that can't be right

What the mouses?  No, that can't be right.  Better double-check those numbers.

Hmmm...  8C.

Good thing I have a fur coat.

MOUSES!

Peepers!  Hey, PEEPERS!  PEEPERS!!!

Peepers, did you not hear me talkin' to you?

Talkin' to...  Yellin' at...  Whatever.

MOUSES!

Okay, so it's like this, Peepers: I need you to call someone for me and I need you to call her right now.

What?

Oh.  Hmmm...  No, I, Seville the Cat, cannot make the call.

OF COURSE I KNOW how to use the telephone.  What do you think I am, stupid?

Don't answer that.

MOUSES!

But as I was sayin', I may know HOW to use the phone.  I DO know how to use the phone.  I just can't make the call right now.

No, later today won't work.

Neither will tomorrow.

Why?

Well...

Well, the thing is, the last time I spoke to this particular person, she told me she was gonna give me a piece of her mind.  And I, of course, bein' my amazingly helpful self, replied with a snarky ol' "I couldn't do that.  I wouldn't dream of takin' your last piece."  And long story short...

Well...

Well, as a result, she's no longer takin' my calls.

MOUSES!

And that's why I need YOU to call ol' Mother Nature for me.  

Why?

WHY?

ARE YOU CRAZY, WOMAN?  YOU'RE ASKIN' ME WHY?

Because for the last few days, the weather has been icky 'round here.  Then this mornin', when I checked on the temperature - to see why the tips of my whiskers were feelin' all frosty - IT WAS ONLY EIGHT DEGREES.  This is the beginnin' of September, Peepers.  It's just the beginnin'!  Fall weather like this is way too early for this time of year.  It's like Ol' Mother Nature is drunk or somethin' and accidentally flipped her calendar over to November.  Or maybe she can't read.  MAYBE she misread November, thinkin' it was September, and...  

Yeah, now that I think about it, my sayin' stuff like that is probably the reason she's no longer takin' my calls.

MOUSES!

So Peepers, when you call, whatever you do, don't tell her she's behavin' like a sloppy ol' drunk or an illiterate fool, or...

Or anythin' else I may have said to her in pervious conversations.

MOUSES!

So just call that Ol' Mother Nature up and catsplain to her 'bout how September is supposed to be nice here in Nova Scotia.

But don't use the word catsplain, Peepers.  She'll know you're callin' for me.

Drunken or not, she's quick to pick up on these things.

Oh, and you probably shouldn't call her old, either.

At least not to her face.

MOUSES!

So Peepers, you have your instructions.  You've got your assignment.  You know what to do.  Now pick up the phone and start dialin'.  I've got her number right here.

Peepers, why aren't you dialin'?

DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHIN' FOR YOU?

WHERE ARE YOU GOIN'?  PEEPERS, WHERE ARE YOU GOIN'?  YOU CAN'T CALL FROM OUT THERE!

By gosh and by golly, it looks like Peepers isn't willin' to make this very important call.

Hmmm...

HMMM...

Well, maybe if I act all dumb and stuff, trippin' over my words and usin' incorrect grammar, and am very careful to not actually use the word catsplain whilst catsplainin', Ol' Mother Nature will think I'm Peepers and not me.

And if I'm lucky, she'll be in that same drunken stupor that caused her to send us the wrong weather in the first place.

Note to self: do not call Mother Nature drunk, stupid, or old.

This time.

'Cause if this call is anythin' like my last one, those words will not go over well, my friends.

MOUSES!