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.

the great fancy feast grilled chicken pizza caper

The following is a true story.  At least, it's as true as I can remember... what with my bein' doped up on pain meds following my surgery and all. 

It was a week ago today when I had my knee surgery.  Remember 'bout that?  I had to have bionic ligaments implanted in my right knee 'cause I tore all of my originals doing a terribly courageous act, like saving the world or somethin', I am sure.

I slept most of that first night.  I dreamt of food.  I was hungry, you see.  Hadn't been allowed to eat the night before.  I missed breakfast and lunch.  By the time my surgery was over, even though I was sleeping, my tummy was doin' the Rumba with a pawful of growls thrown in for good measure.  That's right...  the Rumba.  I was swayin' my hips but goin' easy on the knees 'cause of my right one bein' broken and only newly repaired.  I can still hear the music in my head.  One, two, three, four, five, six...  One, two, three, four, five, six...  Ooch...  Ouch...  One, two, three, four, five, six...  You know the drill.

Still feelin' a little groggy the next morning, I decided to go on a hunger strike.  That was a bad decision 'cause I was already hungry.  Note to self...  always have a good meal before startin' a hunger strike.  Nevertheless, I told my doctor - in no uncertain terms - that I wanted to go home and I wouldn't eat until I saw my peeps.  The doctor just gave me a hug and a kiss, told me I was doin' well, and left me alone...  peepless.  MOUSES!

I looked at the plate of food sittin' next to my hospital bed.  It smelled kind of good but there was no way I was gonna give in.  I had made my demands and I was stickin' to 'em.  My tummy thought otherwise.  Next thing I knew, my tummy started doin' the Salsa.  Unfortunately for me, I don't like Salsa.  It has onions, you see.  Cats don't like onions.

I was strong willed.  I held out all day long and never ate a bite.  Day one of my hunger strike was over but I didn't know if I could make it through another night of my ballroom dancin' tummy.

I looked out the window of my hospital room and saw the pizza place next door.  If I meowed at the top of my lungs, would they me?  Probably not.  So near and yet so far.  An inkling of a plan started to form in my mind.  I knew what I needed to do and decided that I was gonna do it!

In the time it takes a mouse to snatch a chunk of cheese...  Cheese...  Mmmm...  Must get back on track... 

In the time it takes a mouse to snatch a chunk of cheese, I had my laptop out and turned on.  I immediately pressed this, then that, then clicked a few more keys.  I had to work speedily and yet, quietly, 'cause there were nurses and whatnot wandering throughout the halls.  I knew that if any of them discovered me up and typing, I'd be in trouble for sure.

And it wasn't just the nurses I was tryin' to evade.  What if a dance instructor happened upon my hackin' into the system?  What if the dance instructor was there to teach my tummy new steps?  That dance instructor would put a stop to my pizza orderin' days, for sure, even though I had already decided that my tummy was not gonna be doin' the Rumba or the Salsa or anything else other than digesting my pizza. 

I typed in the password to the hospital's wireless and started hacking.  That's right...   I hacked into their system!  Once there, I did a little search for pizza places and easily found the one next door.  I placed my order.

"One extra-large Fancy Feast Grilled Chicken pizza, please.  NO ONIONS!"  My order had been placed.  Hmmm...  delivery or pick-up?  Had to go with delivery, for obvious reasons.  Delivery address...  "Next door.  "Pass it through the window with the paw wavin' at you through the bars."  Of course I had to pay for my pizza but that part was easy.  I was already in the hospital's system.  Easy enough to add the pizza to the list of charges on my bill.  Peeps would never notice.  They would just be happy to have me home.  And if they did notice, what were they gonna do about it?  By the time they got the bill, the pizza would already be in my tummy.  And believe-you-me, I needed a little somethin' for my tummy right about then.  No more dancin' for this kitty.

I heard the people in the hallway say their goodbyes to one another and saw the lights turnin' off.  I continued to work by the glow of my computer screen.  Tweeted a few short tweets and said hello to some pals on Facebook.

It was around then that I heard a door open and shut outside.  My dinner was on its way.  Yoo-hoo!  YOO-HOO!  I hobbled over to the window, propped it up and extended a paw through the bars.  "Over here," I hissed.

The nice man gingerly passed the pizza box through the bars.  It was like he had never delivered a pizza to a hospital inmate before or something.  MOUSES!  I snatched the box and tossed it onto my bed.  "Thanks, pal," I meowed and in one bionic leap, jumped onto the bed.  The landing kind of hurt but I was in a desperate state.  Desperate for something to eat.  I had the box open in a flash and devoured my pizza.  The best part was the Fancy Feast Grilled Chicken, of course, but I was hungrier than a hungry hippo so I even ate the crust.  It was delicious.

I fell asleep right there and then.  Never moved a whisker all night long.  No more dance steps goin' on in this kitty's tummy.  This kitty's tummy was happy as a clam.  Clams...  Mmmm...  Must stay on track.

Anywho...  I was rudely awakened the next morning by the arrival of the hospital staff.  I looked down on my bed and saw the empty pizza box lying there.  Oh-oh...  The door to my room opened and my doctor peered in.  I grabbed that pizza box and flung it past her head.  Not to hit or, mind you.  Just to get rid of the evidence. 

My doctor looked at the pizza box lying on the floor next to her feet.  "What's this?" she asked. 

"I don't know," I answered as innocently as only a cat can.  "Must have been left there last night by some hungry dog, or something.  Dogs are quite partial to pizza, you know."

My doctor pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.  You know something?  I kind of think that maybe she didn't believe me.  Weird, huh?  I mean...  I'm a cat and we cats are always believable, right?  Of course we are.  But just in case, I made a mental note to hack back into the hospital's database and change the billing of the pizza to some dog's account.  That would take care of things, for sure.  I would bill the pizza to a patient named Rover or Barkley or Lassie or anything doggie like that.  And that's just what I did.

the cone of shame

Yup.  I've got one.  I've got a cone of shame and I'm wearing it.  MOUSES!   And to add insult to injury, do you see those paw prints on my cone of shame?  They're pink!  That's right...  pink!!!  Gosh, this explains a lot.  If the doctors and nurses at my hospital don't know I'm a boy, after attending years and years of medical school and all, it's no wonder ol' peepers here got it wrong and gave me - a handsome MANcat - a girls' name!

I'm not overly fond of the cone of shame.  In fact, on the first day home, I managed to get it off, twice.  Then, early the next morning, I did it again!  No one knows how I'm doin' this and I'm not talking.  I need to keep my options open.

The cone gets in my way, you see.  I can't wash up properly with it on.  Even the peep made a bit of a derogatory comment 'bout my face lookin' a little dirty, yesterday.  Excuse me, but...  how is a cat supposed to wash his face while wearin' the cone of shame?  It's pretty much impossible.  Believe me, I've tried so I should know.  Ol' peepers suggested that maybe she'd have to wash my face for me.  Once wash cloths - wet wash cloths - were mentioned, I knew I had to remove that cone and fast.  So I did.  Had to be done.  'Nough said.

The cone gets in my way when I'm walkin', too.  It's always bangin' into stuff.  Table legs, chair legs, my crate, you name it.  Anything in my way, gets banged into with the cone.  Well...  the cone doesn't bang into peeps' legs too much.  The peeps' legs seem to have enough sense to get out of the way of the cone.  Furniture legs, apparently, don't have that much sense. 

I guess the fact that I'm still a little loopy doesn't help, either.  I've got a patch, you see.  Well, I had a patch.  More on that in a moment.  Anywho...  I came home wearin' a patch.  No...  it wasn't a patch to quite smoking.  Cats don't smoke!  This was a narcotic patch to keep some of the pain away.  My knee surgery was a super duper big one so I needed some pain meds so that it wouldn't hurt too much.

Actually, it was 'cause of that patch that I had to wear the cone.  The doctor said that under no circumstances was I allowed to chew on the patch.  Doin' so could cause a fatal overdose or somethin'.  I had to be really, really careful around the patch.

Well, yesterday morning, ol' peepers took me out of my crate for a bit and then put me back in.  She came back into the livin' room - which is where I have been convalescing - and found me coneless.  Yup, I had removed my cone for a third time.  I had also removed the bandage holdin' on my pain patch.  I hadn't chewed it or anything though.  The peep removed my patch so that I couldn't hurt myself with it and called the doctor.  The doctor on call said it would be okay for me to be done with the patch now as long I was still getting my liquid pain meds so, I'm very happy to say, I am now patch free.  But still a bit loopy, I'm afraid.

Still got that darned cone, too.  I have to keep on wearin' it to make sure I won't chew on my knee.  But the peep is a good peep.  She has been spendin' lots of time with me in the livin' room and when she's there, I can come out of the crate and lie next to her on the couch and she removes the cone.  I can't chew on my knee if she's right there, watching me, so it's safe.  In fact, I'm coneless right now.  Have been for an hour or so.  Even managed to wash my face this morning so I'm lookin' all spiffy and handsome.  Life is good.

I mentioned the crate.  It's not too bad.  Have to spend all my unattended time in there which is annoying but I've got my own private litter box.  Kind of like an en-suite, I suppose.  And when a peep is with me, I'm spendin' my time up on the couch.  I've got a nice little throw to lie upon.  Unfortunately, somebody threw the throw on the wrong way and it's inside out or somethin'.  And when I say somebody, I really mean one of the peeps.  Just not quite sure which one is was.

None of the other cats are allowed in the livin' room when I'm in the cage but when I'm out of it, my brother Seville has been visitin' a lot.  He's here, right now.  Yup.  I'm on the couch with peep #1 and Seville is lying on the floor next to us.  When he walked past, I went to catch his tail!  Did that twice.  Not sure what Seville thought 'bout that but the peep was pleased.  She says that I must be feelin' a little bit better to be chasin' other cats' tails.  Unfortunately, Seville is now lying down with his tail tucked safely underneath him.  Maybe I'll be able to catch it later.  A cat can always hope.

I just want to add that I truly appreciate how so many of you came to visit me on my blog in the last few days.  I want you all to know that I will be catching up with my visits very soon.  It's just takin' a little time for me to get back to bloggin' normality and all.  Lots of naps are required while recovering from major surgery and, it seems, it's hard to blog and nap at the same time.  I can do lots of things in my sleep but it turns out that blogging isn't one of them.  Gotta be wide awake for important stuff like blogging.  But I'll see you all very soon, I promise.  Right now though, I think I'm gonna stretch out here, next to the peep, and rest my eyes for a little bit. 

I'm starving!

Well, the day has arrived.  Here I am, sittin' in my hospital bed, waitin' for my doctor to come and operate on my knee.  She's in the building, I understand.  She's supposed to be somewhere around here.  Probably operating on some other kitty right now. 

My surgery isn't scheduled for another hour, I think.  Any moment now, a nurse is gonna come in and shave my knee.  Hopefully she won't be shavin' any other parts of me but just in case, I gave myself a really good bath, this morning.  I washed from the tip of my tail to the tips of my ears and everything in between.

Luckily for me, they allowed the peep to leave me my laptop.  They weren't gonna but ol' peepers explained that I needed it in order to keep in touch with my pals.  I explained it to them, too.  "I need my pals!" is what I said and I said it just like that.  Next thing I knew, I was bein' given the password so that I could log on with their wireless.  SWEET!

While I'm in the system, I might just see if I can create an electronic record of my doctor recommending my bein' served the Fancy Feast and those yummy Whiskas pouches, more often.  After I post my blog, I'm gonna see if I can figure out how to do that.  Bet I can.  Just gotta think about it for a bit.  And if I don't get it done this morning, I'll work on that after my operation.  I'll have plenty of time 'cause I don't think I'm gonna be goin' home until tomorrow, or something like that.

And speakin' of the Fancy Feast and the pouches...  I'm starving!  Yeah, I'm starvin' to death over here.  Literally!!!  I missed breakfast.  Gonna miss lunch, too.  Anybody headin' over to the burger place down the street or the chicken one at the corner?  I sure could do with a little somethin' for my tummy.  The peeps gave me my supper yesterday and then a snack later on but at nine o'clock all the food dishes were removed from the kitchen.  There was only water left.  A strappin' mancat such as myself can't survive on water alone.  Even prisoners get bread!  Not that I'd want bread but my point is that they get something.  Anything.  Actually, at this point, I'd even take the bread.  Did I mention that I was starving?

Hey, wait a minute....  I'm on-line right now.  Hehehe...  All I've gotta do is order something.  Hmmm... there's a pizza joint next door.  Wonder if I can find them on the Internet...

Anywho...  if you haven't heard by now, I had a little accident last Friday night.  Came in with a sore leg.  First thing Saturday morning, as soon as the clinic opened, peep #1 called and made me an appointment.  Dr. Teresa took some funny lookin' pictures of me.  They say that a picture says a thousand words.  Well, the two pictures she took of me said that I had torn all the ligaments in my right knee.  I think that means that there's nothin' holdin' my leg together.  That can't be good, you know.  MOUSES! 

My doctor is gonna put some artificial ligaments in my knee to replace the ones I broke.  Hope they're of a better quality than the ones I had 'cause, as you might have heard, I tore those ones to bits.  Or was it shreds?  Either way, they're pretty much useless now so I need some new ones.

I heard the peeps say that I've got the best surgeon in the hospital.  Hope they're right about that.  I think they are.  My peeps wouldn't let a doctor who wasn't good operate on me.  I'm positive 'bout that.  They love me way too much to let anyone but the best near me!

And speakin' of bein' loved...  I've got some of the best pals in the whole wide world and they love me, too.  Just look at all the gorgeous cards I've received.  The top one was made by Maggy, Zoe and Ann.  You might know them as the Zoolatry Girls.  They posted this beautiful card of me on the Tabby Cat Club blog so that everyone would send me purrs and prayers today.

My BFF, Herman from It's a Wonderpurr Life, sent me the card showin' me workin' away on my laptop, publishing my blog and whatnot.  Yup, Herman knows you can't keep a bloggin' investigative reporter such as myself down.  Sore knees or not, I'm gonna get my blog to the presses!  The electronic presses, that is.

Last night, I recieved this stunning card from the lovely, and pretty stunning herself, Savannah or Savannah's Paw Tracks.  I just love how she shows me in her card how much she loves me.  Looks like she loves me lots!  Makes even a mancat like myself go a little pink in the ears.  Yes, it's true...  real mancats do blush.

My pal Cody from CAT CHAT sent me an e-card but I couldn't figure out how to post it here on my blog.  Apparently, tech support at the hospital is just as shoddy as what I've got at home.  Someone should write a book called "Blogging for Cats" or somethin' like that.  Hey, I'm a writer!  Maybe I should write that book.  I would, of course, have to bring in a technical expert.  Somebody who knows the techy side of the blogosphere.  Hmmm...

But all is not lost.  If you head on over to Facebook, I've pinned the card from Cody to the top of my fan page, Nerissa's Life.  It's a really neat card.  Musical and everything.

Oh-oh...  here they come.  I see a nurse out in the hallway.

You know...  on second thought...  maybe I'll just skip this surgery thing.  Maybe I don't need it after all.  Maybe I've changed my mind.  I think I might just break out of this here popsicle stand.  I could teleport out, I think.  Peepers!  Prepare the teleportation device!  Peepers!  PEEPERS!!  PEEPERS!!!   Anytime 'bout now would be good.  Beam me up and out of here.  Oh...  MOUSES!

bling-a-bling-bling...

Yoo-hoo!  YOO-HOO!!!  I got some more awards.  A couple of them were repeats for me but that's okay 'cause I might have mentioned how I love the bling.  I do.  I really, really do.

Two very good friends gave me the Liebster Award.  Although I had already received and passed it along, both Bumpy from Mr. Bumpy Cat and Selina from over at One Eye on the Future had some really neat questions to answer that were different from the ones I answered before.  So...  I just thought...  I'd take this opportunity to thank Bumpy and Selina very, very much and to go ahead and answer their questions just for fun.  Thank you Bumpy!  Thank you Selina!  Thank you very much!!

Bumpy asked me the following eleven questions....

  1.  Why do you blog?
       'Cause I've got stuff to say!  Ummm...  I mean, write.
  2.  If you could be a spokescat for any product, company or cause, what would it be?
       NO-kill shelters and TNR programs.
  3.  Why?
       'Cause I was a feral kitty myself.  Had I been livin' in the wrong place or taken to one of those
        horrid high-kill shelters, odds are I wouldn't be alive today.
  4.  What's your human's most annoying habit?
       Her caterwauling.  Worst part is when she practices at homes and it hurts my ears.
  5.  What would your human say is your most annoying habit?
       She would say the truth...   that I don't have any.
  6.  If you could be a human for a day, what would you do?
       Sell the piano so that peep #1 couldn't practice her caterwauling which, I might have mentioned,
       hurts my sensitive ears.
  7.  What one thing do you wish someone would invent?
       Hmmm...  well, I do a little inventin' myself, now and then.  Sure could do with a couple of
       opposeable thumbs for cats though.
  8.  What's your favourite toy?
       I love the nip so anything filled with it is at the top of my list.  I must say, however, that my
       friend Spitty sent me a feather wand toy, which I had never had before.  I LOVE IT!  Doesn't
       have the nip but, nevertheless, it's an amazin' toy!
  9.  What's your favourite place to nap?
       In a sun puddle.
10.  If it were up to you, what would be the penalty for the crime of being a flea?
       I suppose fleas can't really help that they're born fleas. 
       But I do think they should all be sent away and forced
       to join a circus or somethin'.
11.  If you were to have a pawty, what would the cake be
       made of?
       Nip!  Did I mention how I love the stuff?


The next batch of questions are from Selina.  Again, very good questions that simply must be answered.

  1.  What is your favourite treat?
       Green Treat Temptations.
  2.  Favourite toy?
       Nip filled mice, snakes, fish, birds...  As long as there's nip, I'm a happy kitty.
  3.  Favourite place to sleep?
       In a sun puddle.
  4.  Favourite television show to watch with your humans?
       I always watch The Big Bang Theory with the peeps but we usually watch Masterpiece Theatre
       together, too.
  5.  What was your naughtiest naughty?
       Me?  Naughty???  Never!
  6.  How did you meet your humans?
       When I was a few weeks old, my mama carried me over to their veranda by the scruff of my
       neck.  The veranda is now mine!
  7.  What do you like most about being a cat?
       Everything!  We cats are the best.
  8.  What shelter or rescues do you give paws up to.
       Well, the peeps try to help out with the Valley WAAG Animal Shelter.  That one is local.  Then
       there are all those rescues who pull cats from the NYC ACC kill lists every day.  I give them my
       full support by helpin' to get the word out, every night.
  9.  What is your favourite cat holiday?
       Santa always brings a lot of toys with nip so I think I've gotta go with Christmas.
10.  What is the one thing you do that makes your humans smile the most?
       Peep #1 says that just lookin' at me makes her heart smile.  Don't know what I do for that to
       happen.  Just be me, I suppose.


Next thing I knew, by good pal Speedy who writes Speedy the Cheeky House Bunny gave me the Versatile Blogger Award.  Again, I had already received it but I still wanted to thank Speedy very much for thinkin' of me.  Thank you Speedy!  Then I figured, why not tell the world seven more things about myself?  But I'm gonna add a twist.  Here goes...

  1.  I like climbin' trees.
  2.  Normally, I'm a very good tree climber.
  3.  Friday night, I came home with a sore paw.
  4.  Saturday morning, I had x-rays at the hospital.
  5.  Apparently, I've torn all the ligaments in my right knee and
       there's nothing holding my leg together!
  6.  Wednesday, I'm goin' into hospital for knee surgery.
  7.  Currently, I'm on pretty strong pain meds and must take it easy.

How's that for a twist, huh?


But I'm not done.  Just the other day, Angel from angelswhisper2011 gave me this beautiful Best Moment Award.  I've never received this one before so I think that means that I've gotta follow the rules... pain meds or not.

RULES FOR BEST MOMENT AWARD:
 

Winners re-post this completely with their acceptance speech.
This could be written or video recorded.
Winners have the privilege of awarding the next awardees!
The re-post should include a NEW set of people/blogs worthy of the award;
and winners notify them the great news.

RESOURCES:

What makes a good acceptance speech?
-Gratitude. Thank the people who helped you along the way
-Humor. Keep us entertained and smiling
-Inspiration. Make your story touch our lives
Get an idea from the great acceptance speeches, compiled in MomentMatters.com/Speech
Display the award’s badge on your blog/website, downloadable in MomentMatters.com/Award

The rules say that I'm supposed to write an acceptance speech.  Never done that before but here goes...

I'd like to thank the academy...  Oops.  I'd like to thank Angel and Speedy and Selina and Bumpy for all the beautiful, gorgeous and amazing awards they have bestowed upon me.  I'd like to thank them all, from the bottom of my heart.  And the top and middle parts of my heart, too.  Oh, and I mustn't forget those left and right ventri thingies...  whatever they are.

Although I am a true lover of the bling, there is something even better than bling, you know.  That would be friends.  My friends of the blogosphere are the best friends there can be.  I appreciate so much that they find Nerissa's Life worthy of bein' read.  I'm so happy that they visit me here on my blog and even happier that they come back!  To...  FRIENDS!

Now, I'm gonna pass along the Best Moment Award to a few more friends....

- Bumpy at Mr. Bumpy Cat
- Selina at One Eye on the Future
- Speedy at Speedy the Cheeky House Bunny
- Herman at It's a Wonderpurr Life
- Simba at Simba's Antics
- Spitty at Spitty Speaks
- Sammy at onespoiledcat
- Savannah at Savannah's Paw Tracks
- Nellie at Cat from Hell
- Katie at Katie Isabella
- Texas at Texas, a Cat in New York
- Mario at Mario's Meowsings


Well, that's it for today, I'm afraid.  I think I've gotta go find myself a sun puddle or something and have a little nap.  Those pain thingies sure do make you sleepy.  Might even nab a snack on the way to the sun puddle.  I could really do with a little something in my tummy, right about now.  Oh peepers...

an apple a day...

My sister, Tobias, has a new hobby.

Well...  her hobby isn't brand spankin' new.  She discovered it about a month ago.  I think the peeps think she has been doin' it for even longer than that but that's probably just 'cause they're findin' it to be a little bit annoying.  Just a tad.  Just a wee bit.  Just a whisker's width.

Toby has discovered that it's fun to knock stuff off tables.  She hops right up onto the coffee table, in the family room, and spots something worth knocking.  She eyes it first, givin' it the once over.  Then, ever-so-gently, a paw extends.  A gentle tap followed by another and then another until - you guessed it - whatever it was that was on the table is now off the table.  Peering over the table's edge, she watches her prey fall to the ground.

Pens, papers, magazines...  all of these objects have fallen victim to Toby's new hobby.  She even managed to get her paws on some hand cream a couple of times.  The peeps no longer leave anything sharp like scissors on that table.  Too dangerous if they should fall on one of us cats or a peep's toe, you see.  Nothin' breakable, either.  Toby's not ready for breakables.  I'm sure you can understand why. 

Now, this may be Toby's new hobby but I, myself, have been doin' stuff like this for years.  I don't limit myself to coffee tables, however.  No, I have taken the art form to new heights.  Specifically, the height of the kitchen counters.  They're twice the height of the coffee table, for sure.  Also, unlike the coffee table, counters hold the deliciously delightful things I call breakables.  Breakables add a whole new feature to the game, you know.  And, of course, breakables...  non-breakables...  doesn't matter...  they all fall to the floor.  Yup.  It's true.  Gravity acts on 'em all.

I once read about this guy named Sir Isaac Newton.  It is said that he was sittin' under an apple tree, minding his own business, when an apple fell on his head causin' him to discover this thing we call gravity.  That's right.  Supposedly, he gets bonked on the head and that bonkin' causes him to understand all about somethin' called the gravitational constant.  Then he starts writing down a whole whack of letters, creating formulae and whatnot, to represent apples fallin' from trees.  Apparently, the apples in question needed instructions to fall, or somethin' like that.  No one really knows for sure.  It was a long time ago.

But I'm not sure that I believe this whole apple business.  I mean, if I was sittin' under an apple tree and that tree bonked me on the head with one of its apples, I'd be a little annoyed with said apple tree.  Wouldn't you?  And, what if that apple was a big and heavy ol' apple.  Bein' bonked with something like that could really hurt a cat's head.  A cat might even be knocked unconscious by something like that.  On the other paw, I do do some of my best work in an unconscious state.   A state which I call napping.  But seriously, an apple a day is supposed to keep the doctor away.  Bein' bonked on the head with one of 'em is far more likely to get you a trip to the vet.

We have a few apple trees, in my garden, although most of them are grumpy.  Or are they crabby?  Doesn't really matter.  My point is, I don't see many apples fallin' from 'em.  I'm far more likely to see acorns fall from the oaks.  Oak trees drop their acorns a lot.  Can't seem to hold onto 'em.  Sometimes they drop 'em on their own, sometimes with the help of those pesky squirrels.  Either way, a cat has gotta watch his head when it's acorn season.

I suppose that this Newton fellow would say that this gravity stuff applies to acorns in the same manner as it applies to apples.  And he would be right about that.  Actually, I think he should have started with acorns in the first place.  I find the idea of bein' bonked on the head with an acorn far more believable than bein' apple bonked.  Those acorns are tricksters for sure.  Little breeze picks up and you've got a whole acorn shower on your paws.  Yup...  rainin' acorns.

You know, I've never actually knocked an acorn or an apple off the kitchen counter.  To be honest, I've never even seen an acorn on the counter.  Apples though...  uh huh...  uh huh...  Actually, I think there might be some apples on the kitchen counter right now.  I might have spotted some apples up there this morning.  Hmmm....  I wonder if a little experimentation is in order...  Be right back.

d is for doxacatgrapher

D is for doxacatgrapher.  Did you know that?  No?  Don't worry, neither did I.  I had no idea what a doxacatgrapher was until today.  'Cause it was just today when I invented the word.

And do you know what else?  It turns out that I am one.  Yup.  It's true.  I am a doxacatgrapher. 

Doxa means opinion and grapher has stuff to do with writing and whatnot, I think.  There already was a term, doxographer.  My pals from Oxford say that a doxographer is a writer.  But not just any ol' writer.  Doxographers went about collecting and recording opinions.  Specifically, those opinions of the philosophers of ancient Greece. 

Well, I don't know 'bout you but I don't know a whole lot of ancient Greek philosophers.  Sure, I might have heard about them or even read about them but I don't know them.  As a matter of fact, I don't think I know a single one.  I am workin' on building a time machine and if I can ever figure out how to hook the doohickey up to the thingamajig that sits next to that whatchamacallit, I might just be able to meet a couple of them but until then, I'm fresh out of ancient philosophers.

This is exactly why my new word, doxacatgrapher, will be so useful in the twenty-first century.  It's a modern word for modern times.  You see, a doxacatgrapher doesn't collect the opinions of philosophers from the times of long, long ago.  A doxacatgrapher doesn't need a time machine in order to do his or her work.  All a doxacatgrapher needs is a computer.  Well, that and an Internet connection.

This is because doxacatgraphers are, in fact, cat bloggers.  A doxacatgrapher is a blogger who collects and records the opinions of cats.  Usually, cats who philosophise. 

And doxacatgraphers do not need to be cats, themselves.  They could be peeps or dogs or even bunnies.  I know a lot of doxacatgraphers and I will admit that while most of them are cats, a good number of them are of other species. 

Of course, a cat blogger such as myself does have an advantage when it comes to doxacatgraphing.  You see, I myself have been known to philosophise a little and...  I'm a cat.  Therefore, my personal philosophies are, in fact, the philosophies of cats.  So...  while sometimes I do go out and collect the opinions of other cats, sometimes...  I just collect my own opinions.  I do have quite a few of them, you know.  This has never really been a problem.  Occasionally, I might come up with a few contradictory opinions and that can result in one gargantuan headache, of course.  It's very difficult to not listen to what is bein' said between your two, very own ears, you know.  You can try wearin' ear plugs but that usually just makes it worse.  The dissenting opinions of the contradictory philosophies tend to reverberate within your head, bouncing from ear to ear but never makin' their escape 'cause of the ear plugs blockin' their paths.  Finally, you just have to hack up the ol' hairball and let it loose in the world.  But I digress...  Luckily for me, most of the time, I tend to agree with me, myself and I.  I mean...  who wouldn't?

But I do have a word of warning for cat, doxacatgraphers.  A doxacatgrapher does not need to be a cat him or herself however, they must collect the opinions of cats and not the opinions of lesser species.  Sometimes, we cat bloggers are recordin' the opinions of someone else.  Someone who is not a cat.  It is very easy for a cat blogger to collect the opinions of peeps and think that they are doxacatgraphing.  But at that moment, they're not.  Not every blogging cat is a doxacatgrapher.  And not every doxacatgrapher is doxacatgraphing with every post.  Sometimes, we cats are just blogging.  Just blogging 'bout stuff and whatnot.

And that's for the best, I think.  You know what they say...  variety is the spice of life.  Well...  peeps say that.  We cats would say that the true spice of life is anchovy paste.  Hey, do you know something?  I, Nerissa the cat, just doxacatgraphised!  And that was a perfect example of doxacatgraphing, if I do say so, myself.

crazy peeps

The peeps went to Halifax, yesterday.  Both of them...  together.  MOUSES! 

Halifax is kind of far away, I think.  I've never been there myself but I've heard stuff.  I've heard stuff about it bein' kind of far away.  Also, I know for a fact that whenever one of my peeps goes there, they're gone for almost the entire day.  Thus, I have deduced that it really is kind of far away. 

The first few peepless hours are okay, I suppose.  I always take this opportunity to get in some power naps without anyone disturbing me, wantin' cuddles and kisses and whatnot.  But then lunchtime arrives.  Although the peeps always leave plenty of snacks and stuff, it's just not the same as bein' served your meals on a silver platter with the good china.  Not that I am, currently, served my meals on a silver platter with the good china...  but I'm workin' on that.  Could happen, eventually, if I play my cards right.  Hmmm...  I had better get myself a deck of cards, I should think.

So after some snackin' from our regular ol' dishes, I usually do a little investigative work.  No peeps means no limits.  Tops of counters, tops of dressers, kitchen table, etc...  Now, to be honest, I go all those places, anyway.  But with no peeps to give me questioning looks, I can delve a little more deeply into the mysteries of the universe.  Mysteries like...  why does peep #1 have multiple bottles of stink on her dresser?  Is not one bottle of stink, enough?  Why must she make herself smell like roses and lily-of-the-valley and who knows what else?  Also, just how many cats can climb up a pair of pants hangin' in the closet before something gives?  Or, why does plastic not break when knocked off the kitchen counter like glass and ceramic?  You know...  mysteries.

Investigative work can tire a cat out so after that's all none, it's usually time for more naps.  Also, it's about then when I start missin' all the interruptions from the peeps wantin' cuddles and kisses and whatnot.  I try to get in a good sleep and hope that, when I awake, my peeps will be home.

Well, that's just what happened yesterday.  I woke up from my late afternoon nap just as the peeps were comin' in the door.  And let me tell you...  I had some mighty grumpy peeps on my paws, for sure.  Don't know why they bother going to Halifax if it's gonna upset them so.  Makes absolutely no sense to me.

Peep #1 was the grumpiest of the two.  I understand that she had been the one doin' all the driving.  Well, I can certainly understand how a two hour car drive might make one grumpy.  Two minutes is enough to get me complaining and unfortunately, my doctors' clinic is more than two minutes away.

The first peep was complaining up a storm 'bout the crazy peeps out on the road, yesterday.  Now, believe you me, I know all about crazy peeps.  I live with a couple of them, myself!  But apparently, there are even crazier ones out there than mine.  And they become even crazier than crazy when driving their cars.  Who knew?

Coming home yesterday, ol' peepers was stuck behind a string of cars for...  for...  for practically, forever.  She said the driver way up at the front of the line would be goin' one hundred kilometres an hour for a bit, then slow down to eighty, then back up to one hundred, then down to fifty...  Everyone was tryin' to pass him and, eventually, they all did.  Even the peep.  The peep got a good look at him, then, and said he was the grumpiest lookin' man on earth.  His hands were glued to the steering wheel and there was a sneer frozen on his face.  I narrowed my eyes and tried to imagine this man, supposedly lookin' even grumpier than how my peeps were looking at that moment.  Hmmm...  I found it difficult to believe that could be possible but if it was...  scary!  Grumpy Cat, you might have some competition on your paws.  But there's more.  Once my peep #1 had passed the grumpiest man on earth, she saw that he had only one headlight.  Or, at least, only one of them worked.  I think he might have been workin' with only half a deck of cards, too.  MOUSES!

Poor peepers.  Driving into the city had taken its toll, as well.  This massive truck loaded up with a whole whack of bundles wrapped in pink stuff passed her, at some point.  A few minutes later, they came to a hill.  Well, of course, the truck driver had to slow way down on the hill and put on his flashers.  So the peep passed him.  That's reasonable, I suppose.  But then, five minutes later, the truck was passing her again.  She said she was goin' the speed limit so he must had been drivin' way too fast to catch up and pass her.  Once more, they came to another hill and buddy-in-the-truck was down to seventy.  So the peep passed him.  Only to be passed again by him, ten minutes later.  MOUSES!  All this unnecessary passing and whatnot.  I'm just glad my peeps got home, safe and sound.

I've heard 'bout all these crazy peeps out on the road, before.  I've heard about them from my peeps, of course, but I also sometimes watch Judge Judy.  Lots of information 'bout crazies to be found there, for sure.  From all I've heard, I have come to the conclusion that there are some pretty crazy peeps in the world.  Crazy, crazy, crazy...  Crazier than a squirrel makin' nut pies.  Crazier than a whole whack of squirrels makin' nut pies.  And the craziest part?  The craziest part is that, apparently, they all have licences to drive!  MOUSES!

a rose by any other name...

BREAKING NEWS...  tomorrow is my birthday!  That's right...  and I'm gonna be ten.  Yup, it was a whole ten years ago, tomorrow, when I came into this world.  A whole ten years...  That's somethin' to celebrate, for sure.  If you don't know the story 'bout how I came to be, you can read all about it in my post from last year entitled, "it's my birthday..."

You know...  I have been truly blessed.  Pals from all over the blogosphere have been sending me cards to celebrate my big day.  That's right...  I got mail!  My BFF, Herman, from It's a Wonderpurr Life sent this neat one with me as a news broadcaster.  Herman understands my penchant for bringin' the news to the world.  My pal Sammy from onespoiledcat sent the fun-filled card below.  He knows how I love a good party.  And I do!  Party should have been my middle name, I think.  Either that, or nip.  'Cause I do love the nip.  And then the lovely Savvy from Savannah's Paw Tracks sent the touchin' card showin' her blogging to me and me blogging right back.  Savvy and I are blogging buddies, you know.  That sure is a nice card, Savvy.  Like I said, I've been truly blessed with so many wonderful pals.

But all this talk 'bout birthdays and whatnot has got me thinking 'bout names.  Specifically, my name.  And even more specifically, the fact that the ol' peepers gave me, a blogging MANcat, a girls' name!  What's up with that?

It all goes back to prehistoric times when ol' peepers was at University.  There, she studied what is called, "acting."  Yup, ol' peepers was an actin' major.  Anywho...  I guess all that make believe mumbo-jumbo stuff gave her a taste of the ol' Shakespeare.  And when I say old, I mean OLD 'cause he's even older than the peep!  But I digress...  Because of the mumbo and the jumbo, when my siblings and I were born, peepers gave us all Shakespearean names.  It's true.  My sisters Beatrice and Constance were named after characters in Much Ado About Nothing and King John, respectively.  My brother Desdemona was named after a character in Othello and I, Nerissa the Cat, was named after Portia's side-kick in Merchant of Venice. 

I guess that it's kind of neat that we were all given Shakespearean names.  Somewhat sophisticated, I suppose.  And they are all really pretty names.  But still, none of that excuses Peep #1 for givin' Desdemona and me girls' names.  I mean, she could have come up with a couple of boys' names.  There are boys in Shakespeare, you know!  In fact, there are way more boys than girls in Shakespeare.  Way more.  Of course you know that.  I know that.  It's only the ol' peep who doesn't seem to know it.

The peep says that she didn't know that Desdemona and I were boys.  She says, that 'cause we were feral and wouldn't let her near us for so long, she had no way of telling.  I say, MOUSES!  She could have asked our mama!  Our mama knew we were boys.  Peeps!!!

I sure do hope that Prince William and Princess Kate do a better job of namin' their baby than my peep did of naming me.  I'm pretty sure they will.  I really can't imagine that they could be anywhere near as silly as my peep.

But speakin' of the Royal Baby...  if she happens to be a girl...  how 'bout Princess Nerissa?  Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?  And then, of course, she would eventually become Queen Nerissa.  I like it!  Who am I kidding...   I LOVE IT!!!  Nerissa would be a great name for the Royal Baby.  As long as she's a girl...

I really do believe that if the Royal Baby turns out to be a boy, his parents will have the sense to give him a boys' name.  Unlike my ol' peepers here who must have been absent the day sense was bein' handed out.  'Cause...  you know...  she gave me, a boy, a girls' name and all.

But what is in a name, anyway?  This gal named Juliet once said, "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet."  So I guess that means that even though I am a boy who was given a girls' name, I'm still a boy.  Givin' me a girls' name doesn't somehow make me a girl, right?  I'm pretty sure that's what Juliet meant.  I don't think she was actually talking 'bout roses.  Even though roses do smell sweet.  And I'm really sure that she wasn't talking 'bout rose-scented litter boxes or anything like that.  I don't think they even make rose-scented litter boxes.  Unless, of course, you happen to be a cat livin' in a house with a rose garden.  Wait a minute.  Just wait a cotton nip picking minute there.  I'm a cat.  I'm a cat who lives in a house.  I'm a cat who lives in a house with a garden in which some roses grow.  That means...  I have a rose-scented litter box!  Wow, they do make 'em.  Maybe that's what Juliet meant all along?  I'll have to have a little think on that one.  Yup, I really do think I will.