a rough week

I almost didn't post today.  Thought I might give the peep some time off for sick leave.  But it would have been the first post I've ever missed since I began blogging way back last November so...  the peep said she would suck it up and help me with today's post anyway.

It all began late Saturday night.  Cat fight!  It was outside on the street.  Street fights are the worst, you know?  No rules or anything.  I do my best not to get involved in stuff like like that but apparently, not all cats feel the same way.

Well, the screeching began and the peep grabbed the flashlight and ran outdoors.  There they were...  nosey neighbour cat and that cat who came back...  Carson.  They were growling and hissing and spitting but not yet fighting.  The peep was concerned the most for Carson 'cause we still haven't figured out whose cat he is and she was worried that if he got hurt, who would help him?  Nosey neighbour cat can be a real scrapper at times so she opted to pick up Carson.

About halfway down the driveway, it happened.  Everything seemed fine but then...  then...  then that cat who came back - who my peeps now call Carson - did it.  He bit the peep.

Well, the hospital situation isn't too great here in Nova Scotia.  When they don't have a doctor to man the ER, they just shut it down.  The peep didn't even bother calling to see if the ER was open or  not 'cause she thought there was a good chance that it wasn't and it was late at night and peep #2 wasn't home and she would have had to have driven herself.  Seriously, my hospital never closes.  There's always a doctor on call for me.  I suggested to the peep that she go see my vet but oh no...  that wasn't good enough for her.  Silly peep.

So she cleaned out the wounds and watched all her blood go down the drain.  I have to admit it.  My peep was very brave.  Didn't hear a single meow of pain out of her all night.

By Monday morning, the peep was ready to go see the doctor.  She was so ready, in fact, I think she was even open to the idea of seeing mine.  There was no doctor at the local hospital until eight that night so it was my hospital or she could drive to one at the other end of the valley.  Personally, I would have opted to go to my hospital - they're very experienced with cat bites, you know - but instead, the peep managed to squeeze in an appointment with her own doctor at his office.  He's pretty good, I hear, but he can't possibly be as good as my doctor or my peeps would take me to him, too.  Of this, I am sure.  Peeps always want the best for me, you know.

So now, the peep is on antibiotics and pain medication and is currently practising for when the one-handed litter box change becomes an Olympic event.  She's getting pretty good at it.  She's also doing the one-handed typing thing which seems quite awkward, if you ask me.  I doubt it will ever become an Olympic sport.  Too weird, I think.  Good thing I write my own blog, huh?  And if the infection isn't gone by tomorrow she'll go back to her doctor and he will personally take her to the hospital to give her an IV antibiotic or something like that.  I've had IVs before and for me, they always shaved off some of my fur on my leg.  Hope they don't have to shave the peep's head or anything.

We cats are taking good care of the peep.  As you know, I never sleep with her at night.  That's my sister Constance's job.  But the last couple of nights, I've been right there snuggled in beside her along with Connie and my Auntie Blossom.  My dad took a running leap like he so often does but he landed right on the peep's sore hand.  You should have heard the howls.  The peep  unceremoniously dumped my dad onto the floor and he walked away, tail between his legs, complaining the peep could be so ungrateful.  Oh yeah, and the peep wasn't too pleased, either.

So I'm sorry if my post isn't up to my usual stuff but it has been a rough week, you know?  Hopefully, by Sunday, the peep's hand will be better and I'll have less nursing and doctoring to do for her.  For now, I think I'll suggest to her that we go take a little nap.  When in doubt, nap.  Always a good idea.  But I'll make sure my dad curls up down by the peep's feet this time.  Cats who take running leaps onto beds and couches and other pieces of furniture are not to be trusted around peeps with sore hands.  No...  not to be trusted at all.

fraternising with the enemy

That's right.  That's just what she did.  That ol' peep #1 of mine was fraternising with the enemy.

It all happened a few weeks ago.  Nosey neighbour cat's mom came over and asked if peep #1 would please look after nosey neighbour cat for a week while his family went on vacation.  And peep #1 agreed!  I couldn't believe my ears.  Nosey neighbour cat is the enemy.  Does the peep not understand this?  Probably not.  She can be awfully slow on the uptake at times, you know.

So all week long long, the peep went over to nosey neighbour cat's house every morning.  She would greet him with sweet "good mornings" and "did you sleep wells" just as if she was greeting me or someone else in my fur family.  Oh, what traitorous behaviour the peep displayed that week.  She would clean out his litter box and freshen up his water dish although I don't know why because every morning...  every single one...  that nosey neighbour cat would come on over to my house and spend the whole day in my garden.  That's right!  He came over every single day for the whole day long.  And, the peep expected us all to get along with one another.  Talk about great expectations.

So nosey neighbour cat spent his days in my garden, breathing my air and lying in my sun puddles.  Using them all up, and everything. Then, in the early evenings, peep #1 would go outside and call for him while dangling his house keys.  And to add insult to injury, nosey neighbour cat would then proceed to show me up.  That's right.  He would run to my peep and walk back across the street with her and walk alongside her all the way down his driveway and wait patiently at his back door while she unlocked it.  Then they would enter his house, side-by-side, and he would wait while she filled up his dry food and gave him a package of the soft he likes best and freshen up his water dish once again.

I know about this 'good behavior' of nosey neighbour cat because the peep told me all about it.  Bet that was part of his plan, all along.  You see?  Showing me up or what?  Ooohhhh...  what a devious mind that cat has.  You can just see the deviousness in his eyes, can you not?

Well, nosey neighbour cat spent his nights in his own house and thank goodness for that.  But when the peep returned to me each evening, she smelled of him.  She smelled of him all over.  She had obviously picked up and cuddled that nosey neighbour cat.  Probably wished him sweet dreams and told him his family would be home soon and that they'd be missing him and all that jazz.  Oohhh...  I just know it.  I could smell him on her from head to foot.

And every day the peep would tell me how we should feel sorry for nosey neighbour cat 'cause his peeps were gone for a whole week and he was terribly lonely.  She would tell me how we should have empathy for the little bugger.   Okay, she didn't call him a bugger.  I added that 'cause I felt it was appropriate.  'Cause quite frankly, any cat who spends his days trying to hone in on my peep's affections must be a bugger.  Do you not agree?

Well, things are back to normal now.  Nosey neighbour cat's family is back and the peep isn't going over there anymore.  And just yesterday morning, he was over here causing quite a stir with my brother Rushton and the peep suggested he go back to his own house if he couldn't play nice over at mine. 

Then last night, the peep had to break up a disagreement between nosey neighbour cat and the cat who came back and let me tell you, the peep was the worse for wear after that one but that will be another post for another day.

And, if I'm not mistaken,  I think I even saw nosey neighbour cat sneer and growl at the peep one day.  So like I said, back to normal.  Things are well with my world and my life is good.  Hmmm...  think I'll go take a nap.  And if the peep is really, really lucky...  I'll overlook her transgressions and maybe give her a little cuddle and some purrs later on.  Yeah...  sounds like a plan, I think.  Sounds like a plan.

cleaning frenzy

So peep #1 got well and truly frenzified this week.  She was all up in paws 'bout something not smelling right in the sun room.  I figured the culprit was one of those plants with stinky flowers but when I looked around, there wasn't a flower in sight.  Hmmm...  the plot thickened.

Then I figured that maybe it was one of those citrus trees the peep grows.  Okay, she calls them trees but even the two biggest ones are only five feet or so tall.  Not much of a tree, if you ask me.  Not very good for climbing.  In fact, they're darned right rotten for climbing.  Not heavy enough.  Do you know what you get when a cat climbs a five foot potted citrus tree?  Well, I do.  You get a cat walking on top of a citrus tree lying on the floor.  Believe me, I speak from experience.

Those citrus trees are stinky.  I know that from experience, too.  Neither one of the big - that would be the five footers - Seville orange trees have ever bloomed but apparently, they don't need blooms to be stinkified.  No, if you brush up against the leaves or you should happen to crush a leaf or two while attempting to climb them, they smell all...  well...  citrusy.  There's no other word for it.  Sorry, there is another word for it and that word is stinky!  But then I realised something.  The citrus trees are in the dining room and not even they can stinkify the sun room from all the way over there.  Hmmm.... the plot thickened even further.

So the next thing I know, the peep is gathering a supply of cleaning things.  She has rubber gloves, a sponge, a bucket of hot water which is pretty stinky itself 'cause of whatever she added to it and this bathroom foamy spray stuff and that's really stinky.  Stinkier than all the rest of it put together, if you ask me.  I took one look at the peep and all her stuff and immediately knew nothing good could come of this.  So, I walked out of the sun room and into the family room to have a nap.  Whenever in doubt, take a nap.  That's my motto.  Well, one of them, anyway.

A few hours later, I returned to the sun room.  I sniffed.  I sniffed again.  I sniffed to my right and I sniffed to my left.  Stink!  It was all cleaning stuff stink.  Icky.  The floor was stinky.  The walls were stinky and most of all the air was stinky.  Like I said, STINK!!! 

I happened to notice a couple of plants were missing, too.  That plumbago that refused to bloom had bitten the dust.  And the hibiscus that fell over if you breathed on it - and I never even attempted to climb that one...  honest! - was nowhere to be seen.  And the plumeria seedlings looked suspiciously like they were in line for re-potting into individual containers.  I've heard that their flowers really stink!  Oh well, the peep isn't all that good 'bout getting the house plants to bloom so maybe I won't have to deal with them.  Of course, she's only growing 'em for their stinky flowers so we'll just have to wait that one out. 

Then I took a look at the peep.  Talk about stink!  You should have seen the look on her face.   She looked down upon me, narrowed her eyes and asked, "and just who pooped in the agapanthus?"

Well, the look of shock on my face was as genuine as genuine can be.  Honestly, it wasn't me.  And I doubt it was my sister Tobias, either, as she has a tendency to curl up and sleep in the pot of agapanthus - which probably accounts for the fact that they have never bloomed, either - and a cat never soils their bed, you know.  So...  that leaves one of ten other cats who might have pooped in the agapanthus.  Or maybe it was a peep.  You never know.  That's my other motto.  When in doubt, blame the peep!

oopsy daisy

At my house, we have a beach.  Okay, we sort of have two beaches, I suppose.  We don't live that near the ocean or anything like that so they're not that kind of beach.  In fact, I've never even seen the ocean.  Peeps have, of course, but peeps are weird.  They don't mind hopping in the car to go over to the shore.  I, on the other hand, don't mind hopping up on the car but I'm not fond of being inside it.  In my experience, the car knows only how to get to one place...  the doctor's office.  And you know I don't like that!

Anyway, back to the beaches.  Peep #1 complains all the time that we live in a sand pit.  Beaches have sand, right?  So I'm thinking...  the peep must consider the drier parts of the garden to be a lot like a beach.  Personally, I would rather think of those sandy bits as a giant litter box but that kind of attitude is frowned upon.  At least, that's what I have been told.  I've noticed that she doesn't get into any trouble for digging in that sandy stuff.  Oh well.  The peep can have her sandy ol' sandpit of a garden type beach.  She can dig in there as much as she likes, I think.  I'll supervise from a position of comfort.  A place like my beach!

Bet you're all wondering 'bout this beach of mine.  Okay...  ours...  'cause I share it with the other cats.  Well, you see...  At my house, there is a window in the kitchen that the peeps leave open during the day just for us cats.  Peeps can't get in and out through it 'cause the window if just way too small for peeps.  Even if the glass was gone, it would still be too small for peeps.  Unless it was a super-duper small peep but I don't think they make 'em that small.  But it's the perfect size for us cats, I think.  Just like it was designed especially for us.

The window opens up onto this little roof thingy.  It's not a huge roof but it's a good size for us cats.  I have seen my peep #1 up on top of this roof on occasion.  She has to go on it to wash the outside of windows and once in a while to paint their trim.  She hates going up on that roof.   Just hates it, she says.  It's not all that high off the ground but the roof slants and she gets all nervous about falling off.  Silly peep.  But that's okay, I think, 'cause that little roof belongs to us cats.  It's our beach.  The peep needn't be thinking that she can hone in on our private beach.  We have standards, you know.

The best part about this beach of ours is that it gets super warm on sunny days.  The sun beats down on that roof material and heats it up.  Plus, there is reflective heat from the house that makes it even warmer.  Even when the air is cool everywhere else in the yard, our beach is nice and warm and comfy cosy for us all to do a little sunbathing.  Perfect for us cats.  In fact, it's so perfect, it could even be called purrfect.  Hehehe...  I like that.  And I like my beach, too.  Lovely way to spend a sunny afternoon.

Well the other day, my sister Constance was up on the beach enjoying a little sun.  She was kind of close to the edge and when the peep saw her she said, "Be careful you don't fall off, Connie."  I overheard this warning and scoffed at its ridiculousness.  A cat fall of the beach?  One of us cats with perfect co-ordination and whatnot?  What was the peep thinking?


Apparently, the peep was thinking correctly.  It does happen on the rare occasion, you know.  A few minutes later, Connie enjoyed a good stretch and then rolled over onto her back and then...  right off the edge of the beach!  I couldn't believe it.  She just stood there in the garden, eyes wide open, looking kind of shocked as she tried to fathom what had just happened.  My brother Seville went running to Connie's aid.  Well actually...   he was just being nosey.  You know marmalades.  They're nosey critters, they are.  I, on the other paw, ascertained that my sister was okay and then just gave her a wink and a little "oopsy daisy."  These things happen, I told her.  Nothing to worry about.  You landed like a cat...   on all four paws!

synchronised humming

Well, those old Olympics in London may be all over but here in my garden, I've got a couple of Olympic type events still a-happening.  My favourite is, of course, the synchronised humming event.  What?  You've never heard of this event you say?  Well then...  let me introduce you to one of my all-time favourite Olympic sports. 

I was sitting at my computer the other day, working on my blog, when I heard a zip and a zap and a zimmy-zing-zoo just outside the bay window.  I looked up and what did I see?  Two hummers.  That's right, two of them!  Two at once!!!  They zoomed here and they zoomed there and quite honestly, they zoomed just about everywhere...  but always keeping in perfect synchronisation.  Oohhhh....  what a beautiful sight it was to behold. 

Usually the hummers come to that window for the honeysuckle but there aren't many flowers left on the vine now.  Too late in the season, I suppose.  But those hummers are quite versatile in their choice of dinner menus which is a very reasonable way to be, I do believe.  They eked out a little nectar from the few remaining honeysuckle flowers but what they were really after that day were the lilies.  The Oriental Hybrid lilies were in full bloom and those hummers were just humming with delight about the fact.  They enjoyed all the different ones.  Didn't matter if the flowers were white or pink or red or any of the various combinations in which these lilies appear.  They loved them all.

At one point, the two hummers hovered over two different lily flowers that were blooming, side by side.  Then, at the very same second, they both spun in unison and zoomed away.  A few minutes later, they were back and still in fine form. 

Oohhh...  it was a gold medal performance that day for sure.  It's almost as if they knew I was sitting there watching them and wanted to put on the best show they possibly could...  just for me.  And that's a good idea, I think.  After all, for any Olympic type events occurring in my garden, I am the judge.  Yeah, that ol' peep of mine might sometimes judge at flower shows but I, Nerissa the cat, judge the Olympic Synchronised Humming events.  I think I'm the far more important judge.  Don't you?

And speaking of peeps.  Do you think I have any footage of this spectacular performance?  Nope.  Not a thing.  Not even one still shot of those hummers.  The peep is pretty useless when it comes to stuff like that.  I sent her out to take a few pictures of the event but all she came back with were pictures of the lilies along with a million and one excuses.  Or was it a million and two?  Doesn't matter, really.  The point is, there was not a hummer in sight.  MOUSES!  I tell you, I have got to get myself some new peeps!  The ones I've got just aren't living up to my expectations.

As I said before, this was definitely a gold medal winning team.  In fact, if I can find a couple of gold medals small and light enough for those two hummers to wear around their necks, we'll have a little award ceremony right here in my garden.  That would be fun.  Don't you agree?  And, of course, I will be doing the presenting of the medals.  It only seems right.  The peep could present them with some flowers, if she so desires.  Really, it will be just so that she doesn't feel completely left out.  Always got to find ways to include those peeps, I'm afraid.  Their egos are so sensitive.  You know what I mean?
 

totally undependable

How totally undependable!  That's right...  undependable...  TOTALLY!  Of course, I'm talking 'bout the peep.  Peep #1, to be exact.

A few weeks ago, peep #1 made me a promise.  She promised, no more flower shows.  I thought she was telling me the truth.  I thought I could trust her.  I thought that when she gave me her word, she would keep it.

Well, you can imagine my surprise yesterday morning when the peep got up bright and early.  Well, it was early.  I'm not too sure how bright she was.  You know peeps.  Anyway, it was earlier than normal for my ol' peep to be getting up. 

She was rushing around trying to get stuff done in, if you ask me, a somewhat frazzled state.  But the stuff she was doing wasn't the important stuff like washing my plates and serving me my breakkie.  No, instead she was making coffee, checking e-mails and getting dressed in a dress.  And she was gathering things like a notebook and pen.  I thought to myself, this can't be good and, as usual, I was right.

I was staring at her with that cold hard stare we cats have perfected beyond the point of perfection and she must have felt the back of her neck burning from my laser beams beaming right through her 'cause that's when she said it.  She said, "Nissy, peep #2 will be up shortly.  Peep #2 is going to get you your breakfast this morning.  I have to go to a flower show."

Well, those words nearly knocked me right off my paws.  Yes, all four of my paws.  All four all at once.  I felt like I had taken a blow to the head with a big ol' puffer fish or something.  I couldn't believe my ears.  Flower show?  Flower show???  There were to be no more flower shows!  I thought that had been decided. 

The peep then explained that she wasn't helping to organise this flower show nor was she entering anything in it.  She was going to be one of the judges at the show.  She said this was completely different from the aforementioned atrocities.  I gave her my most doubtful, truly perplexed ears look.  Hmmm...  I thought.  This peep is making stuff up as she talks.  She's just making stuff up out of her head!

Well, before I knew it, the peep was out the door and I was left to my own devices.  I sat there, in the middle of the kitchen floor, barely noticing when peep #2 arrived, asking what I'd like for my breakkie.  I was in a state of shock, I suppose.  I barely even remember eating my breakkies although they must have been good 'cause apparently, I cleaned the plate right up. 

I was still sitting there when peep #1 arrived home.  Okay, I actually had quite a busy day in between filled with naps and grooming and naps and exploring and more naps but when I heard her car pull into the driveway, I made a bee-line for the kitchen and posed exactly where she had seen me last.  We cats have the give-the-ol'-peeps-the-guilt-trip down pat, you know.  Wanted to give her the impression I had been pining all day for her.  Pining accompanied with grave indifference, of course.  It worked, I think.

Worst thing was, the ol' peep seemed to have enjoyed judging the flower show.  She said the flowers were all super pretty.  She was raving on and on and on about some kind of stinky old roses.  Okay, she didn't say stinky.  She said beautifully fragrant.  I was translating there.  Anyway, I'm thinking she'll be planting some of those stinky roses in my garden next summer 'cause the peep would simply not stop blathering on about them. 


What I'd like to know is this....  where's the nip?  Shouldn't flower shows have nip?  If you're gonna go judge a flower show, ol' peep of mine, make sure there are some classes for nip, okay?  And there should be samples of the nip to bring home, I should think.  Bring home for us cats...  not peeps.  I mean, isn't nip the the most important kind of flower in the whole wide world?  In the entire universe, perhaps?  I should think so!  MOUSES!  Don't peeps know anything?

and then it rained

It's hot here in Nova Scotia.  Super-duper hot.  Not super in a good way, mind you.  Super in a like-it's-really-way-too-hot-and-I'm-really-not-happy-about-it kind of way.  Know what I mean? 

Actually, many of my friends in the United States have been experiencing far hotter weather but for Canadian kitties like me, who aren't used to this kind of heat, it's pretty darned hot.  Also, once that ol' humidex thingy the weathermen have invented is used, then it gets really uncomfortable.  Especially for those of us wearing fur coats...  like us cats...  like me.

Like I said, it's hot.  But even though it has been humid and everything, there has been very little rain.  It has been really dry.  Way drier than I remember last summer to have been.  Last summer, I hardly ever had to send the peep outside to water my garden.  This summer, the sprinkler has been going full blast.  And that's even with all the mulching and stuff she does.  Of course, the peep would say we live in a sand pit.  I would say, then why can't I do my business outdoors instead of in those stinky ol' litter boxes you insist I use?  But I digress...

Late Saturday afternoon, it was 39C with the humidity factored in.  The peep headed out to set up the ol' sprinkler.  I practically had to push her out the door 'cause she was a little reluctant to go out in all that heat.  But it had to be done 'cause my plants were practically crying, they were so thirsty.  I watched the peep from a window. 

The pansies and fuchsias on the veranda were the thirstiest so first she was gonna have to drag the hose over there and give them all a good drink.  She got the nozzle on the hose and turned on the tap and...  and...  and nothing!  Nope, not a drop of water in sight.  But I could hear the pump running - you know, with my excellent hearing and all - and I told her as much.  Well, she couldn't really hear me 'cause I was inside enjoying the cool air from a fan and she was outside in the blazing hot sun but eventually, she got the hint. 

So the peep set out to find the problem and it wasn't long before she found it.  The hose was broken!  Yup, broken right in two.  Now, some of you might be thinking we cats had a little something to do with this but this time, you'd be wrong.  It wasn't us.  Don't know who did it, really.  Personally, I usually blame the peep when things go wrong but the peep isn't as likely to point the finger at herself. She says pointing is rude.  Pish posh.

Back to the hose.  Where two of the hoses had once been connected together, they were connected no more.  The metal parts had just come apart.  Age, I guess.  Hope the peep doesn't break in two like that when she gets old.  Actually, she's already pretty old, I think.  Way older than me, anyway, and I'm nine!

So on Sunday afternoon, off to the store the peep went on an emergency hose trip.  She came home with a big long hundred footer.  That should do the trick, she thought.  And it did.  She ran that ol' sprinkler for several hours Sunday evening, giving all the plants a good long drink. 

Monday morning...  it rained.  Hehehe...  All that effort in the blazing heat the day before, only for the rain to come after all.

When the rain stopped, I went outside and checked out a few puddles in the wet earth.  Then I came in and insisted that the peep pick me up for a little cuddle.  My paws were all wet, you see, and experience has taught me that most of the peep's clothing makes for good drying material.  The white tank top proved to be no exception to the rule.  The dirt from my paws along with some of my loose fur made a nice pattern on that top, once I was done with my cuddles.  Yes, very nice indeed.  I'll have her looking like a sterling silver tabby one of these days.  Actually, the top came pretty close to it Monday.  But that peep is so unappreciative.  Next day, I saw that very same top hanging out on the laundry line.  Some peeps just don't know what's good for them.  Peeps can be like that, I guess.  Hmmph!!!

to the moon, baby... to the moon!

Er-hem...  It has recently been brought to my attention that this Houston, of whom I have written in a previous post, is not a real person.  According to my peeps, he is a place.  I do not believe this.  I do not believe that he is not real nor do I believe that he is a place.

Firstly, let me address this idea that he is a place.  This is not a reasonable idea, I think.  People say, "Houston, we have a problem."  Now, why would people say this if Houston were not a person?  People don't go around talking to places.  People talk to people.  Am I not correct?  I can assure you, I have never gone into my back yard and yelled out, "Hey, back yard!"  Nor have I gone into the kitchen and cried, "Hey there you kitchen!"  I have never done this in my entire life.  Not even in any of my entire nine lives.  Never, ever, ever.  In fact, if I were to do that, people would think I was crazy.  Would they not?

I believe my peeps may be confused because there is in fact a place called Houston.  I looked it up on the map.  Yes, it's there all right.  But there is no reason to believe that this place called Houston is the same as the person called Houston.  Peeps name their baby peeps after places all the time.  There are peeps out there named Dallas, Paris, London and what have you.  And by the way, they don't always stop at places.  Peeps name baby peeps after other things, too.  Things like months of the year, gemstones and fruit.  Yes, even fruit.  Peeps do this.  It's a fact. 

So now that we're all in agreement that this Houston is in fact a person, let me address the part about his not being real.  I have heard peeps say, "Houston we have a problem."  I have heard it many a time.  I have heard it on the television.  I have heard it on different channels on the television.  If I spent more time going for rides in the car, where my peeps tend to listen to the radio, I'm sure I would hear it there, too.  If I spent more time at local coffee and doughnut shops, where I've heard that various peeps tend to gather in order to drink, eat and gossip, I'm sure I would hear it there, as well.  If I spent more time at political functions and whatnot, where peeps go to blather on and on and on for no reason I can possibly fathom, I'm sure I would hear them blathering on and on and on about this Houston fellow.  I'm quite sure of these things.  I'm as sure of this as I am of the whiskers on my face.  Everyone - and I mean everyone - tells this Houston they've got problems.

So if we were to believe that this Houston was not a real person, the peeps of this planet must all be suffering from some sort of a mass hallucination, I think.  This is the only reasonable theory available to me.  And to be perfectly honest, it's really not all that reasonable.  It's far more reasonable to believe that he is, in fact, real.  Is it not?  Yes, it is.  I'm so glad you agree with me.

Now that we have this matter settled.  It's time to discuss something far more important.

I still have a problem.  And even though I told this guy Houston all about it, my problem has not yet been solved.  There's still no one living up in the space station, reading my blog!  Houston, I repeat, we have a problem!!!

Thankfully my dear friend Sammy, author of the world famous blog onespoiledcat, has presented me with this incredible space suit.  I look very dapper in it, do I not?  Yes, I believe I do.  I am now prepared to go up to the space station myself and see what is the matter with the astronauts living there.  To ask them, for myself, why they are not reading my blog.  And let me tell you, they had better come up with some darned good answers.  I'm not going to accept any talk of mass hallucinations.  And once I discover the problem, I will inform this guy named Houston of it.  And if Houston doesn't come up with an appropriate solution...  well...  then for Houston, it's to the moon, baby...  to the moon!

and he's a yapper!

Actually, I don't know if he's a he or if she's a she as I haven't gotten that close.  I can tell you this though...  boy or girl...  that dog is a yapper!

Of course, I'm talking about our new neighbours.  Haven't met the people yet but their dog has been out and about in his or her yard and has been yappa-dappa-doodaling-o-dandy all over the place.  I'm not afraid of him or anything.  I'm no scaredy-cat.  Besides, he's kind of small.  I'm pretty sure I could take him.


Yesterday morning, peep #1 was out there in the back garden, picking some flowers.  Well, you should have heard the yapping.  The moment that doggy saw my peep he started it up.  And he didn't stop until his peeps took him inside.  But my peep is so brave.  So very, very brave.  She stood her ground and just kept on picking.  Yup.  Didn't hesitate one bit.  Not even for a second.  Probably 'cause she knew the dog was in his yard and that she was in her - I mean my - yard so it's not like the yapper could do anything to her or anything.  Plus, I was there...  doing my peep protection patrol thing.

Just wait 'til the day when that ol' peep of mine goes picking flowers way at the back of her - I mean my - cutting garden.  That'll put her right up against the property line.  Oohhh... there will be yapping that day, for sure.  They'll probably hear the yapping all the way up to the space station up in outer space.  Then, maybe someone up there will start reading my blog!  You hear that Houston? 

You know, I think my peep and that dog are gonna get along just fine.  He might be a yapper but my peep is a real caterwauler.  You've heard how she goes to caterwauling practise every week, right?  Yeah, she says she's going to Choral Society.  I say that's just a fancy-shmancy, high fallootin' way of describing caterwauling.

And if any of you peeps out there reading my blog went to Theatre School with the peep and think you might come to the woman's defence when I describe her as a caterwauler...  THINK AGAIN!  You don't have to live with her!  I do.  I have to listen to her practise.  Like practising is gonna help.  It's a nightmare on Elm Street, for sure.

Oh yeah, my peep can definitely out-caterwaul any of that dog's yapping.  If peeps could be professional caterwaulers, my peep would be right in there.  Making money hand over fist with her professional caterwauling, she would.  I could start up a little side-line selling earplugs.  Ooohhhhh...  I would be so rich.

If caterwauling was made an Olympic sport, she would be winning medals left, right and centre.  She'd be winning all those gold medals...  all of them.  Actually, they might even give her the gold, silver and bronze ones just 'cause everyone else would hear her caterwaul just once and give up right there and then.  No one - and I mean no one - can caterwaul like my peep.

She should have gone to those old Olympics they're holding in London, this year.  The United Kingdom would have been a very appropriate place to introduce caterwauling as an Olympic sport, I think.  The only thing that comes close to the peep's caterwauling are those screeching bagpipes they've got over there.  In fact, that would probably be her closest competition.  On the other paw, I don't think that even they can sound that bad.  Not nearly as bad as the peep and her caterwauling.


My peep can wake the dead with her caterwauling.  Believe you me...  you never want to let the peep caterwaul on Hallowe'en...  too scary a thought to even contemplate.  If you could see me right now, you'd see me shaking in my boots at the thought.  That's if I had boots.  Hey...  if I did have boots, I'd be Puss-in-Boots!  Hehehe...