it took.  Toby was preggers!  MOUSES!!!

Oddly enough, that pregnancy sort of saved Tobias' life.  The peeps had been gettin' more and more worried 'bout Toby accidentally gettin' out of the house.  She was ready to make an escape, first chance she got.  I know, 'cause she told me.  No one could touch her, never mind catch her.  If she spotted either peep approaching her, she'd dart away like a kitty Flash.  But almost the very day after Toby met up with Calista, something changed.  All of a sudden, Peep #1 was allowed to touch her and even pick her up.  Peep says it must have been hormones, or somethin' like that.

At the end of May that year, Tobias gave birth to little Aristotle.  I say little 'cause he was a baby but...  peeps say Ari was the biggest newborn kitten they had ever seen!  Almost the size of peep #1's hand, she says.  The peep should know, too, 'cause she was there as the actin' midwife or something.  I know all 'bout this midwifery business now 'cause I watch Call the Midwife with the peeps every Sunday on PBS. 

My sister was an amazin' little mama.  I wasn't allowed downstairs with her and Aristotle but the peep says Toby was wonderful.  She loved up her baby like no mama had ever loved a baby before.  The peeps now believe she must have been preggers many times while livin' outside but all her babies died, shortly after birth.  Ari might have been the very first baby she ever had the chance to love up properly.

Ari grew and grew and the peeps adored him to no end.  Peep #1 says he would get up and toddle towards the sound of her voice.  She says he was a really special kitty.  So bright and lovable and cute and...  well...  you know...  all the wonderful things we kitties can be.

Unfortunately, when Aristotle was exactly four weeks old, the unthinkable happened.  He was just fine early that morning but a few hours later, he couldn't even hold up his head.  The peeps rushed him to the hospital but there was nothin' the doctors could do.  There was fluid around his heart.  They said it might have been some sort of congenital thing.  Ari went to live up in Heaven that very same day.  The peeps came home crying.  Tobias was crying, too.

But for four short weeks, Toby had been allowed the chance to be a mama.  To have her baby with her and love him up as only a mama can.  She can't have any other babies now but still has the memories of her beloved Aristotle.

I suspect that Ari is up in Heaven now with my mama.  I know that my mama will be takin' excellent care of him, there.  After all, my Mama Madison is his grandmother.  Remember?  Calista, Ari's dad, was my older brother.  Today, of all days, Ari will be up in Heaven with Madison and Calista.  I bet they're all chasin' butterflies through sun drenched fields of nip with soft breezes caressing their fur.  And every now and then, Ari will look down upon his mama, Tobias, and my Mama Madison will look down upon me, her son, and they'll see us lookin' right back up at 'em...   sending our love and best wishes for Mama's Day.