So there I was sittin' in the kitchen, waitin' for some treats, when...
When I happened to see my brother, Rushton, walkin' past my other brother, Andy.
I know, I know... I know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin', what's the big deal about that?
Well for starters, when Rushton walked past Andy, Andy gave him a smacky paw, right in the keister.
Now seriously folks, I wouldn't be puttin' my paws anywhere near that long-haired marmie freak of a brother of mine's keister, for one never really knows where his keister may have recently been.
But Andy, bein' Andy, can't resist smacky-pawin' anyone as they walk past. Sometime he gets you in the leg. Sometimes the side. And SOMETIMES, the keister.
Well the next thing was, Rushy was rushin' over to me, complainin' about Andy. "Did you see that? Did you see what he did? Did you see..."
I held up a paw in protest. In protest of my havin' to listen to his complaints, that is. "I, Seville the Cat, saw exactly what Anderson did," I told him. "But to tell you the truth, Rushy, what one long-haired marmie freak of a brother does to another long-haired marmie freak of a brother, is of no interest to me. MOUSES!"
"But, but, but..." Rushy began.
"But he got you in the BUTT, for sure," and I rolled on the floor, laughin'.
Seein' a pout beginnin' to form on my brother Rushton's face, I added, "But seriously, Rushy, it's not like you don't have protective paddin'. Andy couldn't have hurt you. I'm surprised you felt it at all. MOUSES!"
'Is that some kind of fat joke?" Rushton asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Not at all, mon frere. I am simply statin' the truth. You have... Well... Well you have ample paddin', to be sure. MOUSES!"
"Peep #1 says I'm just big boned," said Rushy, stampin' a paw. "Plus, I do have a whole lot of floof."
I shook my head in dismay. "Rushy, Rushy, Rushy... You weigh in at twenty pounds. There's no way that can all be accounted for by floof. MOUSES!"
Rushton sat on his butt - or should I say, keister - and gave me the look a two-year-old child gives his mother immediately prior to startin' a tantrum. "Don't complain to me," I told my long-haired marmie freak of a brother. "Not my fault Andy can't keep his paws to himself. Had I walked past him, he woulda smacky-pawed me in the keister, too. MOUSES!"
Rushton looked slightly cheered up by my little pep talk, so I continued.
"Of course, I woulda felt it more, for my keister isn't as well padded as yours. MOUSES!"
Well that did it. No sooner had I uttered that last statement, Rushy was up and about, threatenin' to smacky-paw ME!"
"Don't you get any ideas, you long-haired marmie freak of a brother of mine. I'm not the one who smacked you in the butt. You wanna get back at someone for that, you need to get back at the smacky-pawer himself, and that, mon bizarre confiture frere, would be Andy. MOUSES!"
Rushton sat back down for a moment, and mulled over what I had said.
Twenty. Minutes. Later...
Twenty minutes later, he had figured it out. "You're absolutely right, Seville. If I wanna get back at Andy for smackin' me, I need to deal with Andy himself."
"You got that right."
"I most certainly do! And do you know what I'm gonna do about it?" my brother asked.
Takin' a wild guess, I said, "Uh... Go talk to Andy, perhaps?"
"That's an even BETTER idea than what I was thinkin'," and Rushton squealed with delight.
Goodness knows what Rushy's original idea had been. MOUSES!
I looked at my brother, just sittin' there, not makin' a move. "Well uh... If you're gonna go talk to Andy, you're gonna have to get up off that butt of yours, and approach him."
"Good plan there, Sivvers," and Rushy was up and crossin' the room.
Now what happened next was not unexpected. Certainly not surprisin', in the least.
Rushton decided it would be best for him to talk to Andy, face to face, I suppose. And as Andy had his back to Rushy, Rushy walked past him, plannin' to spin 'round in order to talk, but...
But just as Rushy walked past...
Andy smacky-pawed him right in the keister.