I screwed up my nose in disdain.
What. The mouses. Is this.
Hey Peepers! What's the meanin' of this? Didn't you get my memo last week?
What memo, you ask? What memo? What memo?
Uhhh... It would be the one I sent out last Thursday, I do believe. MOUSES!
On second thought. The Thursday memo was about somethin' else. I'm talking 'bout the memo I sent you on Friday.
Or was it the Wednesday memo I'm thinkin' about?
What? What's that you're sayin', Peepers? You're sayin' I'm sendin' out too many memos? Too many for you to keep track?
Well if you don't like gettin' so many memos, might I suggest you try not doin' so many things that make me write so many of 'em up.
And if you think it's hard keepin' track of the memos you're gettin', imagine how difficult it is for me to keep track of the memos I'm sendin' out.
But back to the question at paw.
What. The mouses. Is this.
Okay, it's not so much a question, as a... Um... Uh... As a statement showin' my disdain. Yeah, that's it. A statement. Showin'. My. Disdain.
And that statement would be, I don't like this flavour of food.
At least not THIS week.
Peepers, Peepers, Peepers... Silly little peep that you are. Just because I liked that flavour once, doesn't mean I'll like it again. Just because I liked it last week, doesn't mean I'll like it today. In fact...
In fact, I haven't liked this particular flavour since last Monday. You know, when you made the mistake of servin' it to me twice in one day.
Did I mention you served it TWICE?
IN ONE DAY?
Yeah, remember now?
No, that was a different flavour. That was a totally different flavour, for sure. And, as a matter of fact, if you will recall, THAT flavour was covered in Saturday's memo. MOUSES!
No.... No... No no, no no, no... You're thinkin' about Tuesday's memo, Peepers.
That would be the Tuesday morning memo. The afternoon memo had nothin' to do with food, at all.
Yeah, the Tuesday morning memo was givin' you instructions to remove the slices from the sliced varieties of food before serving 'em to me, 'cause, as you know, I never eat them anyway. I mean, I never eat the sliced parts. I only lick off the juice. The memo to which you are referring was instructing you to serve me only the juice, therefore eliminating the need for me to spit out any sliced bits I might accidentally lick up.
'Cause you know, I have BETTER things to do.
And she wonders why I need to send her so many memos.
The memo 'bout the flaked tuna? To be honest, I don't remember that one. You sure that one was from me?
Well for all I know, maybe you've started sendin' memos to yourself!
It's not like you haven't done stranger things...
What? What's that you're sayin', Peepers? You're sayin' you haven't done stranger things? You haven't done stranger things than sendin' yourself memos?
Well I must admit, sendin' yourself memos would be pretty much on the top of the list of stupid... I mean, strange... No, I mean stupid things you've done, but...
But you're forgettin' about when you...
And then there was that time when...
Yeah, I'm thinkin' we should forget 'bout that stuff, too.
But - ONCE AGAIN - back to my question... I mean, my statement-of-disdain, at paw.
WHAT. THE MOUSES. IS THIS.
Like I told you in the memo, Peepers, I don't like this flavour anymore. I don't...
(Sniff, sniff... Sniff, sniff... Sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff, sniff...)
What do I smell? Is that tuna and whitefish? Are you givin' tuna and whitefish pate to my brothers and not to me? Are you...?
WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON'T LIKE TUNA AND WHITEFISH PATE ANYMORE?
BUT THAT WAS THE WEEK BEFORE LAST WEEK! It was the week BEFORE last week when I didn't like it. Last week, I decided I liked it again.
Of all the moused-up...
FINE. I'll write you another memo.