Stan is your man!

Have you heard?  HAVE YOU HEARD???  Municipal elections are on the horizon in Nova Scotia and the big news is...  one of the mayoralty candidates for HRM is a cat.  That's right...   A CAT!!!  Yes, folks...  we cats are one step closer to taking over the world.  Shhh...  don't tell anyone 'bout that.  The whole world domination thing is still a bit of a secret, okay?

Now, let me introduce you to the candidate with the mostest...  the dapper and debonair Tuxedo Stan!!!  Stan is representing the Tuxedo Party of Canada in the upcoming municipal elections.  What a guy!  Always dressed up to the nines.  Yes, each and every one of his nine lives is dressed.  Just look at that suit!  Hmmm...  I wonder who his tailor is.

...  It all began on a dark and dreary...  ah, who am I kidding.  It was a Saturday.  I don't know what the weather was like.  It was May 29th of the year 2010 but I don't know what time.  Stan didn't tell me.  That day, an abandoned, pregnant mama kitty went into labour at the Atlantic Cat Hospital.  Little did she know that one of her four baby boys would rise to such fame, just a short two years later.

There were big plans looming ahead in Stan's future.  In the spring of 2012, he was approached by the Tuxedo Party executive and asked if he would run for mayor of the City of HRM.  Now, if you've never heard of HRM before, it used to be called Halifax.  Halifax and Dartmouth and I'm not quite sure what else, all amalgamated and became what is now known as the Halifax Regional Municipality.  Hmmm....  HRM could also stand for His Royal Majesty.  Very fitting for Stan, I should think.  But I digress...

It is unclear as to whether or not one of Stan's credentials for candidacy was his tuxedo suit but I do believe Stan wishes to represent all cats, tuxedo or otherwise.  Speaking as a tabby cat, I think Stan would treat me as his equal.  Plus, I have an in.  My mama was a tuxedo.

The Tuxedo Party is a movement of grave importance.  There are so very many homeless kitties in HRM...  so very, very many.  It's not right that this issue has been ignored for so long.  The Tuxedo Party is getting the word out to the world about these poor, unfortunate babies.  As they say, "neglect isn't working" and neglect is pretty much what the powers-that-be in HRM have been doing 'bout this issue for a very long time.  The Tuxedo Party's mandate is to "increase awareness of the plight of stray, feral and indigent cats as well as raise sorely needed funds for a local animal charity called Spay Day HRM."  That's a pretty good mandate, I think.  Better than anything I've heard any other political parties come up with.  Don't you agree?

When elected, Stan wants to "fund a spay/neuter program" as apparently, "there's far too much indiscriminate sex going on in HRM."  A program of this kind would help reduce the number of feral kitties born in the city, of course, but Stan believes it could do much, much more.  There has been an increase of violence in HRM, as of late.  Pick up a paper, turn on the news...  it's everywhere.  But as Stan says, "studies have shown neutering tomcats decreases their aggressiveness" and he "can't see why it wouldn't work for humans," too.  I must say, I agree.

Since his campaign began, Stan's fame has been growing exponentially.  He has been interviewed or talked about by so many people.  Frank Magazine, The Chronicle Herald, CBC, ATV, CTV...  they're all wanting to do stories on my friend, Stan.  He made an appearance on the award-winning show This Hour has 22 Minutes and even my purrsonal hero, Anderson Cooper, has reported about Tuxedo Stan.  Of course, Stan left the best for last.  Thus, my post about him here on Nerissa's Life.

I wouldn't be at all surprised if Stan has the other candidates running scared.  Did you know that he was initially invited to participate in the mayoral debate and then...  ever so rudely...  UNinvited?  He was snubbed, for sure.  But Stan has a proposal for those scaredy-cat candidates who aren't really cats at all.  He suggests they "withdraw from (the) race."  He says, "there's no shame in surrender in the face of overwhelming defeat."  And do you know what?  Stan's right.  He's way cuter than any of those other candidates.  Way cuter...  Probably why he was uninvited from that debate thingy.

But politics can be dirty.  There's a "rumour going around Facebook that he's been fathering kittens in HRM."  Now who started that?  Dogs?  Anyway, it's not true.  I have it on good authority that Tuxedo Stan has been "neutered.  His grandfather, however - Tuxedo Studley - may still be at large." 

Every day, kittens are born in HRM to mamas without homes or peeps.  The vast majority of these babies will not be as lucky as my friend, Stan.  They won't rise to fame as he has.  Their future holds a life of misery, pain, fear, hunger and neglect.  For them, every day will prove a constant struggle to find a morsel of food to fill their constantly empty tummies and evade the cruelty of those out there who would think nothing of doing them harm.  And if they get sick, who will help them?  Who will doctor their wounds and mend their broken hearts?   The life of a feral kitty is a cruel one, indeed.

A very wise man once said something to the effect that society would be judged by how it treats the animals.  Well folks, those animals are us cats.  So if the people of HRM want to be judged well, it would be in their favour to do a better job of helping the feral kitties within their borders.  Take a good look at the platform of the Tuxedo Party.  You'll like what you see.  I just know you will.  And what you'll see is that Stan really is your man. 

VOTE FOR TUXEDO STAN FOR MAYOR!  'CAUSE IT'S THE RIGHT THING TO DO.

my plan is apaw...

I know you all know that I live with a couple of peeps.  Well, the first peep...  otherwise known as peep #1...  is getting old.  Older than the hills, I should think.  And our hills here in Nova Scotia are really old.  So old, they've been worn down over time so that they really are only hills now.  Not mountains or anything anymore.  My peep is older than...  than...  than I really don't know what except those aforementioned hills.  Anyway, to celebrate this oldness of hers, she's having a birthday and it just happens to be tomorrow.

I've been scheming and plotting and my plan is apaw.  I even got the peep a prezzie or three.  Wanna hear about them? 

Firstly, I got her a package of catnip seed.  Pretty good prezzie for a peep, don't you think?  She fancies herself a bit of a gardener and I, as you know, am a connoisseur of the nip.  All in all, it's the perfect gift I should think.  I'm also including some packets of primrose seed 'cause the peep fancies herself a connoisseur of the primroses.  I ordered them from a special firm in France where they grow amazing primroses, or so I have heard.  The peep just raves 'bout them.  Yup, I've heard her on more than one occasion, I'm afraid.  Of course, they haven't arrived yet.  Canada Post is so slow, you know.  Also, I just sent the order in last week but I'm gonna blame Canada Post 'cause I just know that they've been slow with other stuff at other times and have escaped my well-deserved wrath then.  Like last year, when they let my peep's pansy seed sit in a post office for a whole week before sending it to her even though the package was supposed to be 'expedited.'  Expedited, my paw!  Hmmmph!!!  They really are due for a little Nissy wrath, don't you think?   I'll tell the peep all about the primrose seed when she opens the prezzie with the nip stuff.  She'll be thrilled.  I just know it.

We cats also got our old peep #1 some Fancy Feast.  Being a peep and a veggie, she won't eat it but...  there are twelve of us cats willing to help her out on that accord.  Plus, if we're all chowing down on the Fancy Feast, we won't be bothering her for any of her dinner.  Again, excellent prezzie shopping, I think.  Actually, I didn't even have to shop for that one.  Found a box of tins in a cupboard in the basement.  Then in another cupboard, I found a bow.  I stuck that bow on that box of tins and now, I'm all set.  Shopping from home is super easy, don't you agree?

And what's a birthday without a little bling?  The peep likes pretty stones and stuff so I went out into the garden and I found some.  They look like plain old ordinary rocks to me but hey, what do I know?  Peeps do funny things with rocks and then they call 'em bling.  One can never really properly figure out a peep but I'm thinking that with this pile of rocks I gathered, the peep will come up with something.  I figure that with this pile of rocks, she's half-way there to the land of bling!

We're not having a big party or anything.  Just us cats and my two peeps.  Besides, we have better plans than a party...  As luck would happen, my old peep's birthday falls on a Thursday this year and it just so happens that in celebration of the event, CBS is broadcasting the season premier of The Big Bang Theory.  I'm sure this was intentional on the part of CBS.  Do you not agree?  I'm sure that the bigwigs at CBS all know how much my peep enjoys watching The Big Bang Theory with me, cuddled up on her lap.  So yes, that's how we're celebrating the peep's birthday.  I suspect my sister Connie will want in on the cuddling, too, 'cause she enjoys that sort of thing. 

So, if you happen to be 'round your computer tomorrow, why not send the ol' peep some birthday wishes?  I'm sure she'd like that.  If you leave 'em on my blog, I'll read 'em to her after our cuddle session.  Won't that be nice?  Yeah, super nice I think.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY YA OL' PEEP! 

pooper scoopers!

You know...  I tried to be helpful and nice and where did it get me?  It got me to a place where I don't want to go again.  That place where your tummy feels all yucky and sick inside like just before you're about to hork up a fur ball or something.  Yeah...  we won't discuss the something bit, okay?  Nerissa's Life is a family friendly blog, suitable for all ages.

I was gonna do a blog post on this guy I know.  We'll call him...  Elliot.  That's not his real name, of course, but I don't wanna be referring to him as 'him' for the rest of this post.  Anywho...  Elliot is pretty famous in his own right but you know how it is...  one can always do with a little extra good publicity, right?  So I got in touch with this Elliot's peeps and asked them 'bout it and they said something like, "Sure Nissy...  you can do a story on Elliot.  We'd love that!"

So I thought to myself, "Hmmm....  how can I make this article interesting and fun?"  At the same time, I wanted Elliot to be able to tell the world all he wanted to tell.  So I asked Elliot's peeps to send along the information he really REALLY wanted the world to hear.  Maybe a couple of quotes or something...  his basic philosophies...  stuff like that.  I promised to work it into my blog post along with, of course, a little of what I call, Nissy flair...  and Elliot's peeps agreed...  and I waited.

So all was well in my little world until the other day when the peep turned on the computer for me so that I could read some of my friends' blogs.  You can just imagine my disappointment and heartbreak when I saw Elliot's picture plastered all over the blogosphere.  I had been scooped! 

That's right, while I was patiently waiting for the necessary information from Elliot's peeps to arrive, another blogger had come along and scooped me.  And not the good kind of scooping like when my peep #1 comes along and scoops me into her arms and smothers me with kisses and tells me she loves me and that I'm the centre of her whole wide world.  No, this was the bad kind of scooping like what the peep does after one of us cats has used the litter box and left...  well, you know... 

I don't blame the other blogger one bit.  I don't even blame Elliot...  or his peeps.  I blame myself.  I should have been right in there writing that article the moment I thought of the idea.  Had I done that, I would have had it written weeks ago!  But no...  I snoozed and therefore, I lost.  Okay, the past form of lose doesn't rhyme with the past form of snooze.  MOUSES! I'm having a rough time of it here.  Nothing seems to working out for me at all!

How am I ever gonna convince CNN that they need a silver tabby like me as well as that silver fox - AKA Anderson Cooper - they already have if I am so easily scoopable?  They're never gonna want me as a reporter if other cats and peeps are scooping my stories right out from underneath my very own paws.  Sure, if I ever hear back from Elliot's peeps, I could still do the story but do I really want to do a boring old, now redundant, story on my blog?  I'm not sure that I do.  My readers expect more from me than that.  Know what I mean?

I have come to the conclusion that it doesn't pay to be nice.  Nope...  doesn't pay at all.  Next time I see a potential story, I'm just gonna write it and I'm gonna write it right away.  That's what that foxy Anderson Cooper would do, I am sure.  I'm gonna dig up the dirt myself and use it as I see fit.  I'm not gonna make efforts to accommodate anyone else if that means interrupting my dirt digging skills.  I'm just gonna get the facts about all the Jacks and write about them.

Yes, if I wanna play with the big boys, I'm gonna have to think like them.  If I wanna be a hard-nosed reporter, I'm gonna have to harden up my heart a little.  I can't harden up my nose 'cause I've got that adorable pink little nose and there's just no way anyone can get past the adorableness of that, I think. 

Next time I see a potential story, I'm gonna be on the ground, running on all four paws.  I'll be digging up the dirt with those very same paws and then running back to my computer to type it up, as quick a flick of my tail.  Yes...  that's my plan for hereon in.


Now if you'll excuse me, I noticed that the peep potted up some freesias the other day and brought them into the sun room.  Those pots are big and absolutely filled with dirt.  I'm just gonna go see if I can dig up a little something in those pots other than the freesia corms the peep put in there.  I'm sure there will be something of interest.  I'm just sure of it.  But if not, I'll check out the litter box.  There's always dirt to be found in a litter box, you know.  Always.  Kind of goes without saying, actually...

I spies with my little eyes...

...  A SQUIRREL!!!  The biggest, most humongous, monstrous squirrel that I ever did see!

That's right...  the grey squirrels have arrived.  They're big, huge, monstrous sized creatures.  They're the size of my sisters Tess and Tobias.  Maybe even the size of them both put together!  Okay, that might be a tad bit of an exaggeration but you get my point, I am sure.  These squirrels are pretty darned big.

When the grey squirrels arrive, the cute little red guys leave.  I don't know if they're chased away by the grey ones or what but they disappear.  Now, to be honest, we haven't had many red squirrels around my house for the last few years, anyway.  Squirrels are pretty smart, I think.  Smart enough to know they shouldn't hang around a house in which twelve cats live.

But I was sitting in my office, working on my blog yesterday, when a movement outside the bay window caught my attention.  I looked up and there he was.  Yes, there was the squirrel on steroids.  He was hanging out under that big ol' oak tree that conked my peep #1 on her noggin the other day.  Well, obviously, the squirrel was thinking he'd gather up some of those old acorns for himself.

I watched this squirrel on steroids for a few moments, darting this way and that, collecting up the acorns at the bottom of my driveway.  That's when I saw my sister Mason heading down toward him.  Mason was on a mission, I think.  A mission to give that old squirrel a piece of her mind.  Don't worry.  She has plenty to spare.  My sister Mason is very smart.  She's also a pretty big girl so I guess the size of that monster of a squirrel didn't intimidate her too much. 

Mason stomped down the driveway with her tail up in the air.  She wasn't stalking.  She was stomping.  And that tail of hers...  well...  the very end of it was a-twitching like it had never twitched before.  She was probably telling that squirrel on steroids something like, "That's right...  you can make a nice nut pie for me with those acorns and I'll have that for dessert after I have you for my dinner!"  Well, the squirrel took one look at Mason's approach and headed off across the road to nosey neighbour cat's house.  Hehehe...  Let him deal with the squirrelly squirrel.

I realised then that I should call for my peep.  We cats aren't supposed to go on the road, you see, and it looked like Mason was going to follow the squirrel across.  The peep quickly came to my aid and went outside to call for my sister.  Mason is such a good girl, you know.  Even though chasing that squirrel was awfully tempting, she came right back to the house when the peep called her.  Her tail was still up in the air 'cause she was super proud of her prowess, I think, but it was no longer twitching.  On the other hand, by behaving so well, Mason might be giving the peep expectations that all us cats should follow her lead.  Hmmm...  I'll have to have a think about that one.  Might need to have a little chat with the girl. 




Anywho...  the squirrel hasn't been back since.  I think Mason might have given him the scare of his life.  He'd have to be one crazy squirrel to return to my yard, I think.  Crazy, crazy, CRAZY!!!  Crazier than a squirrel making nut pies.  Wait a minute!  He was making nut pies!  He was a-making those nut pies with acorns from my tree!  Does this mean I'm going to have to contend with a crazy nut-pie baking squirrel on steroids on a regular basis?  And are these sweet pies or savoury?  Dessert or dinner?  Should they be served with milk or nip?  Hmmm....  I'll have to consult with Mason.  She seems to have a handle on such things.  She seems to understand these crazy grey squirrels on steroids.

conked on the old noggin

So, it's September.  In some places, September means fall and I guess that's sort of true here in Nova Scotia.  There are a few leaves turning colour but not a lot yet.  Just little patches of red and yellow, here and there.  The trees will be much more colourful in a few weeks, I should think.

The days are still warm but nice and breezy.  In fact, I was lying out in the sun yesterday, and it was down right hot!  Of course, I was below the level of the breezes.  When I lie down, I'm only a few inches high, you know.

The nights are cool now but not quite chilly yet and we haven't had any frost.  Whenever there is impending frost, that ol' peep of mine starts frantically bringing in all the tender plants like the fuchsias and whatnot.  I haven't seen her running around like a crazy person yet so I don't think we're due for frost for a bit.  Thank goodness for that!  My peep does crazy, really really well, you know.  Hehehe...

My garden is slowing way down but the one plant that's blooming like mad is the goldenrod.  Some people think of it as a weed but really, here in Canada, it's a wild flower.  Here in my garden, it's a garden flower.  I like it.  So does the peep.  She actually grows the stuff on purpose.  Yeah, it's that nice.  The bees like it a lot, too.  And the peep likes to plant stuff for those bees, you know.  Trying to be environmentally friendly and all that stuff.  There's nothing much prettier than bright goldenrod in full bloom against a blue sky with a smattering of fluffy white clouds.  Those people who don't appreciate the beauty of the goldenrod probably have never gazed at it from my vantage point.  You see, being low down to the ground as we cats are, I can easily gaze up at the goldenrod and the blue sky is automatically in the background.  Very nice, I think.  Peeps are just too big and tall to be able to fully appreciate the beauty of this plant.

The turquoise berries are just starting to turn colour.  They're awfully pretty when they do.  And so are the birds who come to dine upon them.  The vines are bigger and taller this year and there are lots and lots of berries.  I'm in for excellent Bird TV, for sure.  One channel will broadcast the antics at the turquoise berry vines and another will be, live, at the Russian olive.  It's absolutely loaded with bright red berries.  What great TV will be available in the next few weeks.

And then there are the acorns.  They're everywhere!  Quite literally...  they're all over the driveway and everything.  They've been falling for a few weeks now and when they hit the pavement, they bounce right back up into the air.  They bounce so high, in fact, that I was able to enjoy some particularly entertaining entertainment the other day.

I was lazing about on the driveway, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my back and the radiant heat from the driveway on my tummy, when there was a particularly strong gust of wind.  All of a sudden, there was a rustling of leaves and a noisy commotion from above and then...  a whole whack of acorns came tumbling down to the earth.  The peep was out and about and...  yup...  you guessed it.  Conked right on the old noggin by an acorn.  It was pretty funny.  Of course, I wouldn't have enjoyed being conked on the head myself but then, I know better than to hang out underneath an oak tree when it's dropping its acorns.  Silly peep.  Doesn't she know about the laws of gravity and whatnot?

Hmmm...  you know....  Acorns fall from the trees in the fall.  They fall in the fall.  Hmmm....  I wonder...   Another one of these rampantly occurring cowinkeydinks of which I wrote in my last post?  Or, do you think that's why we call it the fall?  'Cause that's when stuff falls.  Could be, you know.  I must investigate this further, I do believe.  Yes, it definitely warrants further investigation.  And who better to do an investigation than I, Nerissa the cat, investigative reporter.  Hmmm...  I'll get back to you on this one.

And speaking of newsworthy investigations...  Just you wait for my upcoming blog post on how Blogger was being such a booger this morning with my spacing and alignment and whatnot.  Just look at that big old space at the top of this post!  Totally unacceptable.  And that was after I removed all the pictures, re-typed most of my post and then put the pictures back in again.  Good thing I can type speedily using all my claws.  I'm gonna blog about this unacceptable behaviour, for sure!!!




what a cowinkeydink!

The peep says I shouldn't make up words to use on my blog.  I say, the peep should keep her opinions to herself.  I also say, regarding these made up words, if I make 'em peeps will use 'em.  And I have empirical evidence to back that up!

You're probably wondering what the big cowinkeydink was.  By the way, that is pronounced co-wing-key-dink.  Emphasis on the second syllable, wing.  Got it?  Good.

As you know, my peep #2 went to Scotland for a couple of weeks.  Well, when the two peeps were at the airport, you'll never believe whom they met!  The peeps had just finished putting peep #2's luggage through when they turned around and...  lo and behold...  there was one of my doctors!  That's right.  Dr Teresa was there, waiting to put her luggage through and...  she was going to be flying on the very same flight as my peep!  Now, that's a cowinkeydink for sure.  Don't you agree?

Dr. Teresa's husband was gonna be on the same flight, too.  He's a doctor as well, I am told, but I've never met him 'cause he looks after big animals like cows and horses and whatnot.  Not little cats like me.  Hmmm...  a thought just crossed my mind.  If someone brought a lion to my hospital, who would look after him?  I mean, he's a cat, like me but he's big like a cow.  I should ask Dr. Teresa the next time I see her.  Hope I remember 'cause I don't think I'm due for my annual check-up and vaccinations for quite some time.  I'll ask the peep to remind me.  Better yet, I'll just jot down a little note to myself.  Yeah, that's a good idea.

But now that I think about it some more...  I think my Dr. Teresa would look after a lion.  After all, she looks after my brother Rushton and Rushy sure does look like a lion.  He has the same colouring, I think, and a bit of a mane going on there.  He's big, too.  He weighs like...  twenty pounds or something.  I know, that's not quite as big as an actual lion but I imagine it's about as close as most of us domesticated cats get.  Rushy can stand up on his hind legs and put his front paws on my peep's waist and the peep isn't that short.  He does this trick when he wants attention and stuff or when the peep is opening a tin of food.  The peep goes all oohy and ahhy when he does that.  Such a showman is my brother, Rushton. 

Plus, Rushton has a middle name and it's Tapio.  It was peep #1's daddy's middle name.  I think it means 'King of the Forest' in Finnish or something like that.  Well, lions are supposed to be kings of the jungle, right?  Hey, that's another cowinkeydink!

You know...  peep #2 was in the UK at the same time that lion was spotted in Essex.  Do you think it could have been my brother Rushy?  Do you think he could have travelled there with the second peep?  You never know...  Or maybe is was just another of these cowinkeydinks.  There appears to be an epidemic of them these days.

Anywho...  back to the first cowinkeydink.  The peeps didn't even know my Dr. Teresa was going on holiday and then there she was...  getting on the very same plane as my peep #2.  I think that's pretty neat. 

My peep and my doctor didn't sit together or anything, though.  Peep #2 got bumped up to first class or business class or the whatever they call it class 'cause the plane was a little overbooked.  At least that's what they said.  I imagine it had more to do with the fact that peep #2 was one of my peeps.  I'm pretty famous these days with my blog and all.  And fame gets you places, you know.  And apparently, it can get my peeps places, too.

don't ask the question...

... if you're not prepared to hear the answer.

Ever notice that about peeps?  They do it all the time, you know.  They ask questions but never really want to hear an answer. 

Sometimes, the questions are mindless.  You know...  like...  "How are you?"  Most of the time, they don't actually care how you are.  Quite honestly, I don't know why they even stick around for an answer to be given.  They might as well just walk away right then and there.  That way, they wouldn't look so stupid when the person answers that they're not well or something and they reply, "Oh, that's nice."  I guess they just stick around for appearances' sake but I'm telling you, when they answer without having listened, they appear pretty stupid.

And speaking of appearances...  have you ever watched Keeping up Appearances?  I sometimes watch it with my peeps.  It's all re-runs now but it's still pretty funny.  The main character, Hyacinth, never really listens when people speak.  Sorry...  she listens when she speaks but never when the talking is being done by someone else.

Anywho...  you're probably all thinking this post is about my peep's recent run-in with the cat who came back's teeth.  You're probably thinking people were asking 'bout her hand and not listening to her answer.  It's a pretty logical assumption, I think but...  well...  it would be a false one.  Actually, I'm talking something else peeps tend to do.  I'm talking about when peeps pick and choose answers, waiting for the one they want to hear and ignore all the rest.  Have you ever encountered this phenomenon?  I have and so has my peep.

I have come to the conclusion that peeps want to hear what they want to hear.  They have an uncanny ability to ignore all else.  They'll ask a question and want to hear answer F but they get answer A so they ignore it.  Then they ask the same question of someone else and get answer B.  They ignore that, too.  Then they find some other poor sucker to ask and get answer C.  You guessed it.  That's ignored, as well.  This continues until they find some like-minded peep who gives them answer F and since that was what they were waiting for all along...  that's the answer they believe.  All those other answers?  Gone with the wind, my friends...  gone with the wind.

It's kind of like listening to weather forecasts.  If you listen to all the forecasts on all the different television stations, the radio and the newspaper, you'll probably hear a whole whack of different forecasts.  Now, all you peeps out there, the reasonable thing to do would be to listen to the most reliable source and go with that.  But what do peeps do?  They listen to the forecast they like and ignore all else.  When I, Nerissa the cat, wash behind my ears...  it's gonna rain.  You can count on it.  I'm the most reliable weather forecaster around my house.  And what happens if you don't listen to me when I forecast the rain?  Well, your laundry out on the line is probably gonna get soaked.  Just ask my peep!

Now, I'm not suggesting that peeps should always believe everything they hear.  There are a lot of stupid answers out there for some very good questions, I think.  Peeps should always question the answers, asking themselves if it makes sense or not.  Just like Judge Judy says in her courtroom...  "If it doesn't make sense...  it's not true."  There's a lot of truth to that, I think.  I'm thinking that Judge Judy is a pretty smart lady although if she were really super-duper smart, she'd live with cats and although I may be wrong about this, I think she's more of a doggy person.  Anywho...  you get my drift, right?

So yes, all you peeps out there...  you can and should question the answers but it's not a very smart thing to pick and choose which answers you will believe simply because those are the ones you want to believe.  After all, if you already knew the answer...  why the mouses did you ask the question in the first place?  Yes, answer me that!

I keep it under the refrigerator

You know...  even a cat like me has to have a hobby or two.  Something to keep the mind occupied and the paws out of mischief.  A little something to bring pleasure into my life in a constructive sort of way.

Of course, I have my blog.  But Nerissa's Life isn't a hobby.  No, it's my career.  And I have my peeps who seem to need constant tending but that's...  well...  that's just family business.  Then there are my fur sibs and my aunties and my dad but again...   that's just more family stuff.   Napping and the accepting of tummy rubs and whatnot constitute an important part of my daily life but I wouldn't call those hobbies.  They're more like just things we cats do like breathing and eating and whatever else comes naturally.  I do have a lot of supervisory responsibilities around the house and garden but again, those aren't hobbies.  I'm not quite sure what I'd call those things.  Just stuff I have to do, I suppose.

So, I was thinking to myself about this hobby business.  I've noticed some cats on the Internet have starting painting and things.  That could be kind of fun.  I bet I could be good at that.  Really, I do.  But then...  I don't have any paint.  That could be a problem.

Then one day, I overheard some peeps on a television show talking about bird watching.  They seemed to think that this was a hobby.  I'm pretty sure that's what I do when I watch Bird TV.  That's not a hobby.  That's just entertainment!  Hmmm....

The first peep is going to be starting her weekly caterwauling practises again in a few days.  I could possibly join this group of caterwaulers.  I'm already a cat so...  all I would need to learn is the...  er...  waulering part.  Right?  Then I thought to myself, "No, caterwauling is the peep's domain and nobody - and when I say nobody I mean NOBODY - caterwauls like my peep!"  I wouldn't want to infringe upon her territory or anything.  Might make her jealous.

But that's when I realised...  I ALREADY HAVE A HOBBY!  Yes, I've had one for quite some time, in fact.  I am a collector of pens.  I have quite an extensive collection, you know.  I keep it under the refrigerator.  Shhh...  that's a secret.  Wouldn't want the peep to go on one of those cleaning frenzy thingies and clean out my collection.  Nor would I want a thief to come in and steal my collection.  I'm sure it's very valuable.  After all, I've been collecting pens for years now.  I'm pretty sure I have some vintage late 90's disposable editions.  I know I pushed some under there a few years back.

And from where do I obtain my pens, you ask?  That's a very good question for which I have a very good answer.  I find them!  Quite often I'll find a pen on a counter top or sometimes the kitchen table.  The coffee table in the family room has proven to be an excellent source.  I can usually count on obtaining a pen from there on a weekly basis.  I know there are pens in the peep's purse but that thing is a black hole of sorts.  Things go in there never to be found again.  Wouldn't want to endanger my paws, or anything.  I need them for stuff like typing up my blog and whatnot.  Occasionally, the peep will take a pen out of that black hole purse of hers (which actually, isn't black...  hmmm...  odd) and that's when I strike.  I wait for my moment when she ever so carelessly leaves the aforementioned pen lying about somewhere.  Then with lightening fast paws, I grab that pen and roll it into the kitchen and tuck it safely under the refrigerator, adding it to my collection. 

Oddly enough, my supply seems to never run dry.   There's always a pen to be found.  I believe the peeps bring them into the house every now and then after time spent shopping.  I say, you keep bringing them and I'll keep on collecting 'em.  Just don't tell anyone where I keep it, okay?  Remember, it's a secret.  Shhhh....

the real story behind the story

Okay folks...  it's time to get down to business.

You all know how I'm sort of a news reporter, right?  Well, in my last post, I sort of glossed over a few things.  It wasn't right of me.  It wasn't very news reporterishly of me.  It's time to set the record straight.  Time to tell the real story behind the story.  Are you ready for all the gory details?  Well have a seat, my friends, and be prepared to hear the truth.

It all began last Saturday evening.  Peep #1 was in the kitchen with her nose stuck up in the air.  She was sniffing this way and that and then she said, "I smell poop."  She looked around at all of us cats.  We all gave her our best looks of wide-eyed innocence which is not difficult to do when you're a cat as we practise this a lot.  Then I spoke up with a little meow and glanced down upon her shoes.  The peep looked down as well and then the realisation came.  It was her!  The peep had poop on her shoe.  What a peep.

Further investigation revealed that someone - and I'm not mentioning any names here but it wasn't me although I do have three fifteen-year-old aunties who sometimes have little accidents - had pooped in the front hallway.  Of course, the peep had walked on it and tracked it into the kitchen.  Again, what a peep.  So there was nothing for the peep to do but get out all the cleaning stuff and give the kitchen floor and the area by the front door a good hard scrubbing.

Unfortunately, the shoe had you-know-what embedded in the treads and the peep thought it might be a gonner.  But thanks to my good friend Herman over from It's a Wonderpurr Life, a solution was found.  Herman's mom suggested the peep soak her shoe in a shallow bath of hot water augmented with Dawn dish soap overnight and lo-and-behold...  the shoe was saved!  Thanks, Herman.  Your mom is so smart.  I should just add that Dawn has not paid me to mention them.  We just like the work they do with poor, unfortunate critters caught up in oil spills and whatnot.

It was shortly after this incident that the screeching began.  Well, you all know what happened there.  That was when the peep ran out to rescue the cat who came back from nosey neighbour cat and ended up with one badly bitten and infected hand and wrist.  If you missed this little tidbit of news, you can read all 'bout it in my last blog post entitled, "a rough week." 

The peep went out to break up the fight but got bitten herself.  She came in and cleaned and bandaged her war wounds and that was when she realised that someone - again, no names but you might fathom a guess - had pooped on the bathroom floor and not in the litter box.  Boy-o-boy we cats were making life tough for the peep that night.  Luckily for her, the peep had the sense to not step in it this time.  But she had to ignore this second transgression 'cause the cat who came back was still in need of rescue.

So the peep headed out again only to find the two cats back at it.  This time she grabbed that cat who came back and brought him inside the house only to find that...  you guessed it...  someone had thrown up on the newly cleaned kitchen floor.

The peep got down on her one good hand and knees and cleaned the kitchen floor again before tackling the bathroom.  It was quite the night for the peep and I must say, she handled herself quite well. 

Now, you're probably all wondering why peep #1 was having to do all this all by herself?  Where was peep #2, you might ask?  Well, during all this time, peep #2 was away in Scotland!  That's right.  The second peep was off enjoying the life of Riley while my first peep was slaving away at home, battle-scarred and war-torn.

Things are much better now.  A week later, the peep's hand has almost fully recovered.  Her wrist is still a little sore and there's a bit of an ugly bruise but that will fade in time, I think.  The redness is all gone and so is the swelling.  The peep's doctor obviously took good care of her.  I really did think she should have gone to one of my doctors but the peep insisted on using her own.  You know peeps...  they do what they like.  There's just no talking sense into them at times.  But I guess everything worked out in the end so all is well in my little corner of the world.


Now, how's that for news reporting?  Am I ready for CNN?  Can't you just see me sitting at the news desk next to Anderson Cooper.  A news network with both a sterling silver tabby and a silver fox?  Wow, what a network that would be.  Someone should call them up and tell 'em so.  Don't you think?