she just doesn't understand

So the other day, total chaos erupted in my house.  And when I say total, I mean total.  And when I say erupted, I mean  ERUPTED.  For a moment there, I thought Mount Vesuvius was gonna blow its top or something. 

"THERE'S A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!"  Yup, that's what I heard.

I, of course, was in the livin' room, still under house arrest and therefore did not get to witness the events first hand.  I have, however, interviewed all those who did witness the catastrophe of catastrophic proportions and even those who might be considered persons of interest.   Or in this case, cats of interest.  Actually, there's no big mystery here.  No mystery at all.  Everyone has fessed up to what they did or did not do and no one is denying a thing.

From what I understand, my sister Constance appeared at the kitchen window and very nonchalantly, waltzed in with something in her mouth.  Peep #2 was witness to this event but, I am told, thought nothing of it at the time.  Why, I don't know.  I mean...  when one sees a cat walkin' around with something in his or her mouth, one might want to investigate further.  Especially if that cat happens to be my sister Constance.  Connie, you see, is an habitual snaker.  Yup.  Peep #1 is always rescuing garden snakes from Connie.  She thinks they're toys or something.  Connie, I mean.  The peep doesn't think snakes are toys.  The peep feels sorry for the snakes and, like I said, rescues them.

Some time passed.  Exactly how much, I do not know.  As I was being held hostage in the living room, it felt like an eternity, I am sure.  Everything feels like an eternity when being held hostage in the living room.

Connie was then spotted nosing around the door leading to the basement.  There were a couple of bags of papers gettin' ready to head downstairs for the purposes of recycling.  They were leanin' up against the wall and Connie was stickin' her nose in between them.  Obviously, there was something there of interest.  It could have been a toy, perhaps.  We cats do tend to have toys scattered around the house.  Peep #2 noticed the odd behaviour on Connie's part but, again, thought nothing of it.

Peep #2 really needs to start thinking more about what is going on in this house.  There is evidence of illegal activity all around and the second peep never seems to do anything about it until it's too late.  I mean...  this could have been really serious stuff.  Constance could have had one of my pens from my pen collection.   She might have managed to get one of my pens from my pen collection out from underneath the refrigerator and bat it all the way over to the doorway.  One of my precious pens!  The door leadin' to the basement and the refrigerator are only a few feet apart and I, being locked in the living room for eons upon eons, have not been able to inspect my collection or guard it from potential cat burglars such as my siblings.  I shudder at the thought of what could have happened.

Anywho...  eventually, the second peep must have become curious regarding Connie's odd behaviour and decided to check things out.  That would be about the time when I heard, "THERE'S A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!"

So, as usual, it was Peep #1 to the rescue.  The first peep is the rescuer of all things needin' rescuing in this house.  It's just the way things work, I suppose, although I, myself, seriously need some rescuing from this darned living room and would appreciate it if the first peep would do something about rescuing me!  I mean...  I've been stuck in here for the last millennium or so and she has had plenty of time break me out of my jail cell and yet, here in this cell, I still am.  MOUSES!

But I digress...

Peep #1 emptied out the little garbage can in the downstairs bathroom and headed over to the door leadin' to the basement.  She put the garbage can on it's side before pulling out one of those bags of papers for recycling.  There, behind the bag, she found the mouse.  The first peep used her paws to encourage the mouse to go into the plastic can.  In less than five minutes, she had the mouse in the garbage can and was heading outdoors.

I do want to mention that although the peep used the garbage can to catch the mouse, in no way did she consider the mouse to be garbage.  The can was simply used as a transportation device to take the mouse outside for its release back into the wild.  Release...  RELEASE...  How I long to be released from the captivity of the living room!

Peepers probably took the mouse over to the brush pile or perhaps the compost.  She never said where.  Didn't want us cats headin' over for a second go at the little critter.  She could have told me, though.  It's not like I can go find the little guy.  I'm still locked up behind bars in the living room.

Ol' peepers said the mouse was fine.  A little slobbered over but fine.  The little guy scampered away when he realized he was, once again, free.  Free...  Freedom...  Lucky mouse.  I haven't tasted freedom in what seems like centuries...

For at least half an hour after the incident, Constance was still nosin' about around the door leading to the basement.  She was looking for her mouse.  She just doesn't understand...

Obviously, Connie doesn't understand that once the peep takes a mouse outside, the mouse can no longer be found in the house.

But more importantly, Constance doesn't seem to understand the whole concept of mousing.  I mean...  cats catch mice all the time.   For some cats, mousing is our job.  Usually, what happens is that there already is a mouse in the house and the cat's job is to catch that mouse and remove it from the house.  Remove it from the house.  Connie was doing stuff backwards.  Apparently, she's a backwards mouser.  Connie brought the mouse into the house.  What she was gonna do with, I do not know.  Maybe she was gonna have him over for tea and sandwiches or something.  I just don't know.  And Connie just doesn't
                                                         understand.

hey... I'm so cool

Hey...  I'm so cool.  I look so cool in these shades.  Everyone says so, so it must be true.  Right?

Actually, they're not really shades.  They're goggles.  Now that I've got a pair of goggles...  I need a motorcycle!

But all joking aside, these goggles are special goggles.  They're special hospital equipment goggles.  I wore them when I had my laser treatments on my leg.  Bet you thought they were photo shopped or something, huh?  Nope, they're the real deal.  I was really wearing 'em.

After havin' my knee surgery, my doctor recommended that I undergo laser treatments.  The laser was supposed to make my knee heal faster and I think it kind of worked 'cause I'm feelin' pretty good.  I wanna jump and run and play but ol' peepers won't let me do anything too strenuous.  She has no idea how bored I am.  I keep tellin' her but my complaints seem to go in one ear and right out the other.  I don't think there's anything between those two ears of hers.  Otherwise, why wouldn't she be listenin' to me?  And not just listening.  She should be doing something about it!

I do, however, have some concerns about these laser treatments.

When I first heard the word laser, I immediately thought about starships on television battling it out in some futuristic war.  I was a little worried.  The peep reassured me that the laser my doctor was gonna use was not a weapon but rather, a medical instrument made for healing.  Whew!  That was a close one.

But then I got to thinking about all those advertisements on television.  Advertisements for laser treatments.  It didn't take me long to realize that a whole whack of those laser treatments bein' advertised were for hair removal.  Hair removal?  HAIR REMOVAL!!!  Hair is like fur and my fur is not needin' to be removed!

Peep #1 said, "No, no, no...  don't worry.  You won't be having that kind of laser treatment."  That's what she said but I'm not so sure 'bout what happened. 

Have you seen my leg?  I've got a moused-up poodle cut.  It's true.  Just look at the pictures!

The peep says that the fur on my leg was shaved for my surgery but how do I know that that's true?  How do I know that my missing fur is not actually due to these laser treatments?  How do I know that my fur will grow back?  Laser hair removal is supposed to be a permanent thing.  And by permanent I'm not talking 'bout getting curls.  No, I'm talkin' about never getting my fur back.  My beautiful sterling silver tabby fur! 

This is a really big deal.  I can't go through the rest of my life with a poodle cut.  Sure, poodle cuts look fine on poodles.  They might even look great on poodles.  But I'm not a poodle.  I'm a cat!  I'm Nerissa the Cat and the poodle look is just not for me.

Then, the other day, I caught a glimpse of my back in the mirror.  What did I find?  I found more missing fur.  I have two patches of missing fur on my back.  I immediately went to the peep and demanded an explanation.

The peep says that the nurses shaved off two patches of fur on my back for my surgery.  One was for the anaesthetic while I was havin' the surgery and the other was for my pain patch that I wore after the surgery.  I do vaguely remember the pain patch business.  I vaguely remember managing to escape the cone of shame for the third time and yanking off some funny bandage thingy that was annoying me to no end.  It was in my way and pulling at my fur.  The peep says that my pain patch was under that bandage.  But after I yanked it all off, the peep threw out the pain patch so she has no physical proof that there ever was one.  And even though I vaguely remember it, I was pretty doped up on the pain meds so I'm not sure that I can trust my memory.  It could have all been a dream.

The only real evidence I have is the fact that I underwent six laser treatments and I have fur missin' on three parts of my body.  I'm connecting a lot of dots here and I'm not likin' the picture those connected dots are forming.

The peep must fancy herself to be a comedian or something 'cause when I was confronting her with my evidence, she said, "They also use laser treatments to remove wrinkles."  Wrinkles?  WRINKLES!!!  I don't have any wrinkles and even if I did, my fur would cover 'em up.  That is if I had any fur left to cover 'em!  MOUSES!

And something else happened when I was unconscious during my surgery.  They gave me a mani-pedi.  That's right...  a mani-pedi.

I never signed up to have my nails done but when I awoke, my claws had absolutely no sharp points.  Not a one.  The indignity of it all!  My peeps never clip my claws.  Never!  I can care for my claws, myself, than you very much.  But there can be no denying the fact that my claws were clipped.  They're dull as dull can be.  Well...  actually...  they were dull.  I've been sharpening 'em up.  It's a lot of work but it has to be done.  Claws are meant to be sharp and that's all there is to it.

I suppose I should just be thankful that they didn't paint 'em or something.  All I need is four pawfuls of hot pink claws.  I know I look cool wearin' the goggles and everything but a pink mani-pedi just isn't gonna enhance that look. 

It's such a dilemma.  I actually quite suit the colour pink.  It goes so well with my nose.  Pink also looks good with my fur.  Sterling silver and pink are a winning combination, you know. 

But I'm a mancat and even though mancats can wear pink I'm not sure that mancats with girls' names should wear it.  It's too confusing for the peeps, you see.  Peeps are so very easily confused.  How else does one explain that I'm a mancat with a girls' name and a poodle cut?  And all that needs some explaining, for sure.

she's doin' it all wrong!

As you may have heard, I'm still under house arrest.  Oh yeah...  sure...  the peeps call it rest and recuperation.  I call it like I see it...  HOUSE ARREST.   The peeps say I have to give my knee a chance to heal, properly.  I say, MOUSES!  I'm bored.  I'm bored as bored can get.  Bored as a floor board in an empty boardroom floor.  I WANT OUT.

Well, I guess ol' peepers was listening 'cause last week, she took me outside on a harness, twice.  Turns out, I don't particulary like bein' on a harness. 

I think the peep thought we would go for a little walk in the garden.  Check out some flowers and whatnot.  Well, she might have thought that but, let me tell you, I thought otherwise. 

There wasn't a whole lot of walkin' to be done.  At least, not on my part.  Instead of goin' for a walk, I just had a little sit in the grass while Peep #1 stood there and watched me...  sitting.  Okay, I admit it.  I did bat at a couple of bugs.  Maybe more than just a couple.  But those bugs deserved bein' batted.  I'm sure of it.  They were bugging me, you see...

After the peep watched me sit for a bit, she picked me up and carried me around the garden.  I saw some stuff.  Some stuff other than those bugs.  I saw some flowers.  There were tulips and primroses and a daffodil or two.  The daffies were fading fast but there were still a few left.  I even saw some blossoms on the peach and nectarine trees but, I am told, they are all gone now.  Good thing I caught a glimpse when I did.  That's more than I can say for the bugs.  I didn't catch any of them.  Just batted 'em.

But I also saw some other stuff and after seein' that other stuff, I have come to the conclusion that...  SHE'S DOIN' IT ALL WRONG!

Never let a peep loose in the garden, unsupervised.  It should be a law or something.

At the front of my house, I have a bed of primroses.  They're kind of pretty when they bloom in the spring.  Pretty enough for me to pose among them and whatnot.  Well, all along the edge of that bed of primroses, I have been carefully cultivating some grass.  It's just the ordinary kind of grass that one might find in a lawn but this particular grass is fresh and tender and in the perfect location for grazing.  With grass for grazing, location is everything!  You know what they say...  "location, location, location!"  Cats were sayin' that about grazing grass long before peeps ever said it about properties, you know.  It's a fact.

Location is important 'cause you want your grazing grass in a convenient spot.  I don't like to have to walk too far when I feel the need for a nibble or two.  If I have to walk all the way to the other side of the yard, I might forget what I'm aiming for by the time I get there.  Don't laugh.  It happens.  It happens a lot.  It happens to cats and peeps.  Don't believe me?  Have you never seen your peep standin' in front of the refrigerator, peerin' inside and wondering what on earth he or she was after?  Like I said...  it happens.

Accessibility of the location is also extremely important.  I chose this particular spot for my grass garden 'cause it was accessible from the driveway.  Nothin' worse than havin' to pad through dewy, wet lawn in the morning.  It can be cold and...  well... obviously, damp.  Icky.  The driveway, on the other paw, dries up quickly.  It dries up far more quickly than the lawn.  It's warm, too, when the sun shines on it.  The driveway makes for nicely heated seating while munching on ones grass.  Very nice and not icky at all.

So, like I said, I have been carefully cultivating my little plot of grass in my perfectly chosen spot.  I have been cultivating it for quite some time, now.  So you can imagine how shocked I was when the peep carried me over to the primroses and I looked down to see...  I looked down to see...  I can barely formulate the words.  I looked down to see that my grass was GONE!

Peep #1 had been let loose in the garden with the tools of evilness - namely, one garden trowel - and had been allowed to dig up my grass.  She says she was weeding.  Weeding.  Weeding?  Those weren't weeds!  That was my grass!!!

Now, I know stuff and one of the things I know is that a weed is a plant growing where it's not supposed to grow.  Well, that grass was growing exactly where it was supposed to grow.  That grass was growing in the perfect spot.  It was in the ideal location.  The ideal location which I had so carefully chosen for my little grass garden.  MOUSES!

The peep is not entirely to blame.  My sister, Mason, played a part in this catastrophe, as well.  You see...  on the day the unthinkable happened, my sister Mason was supposed to be out in the garden, supervising the peep.  My sister, Mason, was supposed to be keeping a watchful eye on her.  Makin' sure she didn't get into too much trouble out there and whatnot.  Makin' sure she didn't dig up my grass!

Now, just what was my sister, Mason, doin' when she was supposed to be supervising?  She was posing!  She was posing in the daffy down dillies in the back yard.  Posing among the daffies in the back while ol' peepers was devastating my grass garden in the front.  I have proof of this neglectful behaviour on Mason's part.  She was caught in the act.  Caught in the act of posing.  I have the pictures to prove it.  MOUSES!

when good men do nothing

A very wise man named Edmund Burke once wrote, "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."  He may have written that hundreds of years ago, but it still applies today.  Wisdom transcends centuries.

There was an incident, in our neighbourhood, the other day.  An incident involving evil and good men, doin' nothin'.  A woman in the neighbourhood found a carrier containin' four kittens.  Four beautiful kittens.   Quite possibly, four of the most beautiful kittens to grace this world since the arrival of my siblings and me, ten years ago. 

Said woman, found the kittens in a carrier on the side of the road, by her house.  Had it been either one of my peeps who had found those precious babies, they would have scooped them up, right there and then, and taken them to safety 'cause...  well...  'cause that would have been the right thing to do.  But this woman didn't do that.  Instead, she left them there.  Just left them there, by the side of the road.

Said woman, refused to take the kittens inside, to safety.  She refused to pick up the carrier and take it away from the side of the road.  She didn't want to keep the kittens.  Well, that's okay.  No one was expecting her to keep them.  But, nevertheless, my peeps and I would have expected her to take them to safety.  All she had to do was pick up the carrier and bring it into her yard - where they would have been much safer than they were at the side of the road - before calling Animal Control.  Animal Control would then have taken these precious babies to the Companion Animal Protection Society where they would be cared for and loved before bein' put up for adoption.

Instead, said woman came and got my peep.  She refused to call Animal Control herself, which peep #1 found to be very odd and just a little suspicious.  She had so many excuses and not one, single, actual reason. 

When ol' peepers realized that the kittens were still at the side of the road in that carrier, she flew into action.  We had a friend visitin' and he went with the woman to go save the kittens.  He went, I think, 'cause my peep was gonna walk over.  She didn't want to get into the same car as the woman.  She didn't wanna hear any more excuses.  My peep was mad.  Mad, mad, mad...  Mad as a mad hatter.  Mad as a mad hatter squirrel wearin' a mushroom hat, made of questionable mushrooms.  Ever seen one of those?  I have.  It's pretty scary.

Now, here's the difficult part...  Edmund Burke also wrote, "Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little."

The woman did come and get my peep and, for that, I am truly grateful.  At least she did something.  Something is always better than nothing. 

But I still have a serious problem with the fact that those kittens were left in that carrier by the side of the road, unattended.  In a matter of seconds, disaster could have struck.  Disaster with disastrous consequences.  They could have been run over, either accidentally or intentionally.  They would have died right then and there.  Had that happened, that would have been that woman's fault because she could - should - have moved the carrier to a place of safety.  I know for a fact that there are four dogs livin' in our subdivision who are allowed to roam, occasionally.  What if one of those dogs had come across the kittens?  They wouldn't have been able to escape.  They could have been mauled to death.  That, too, would have been that woman's fault for she should have moved that carrier to a place of safety.  And I know that that woman COULD have moved the carrier to safety.  I know that she was perfectly capable of movin' it.  There was nothin' stoppin' her from doin' the right thing except for the fact that she didn't want to do it.  Her excuses for not doin' so were exactly that...  excuses.  I, Nerissa the Cat, know the difference between an excuse and a reason and I heard no reasons that day.

Even though doin' something is better than doin' nothin', should we not, still, always strive to do our best?  Perhaps our best is only a little and, if that is truly the case, then that little must suffice.  But we must never do just a little when we could do more.  We must never do just a little, far less than our best, and think that that's good enough.  Think that that somehow makes us better people 'cause...  it just doesn't.  The world demands more from us.  And when those demands are made, it's our time to shine.  It's our time to shine and do the world proud.  We shouldn't just slack off and think, well...  I did something.  That little something may not have been enough.

And what if that woman had not found my peep that day?  Would she have left the kittens there to die?  She was adamant that she would not move the carrier to safety.  Adamant that she would not call Animal Control.  I shudder at the thought of what would have happened had my peep not been home that afternoon.

Thankfully, there are truly good peeps in this world.  Good peeps who always do their best 'cause they know that doin' their best is what is always best to do. 

The kittens are now safe.  They're in the care of the good peeps at the Companion Animal Protection Society...  otherwise known as CAPS.  There, they are bein' loved and well-cared for and will soon, along with fourteen other kittens thrown away this spring, be put up for adoption.  CAPS also has plenty of adult cats, lookin' for good forever homes.  I urge all my readers to take a peek at the CAPS' website.  Just click on the word CAPS and you'll be teleported over in a jiffy.  And, if you live in Nova Scotia and happen to be needin' another furry friend, you just might find yourself a real cutie over there.  Bet you will...  Yup, I just bet you will...  'cause matching up cute furry friends with peeps and other cats is what CAPS does best.  purrs

peepers be jeepers!

There can be no doubt about it...  spring has sprung.  Yup, it sprung all right.  Sprung right out of the sky and covered the ground with daffodils and whatnot.

Normally, I would be overjoyed at the sight of all those beautiful daffodils bloomin' but this year is a little different.  This year, as you may have heard, I've been confined to quarters due to the recent surgery on one of my hind ones.  One of my hind quarters, that is.  Well...  actually...  it was just my knee. 

I'm on strict bed rest, you see.  Well, not really bed rest.  It's more like crate and couch rest.  Haven't jumped up on an actual bed since my surgery.  I miss jumpin' up on beds.  Beds are comfy and they're cosy and make pretty much the perfect spot for nappin'.  I sure would love to snuggle into some blankets on a bed right about now.  Guess that won't be happenin' for a few more weeks.  MOUSES!

Due to my involuntary confinement, I have unable to do my daily inspections of the daffies.  Not a single one!  I haven't been able to pose among them, for picture taking, either.  I just know how disappointed everyone must be about this and I sure am sorry 'bout that.  If it's any consolation, I'm pretty disappointed, too.  I would have looked so handsome posin' among those daffy-down-dillies.  The bright yellows and white complement the sterling silver tabbiness of my coat, so very well.

I sent the first peep out to take some pictures and she did an okay job of it, I think.  I have also been sendin' my brothers and sisters out to do some inspections and maybe a little posin'.  Seems to me though, they're more interested in the posin' part than the inspectin' part.  I just hope someone is actually inspectin' stuff, making sure my daffies are okay and that nothin' is botherin' them. Nothin' like mice or voles or any other little critters that might damage my pretty little flowers.  I also hope that those whom I send out to make sure nothin' is botherin' my daffies, aren't bothering my daffies...  if you know what I mean.  It's very important that when you pose among the daffies, you don't sit on 'em or anything.  Especially if you weigh twenty pounds or somethin' like that.  Like my brother Rushton does.  Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration.  He probably only weighs nineteen.

Not only have I been missin' the blooming of the daffodils but I've also been missin' the nightly nightlife.  You should hear the parties goin' on around here.  The last couple of weeks have been pretty mild and the peepers are out in full force.  There must be thousands of 'em.  Maybe even millions!  Who knows for sure?  I don't think there's any kind of peeper registration or anything like that.  But if there was, the line to sign-up would be a mighty long line.  Longer than the audition lines for American Idol!  Can you imagine how tired those judges would be if they had to audition all the peepers?

Now, you might be thinkin' that I'm talkin' about my peep #1 whom I often refer to as the ol' Peepers.  Nope, not this time.  This time, I'm referring to the little froggy frews who peep and cheep and generally make a noisy ruckus every spring...  peepers.

Well, the peepers have been out there doing their stuff.  They've been singin' and singin' and singing.  They've been singing their little hearts out.  Gosh...  they sing so loudly, they can even out-caterwaul my peep!  Hard to believe but it's true.  The biggest difference between the peep and the peepers is that the noise the peepers make is quite pleasant.  Loud, yes, but pleasant, nevertheless.  The peep has been leavin' a window open for me at night so I've been able to hear the peeper chorus quite well.  It truly is a beautiful sound.

I swear those peepers are out there callin' my name.  Most of the time, they sound kind of like sleigh bells or something, sort of off in the distance.  I half expect for Santa to arrive, hearin' all those sleigh bells, but know that that's not possible.  Santa never arrives in daffodil season.  Well, at least not in Nova Scotia. 

Every now and then, the general peeper chorus is interrupted by a loud soloist peeper.  This soloist sings out, "Nerissa...  Nerissa...  Nissy..."  It's true!  I heard one callin' my name last night and the night before that, too.  Bet one will call me tonight, as well.  The soloist peepers sound so close.  It's like they're right outside my window.  Right outside there, waitin' for me to answer them.  I feel so terrible, not bein' able to visit them or anything.  I hope they'll forgive me.  I think they will but one can be too sure about these things.  I've heard that peepers can be fickle.  Don't know if that's true or just a rumour but that's what I heard.

In the summer, a few of those peepers usually come visit me in my garden.  Well, I don't know if they're the very same peepers or not.  I've never actually asked them.  But we always have a few froggy frews hoppin' about in the summers.  They like the hostas a lot, I think.  Must be yummy bugs in there or somethin'. 

I wish I had a little pond for those visitin' peepers.  I think they'd like that.  I think they'd like that a lot.  I should mention it to the ol' Peepers.  You know...  my peep.  My peep #1.  And I should mention it while I'm still under house arrest.  Might manage a sympathy pond, or something like that.  Hmmm...  I wonder what a sympathy pond looks like.  Does it look any different from a regular pond?  Does anyone know?  Somethin' to ponder for sure.  Hmmm...

Tobias was a mama

HAPPY MAMA'S DAY !!! 

That's right...  here in Canada, and many other parts of the world, today is Mama's Day.  Today is the day we set aside to celebrate all the mamas, mothers, muzzers and mummies out there.  It's a great day, for sure.

Last year, on Mama's Day, I wrote all 'bout my very own mama in a post entitled, "mama's day".  My mama's name was Madison and she was just about the best mama on earth.  Now, she's just about the best mama in Heaven.  I know that she looks down upon me, from up there, and keeps watch over me, day and night.  That's the kind of mama my Mama Madison was.

My peeps are very much into the philosophy of havin' all us cats altered so that we can't ever become mamas or dads.  My peeps love kittens as much as the next person - maybe even more - but they love cats, too.  Peep #2 says that kittens are cute - obviously - but so are cats.  Peep #1 says that too many of the kittens born today will end up at kill shelters in the not so distant future so, there will be no kittens for any of us kitties.  We will forever be the kittens in our peeps' eyes.

Sometimes, however, plans work out differently than planned.

Many years ago now, my sister Tobias came to live with us.  She had been livin' outside for three years before the peeps convinced her to come inside.  Toby was a truly feral kitty.  Terrified of all peeps...  even mine.  For the first year, she wouldn't even let the peeps see her.  They just caught glimpses now and then.  Eventually, she allowed them to see her and then even hear her.  Then, one bitterly cold night, Tobias came inside.  She lived in the basement for the next few months.  Not because the peeps kept her down there like a prisoner or anything but rather, 'cause she was still too scared to let 'em touch her.

Now for the three years Toby had been outside, the peeps thought she was a little boy...  thus, the name.  They soon learnt otherwise.  Tobias went into heat!  What to do?  What to do???  The peeps couldn't catch her to take her to the hospital to be spayed.  She wouldn't let 'em near her. 

Plus, my older brother Calista, who was just about as feral as feral can be, had never been neutered.  Peeps couldn't catch him if their lives depended upon it.  He had started coming into the house and they were seeing the day in the distant future when they might be able to pick him up and take him to the hospital but that day had not yet come.  So they formulated a plan...  a plan to keep Calista away from Tobias.  The two must never meet.

Like I said, sometimes plans don't work out like planned. 

One day, one of the peeps thought Calista was outside when he was actually in and opened the door to the basement.  That's all it took.  Toby was preggers!  MOUSES!!!

Oddly enough, that pregnancy sort of saved Tobias' life.  The peeps had been gettin' more and more worried 'bout Toby accidentally gettin' out of the house.  She was ready to make an escape, first chance she got.  I know, 'cause she told me.  No one could touch her, never mind catch her.  If she spotted either peep approaching her, she'd dart away like a kitty Flash.  But almost the very day after Toby met up with Calista, something changed.  All of a sudden, Peep #1 was allowed to touch her and even pick her up.  Peep says it must have been hormones, or somethin' like that.

At the end of May that year, Tobias gave birth to little Aristotle.  I say little 'cause he was a baby but...  peeps say Ari was the biggest newborn kitten they had ever seen!  Almost the size of peep #1's hand, she says.  The peep should know, too, 'cause she was there as the actin' midwife or something.  I know all 'bout this midwifery business now 'cause I watch Call the Midwife with the peeps every Sunday on PBS. 

My sister was an amazin' little mama.  I wasn't allowed downstairs with her and Aristotle but the peep says Toby was wonderful.  She loved up her baby like no mama had ever loved a baby before.  The peeps now believe she must have been preggers many times while livin' outside but all her babies died, shortly after birth.  Ari might have been the very first baby she ever had the chance to love up properly.

Ari grew and grew and the peeps adored him to no end.  Peep #1 says he would get up and toddle towards the sound of her voice.  She says he was a really special kitty.  So bright and lovable and cute and...  well...  you know...  all the wonderful things we kitties can be.

Unfortunately, when Aristotle was exactly four weeks old, the unthinkable happened.  He was just fine early that morning but a few hours later, he couldn't even hold up his head.  The peeps rushed him to the hospital but there was nothin' the doctors could do.  There was fluid around his heart.  They said it might have been some sort of congenital thing.  Ari went to live up in Heaven that very same day.  The peeps came home crying.  Tobias was crying, too.

But for four short weeks, Toby had been allowed the chance to be a mama.  To have her baby with her and love him up as only a mama can.  She can't have any other babies now but still has the memories of her beloved Aristotle.

I suspect that Ari is up in Heaven now with my mama.  I know that my mama will be takin' excellent care of him, there.  After all, my Mama Madison is his grandmother.  Remember?  Calista, Ari's dad, was my older brother.  Today, of all days, Ari will be up in Heaven with Madison and Calista.  I bet they're all chasin' butterflies through sun drenched fields of nip with soft breezes caressing their fur.  And every now and then, Ari will look down upon his mama, Tobias, and my Mama Madison will look down upon me, her son, and they'll see us lookin' right back up at 'em...   sending our love and best wishes for Mama's Day.

the great fancy feast grilled chicken pizza caper

The following is a true story.  At least, it's as true as I can remember... what with my bein' doped up on pain meds following my surgery and all. 

It was a week ago today when I had my knee surgery.  Remember 'bout that?  I had to have bionic ligaments implanted in my right knee 'cause I tore all of my originals doing a terribly courageous act, like saving the world or somethin', I am sure.

I slept most of that first night.  I dreamt of food.  I was hungry, you see.  Hadn't been allowed to eat the night before.  I missed breakfast and lunch.  By the time my surgery was over, even though I was sleeping, my tummy was doin' the Rumba with a pawful of growls thrown in for good measure.  That's right...  the Rumba.  I was swayin' my hips but goin' easy on the knees 'cause of my right one bein' broken and only newly repaired.  I can still hear the music in my head.  One, two, three, four, five, six...  One, two, three, four, five, six...  Ooch...  Ouch...  One, two, three, four, five, six...  You know the drill.

Still feelin' a little groggy the next morning, I decided to go on a hunger strike.  That was a bad decision 'cause I was already hungry.  Note to self...  always have a good meal before startin' a hunger strike.  Nevertheless, I told my doctor - in no uncertain terms - that I wanted to go home and I wouldn't eat until I saw my peeps.  The doctor just gave me a hug and a kiss, told me I was doin' well, and left me alone...  peepless.  MOUSES!

I looked at the plate of food sittin' next to my hospital bed.  It smelled kind of good but there was no way I was gonna give in.  I had made my demands and I was stickin' to 'em.  My tummy thought otherwise.  Next thing I knew, my tummy started doin' the Salsa.  Unfortunately for me, I don't like Salsa.  It has onions, you see.  Cats don't like onions.

I was strong willed.  I held out all day long and never ate a bite.  Day one of my hunger strike was over but I didn't know if I could make it through another night of my ballroom dancin' tummy.

I looked out the window of my hospital room and saw the pizza place next door.  If I meowed at the top of my lungs, would they me?  Probably not.  So near and yet so far.  An inkling of a plan started to form in my mind.  I knew what I needed to do and decided that I was gonna do it!

In the time it takes a mouse to snatch a chunk of cheese...  Cheese...  Mmmm...  Must get back on track... 

In the time it takes a mouse to snatch a chunk of cheese, I had my laptop out and turned on.  I immediately pressed this, then that, then clicked a few more keys.  I had to work speedily and yet, quietly, 'cause there were nurses and whatnot wandering throughout the halls.  I knew that if any of them discovered me up and typing, I'd be in trouble for sure.

And it wasn't just the nurses I was tryin' to evade.  What if a dance instructor happened upon my hackin' into the system?  What if the dance instructor was there to teach my tummy new steps?  That dance instructor would put a stop to my pizza orderin' days, for sure, even though I had already decided that my tummy was not gonna be doin' the Rumba or the Salsa or anything else other than digesting my pizza. 

I typed in the password to the hospital's wireless and started hacking.  That's right...   I hacked into their system!  Once there, I did a little search for pizza places and easily found the one next door.  I placed my order.

"One extra-large Fancy Feast Grilled Chicken pizza, please.  NO ONIONS!"  My order had been placed.  Hmmm...  delivery or pick-up?  Had to go with delivery, for obvious reasons.  Delivery address...  "Next door.  Pass it through the window with the paw wavin' at you through the bars."  Of course I had to pay for my pizza but that part was easy.  I was already in the hospital's system.  Easy enough to add the pizza to the list of charges on my bill.  Peeps would never notice.  They would just be happy to have me home.  And if they did notice, what were they gonna do about it?  By the time they got the bill, the pizza would already be in my tummy.  And believe-you-me, I needed a little somethin' for my tummy right about then.  No more dancin' for this kitty.

I heard the people in the hallway say their goodbyes to one another and saw the lights turnin' off.  I continued to work by the glow of my computer screen.  Tweeted a few short tweets and said hello to some pals on Facebook.

It was around then that I heard a door open and shut outside.  My dinner was on its way.  Yoo-hoo!  YOO-HOO!  I hobbled over to the window, propped it up and extended a paw through the bars.  "Over here," I hissed.

The nice man gingerly passed the pizza box through the bars.  It was like he had never delivered a pizza to a hospital inmate before or something.  MOUSES!  I snatched the box and tossed it onto my bed.  "Thanks, pal," I meowed and in one bionic leap, jumped onto the bed.  The landing kind of hurt but I was in a desperate state.  Desperate for something to eat.  I had the box open in a flash and devoured my pizza.  The best part was the Fancy Feast Grilled Chicken, of course, but I was hungrier than a hungry hippo so I even ate the crust.  It was delicious.

I fell asleep right there and then.  Never moved a whisker all night long.  No more dance steps goin' on in this kitty's tummy.  This kitty's tummy was happy as a clam.  Clams...  Mmmm...  Must stay on track.

Anywho...  I was rudely awakened the next morning by the arrival of the hospital staff.  I looked down on my bed and saw the empty pizza box lying there.  Oh-oh...  The door to my room opened and my doctor peered in.  I grabbed that pizza box and flung it past her head.  Not to hit her, mind you.  Just to get rid of the evidence. 

My doctor looked at the pizza box lying on the floor next to her feet.  "What's this?" she asked. 

"I don't know," I answered as innocently as only a cat can.  "Must have been left there last night by some hungry dog or something.  Dogs are quite partial to pizza, you know."

My doctor pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.  You know something?  I kind of think that maybe she didn't believe me.  Weird, huh?  I mean...  I'm a cat and we cats are always believable, right?  Of course we are.  But just in case, I made a mental note to hack back into the hospital's database and change the billing of the pizza to some dog's account.  That would take care of things, for sure.  I would bill the pizza to a patient named Rover or Barkley or Lassie or anything doggie like that.  And that's just what I did.

the cone of shame

Yup.  I've got one.  I've got a cone of shame and I'm wearing it.  MOUSES!   And to add insult to injury, do you see those paw prints on my cone of shame?  They're pink!  That's right...  pink!!!  Gosh, this explains a lot.  If the doctors and nurses at my hospital don't know I'm a boy, after attending years and years of medical school and all, it's no wonder ol' peepers here got it wrong and gave me - a handsome MANcat - a girls' name!

I'm not overly fond of the cone of shame.  In fact, on the first day home, I managed to get it off, twice.  Then, early the next morning, I did it again!  No one knows how I'm doin' this and I'm not talking.  I need to keep my options open.

The cone gets in my way, you see.  I can't wash up properly with it on.  Even the peep made a bit of a derogatory comment 'bout my face lookin' a little dirty, yesterday.  Excuse me, but...  how is a cat supposed to wash his face while wearin' the cone of shame?  It's pretty much impossible.  Believe me, I've tried so I should know.  Ol' peepers suggested that maybe she'd have to wash my face for me.  Once wash cloths - wet wash cloths - were mentioned, I knew I had to remove that cone and fast.  So I did.  Had to be done.  'Nough said.

The cone gets in my way when I'm walkin', too.  It's always bangin' into stuff.  Table legs, chair legs, my crate, you name it.  Anything in my way, gets banged into with the cone.  Well...  the cone doesn't bang into peeps' legs too much.  The peeps' legs seem to have enough sense to get out of the way of the cone.  Furniture legs, apparently, don't have that much sense. 

I guess the fact that I'm still a little loopy doesn't help, either.  I've got a patch, you see.  Well, I had a patch.  More on that in a moment.  Anywho...  I came home wearin' a patch.  No...  it wasn't a patch to quite smoking.  Cats don't smoke!  This was a narcotic patch to keep some of the pain away.  My knee surgery was a super duper big one so I needed some pain meds so that it wouldn't hurt too much.

Actually, it was 'cause of that patch that I had to wear the cone.  The doctor said that under no circumstances was I allowed to chew on the patch.  Doin' so could cause a fatal overdose or somethin'.  I had to be really, really careful around the patch.

Well, yesterday morning, ol' peepers took me out of my crate for a bit and then put me back in.  She came back into the livin' room - which is where I have been convalescing - and found me coneless.  Yup, I had removed my cone for a third time.  I had also removed the bandage holdin' on my pain patch.  I hadn't chewed it or anything though.  The peep removed my patch so that I couldn't hurt myself with it and called the doctor.  The doctor on call said it would be okay for me to be done with the patch now as long I was still getting my liquid pain meds so, I'm very happy to say, I am now patch free.  But still a bit loopy, I'm afraid.

Still got that darned cone, too.  I have to keep on wearin' it to make sure I won't chew on my knee.  But the peep is a good peep.  She has been spendin' lots of time with me in the livin' room and when she's there, I can come out of the crate and lie next to her on the couch and she removes the cone.  I can't chew on my knee if she's right there, watching me, so it's safe.  In fact, I'm coneless right now.  Have been for an hour or so.  Even managed to wash my face this morning so I'm lookin' all spiffy and handsome.  Life is good.

I mentioned the crate.  It's not too bad.  Have to spend all my unattended time in there which is annoying but I've got my own private litter box.  Kind of like an en-suite, I suppose.  And when a peep is with me, I'm spendin' my time up on the couch.  I've got a nice little throw to lie upon.  Unfortunately, somebody threw the throw on the wrong way and it's inside out or somethin'.  And when I say somebody, I really mean one of the peeps.  Just not quite sure which one is was.

None of the other cats are allowed in the livin' room when I'm in the cage but when I'm out of it, my brother Seville has been visitin' a lot.  He's here, right now.  Yup.  I'm on the couch with peep #1 and Seville is lying on the floor next to us.  When he walked past, I went to catch his tail!  Did that twice.  Not sure what Seville thought 'bout that but the peep was pleased.  She says that I must be feelin' a little bit better to be chasin' other cats' tails.  Unfortunately, Seville is now lying down with his tail tucked safely underneath him.  Maybe I'll be able to catch it later.  A cat can always hope.

I just want to add that I truly appreciate how so many of you came to visit me on my blog in the last few days.  I want you all to know that I will be catching up with my visits very soon.  It's just takin' a little time for me to get back to bloggin' normality and all.  Lots of naps are required while recovering from major surgery and, it seems, it's hard to blog and nap at the same time.  I can do lots of things in my sleep but it turns out that blogging isn't one of them.  Gotta be wide awake for important stuff like blogging.  But I'll see you all very soon, I promise.  Right now though, I think I'm gonna stretch out here, next to the peep, and rest my eyes for a little bit. 

I'm starving!

Well, the day has arrived.  Here I am, sittin' in my hospital bed, waitin' for my doctor to come and operate on my knee.  She's in the building, I understand.  She's supposed to be somewhere around here.  Probably operating on some other kitty right now. 

My surgery isn't scheduled for another hour, I think.  Any moment now, a nurse is gonna come in and shave my knee.  Hopefully she won't be shavin' any other parts of me but just in case, I gave myself a really good bath, this morning.  I washed from the tip of my tail to the tips of my ears and everything in between.

Luckily for me, they allowed the peep to leave me my laptop.  They weren't gonna but ol' peepers explained that I needed it in order to keep in touch with my pals.  I explained it to them, too.  "I need my pals!" is what I said and I said it just like that.  Next thing I knew, I was bein' given the password so that I could log on with their wireless.  SWEET!

While I'm in the system, I might just see if I can create an electronic record of my doctor recommending my bein' served the Fancy Feast and those yummy Whiskas pouches, more often.  After I post my blog, I'm gonna see if I can figure out how to do that.  Bet I can.  Just gotta think about it for a bit.  And if I don't get it done this morning, I'll work on that after my operation.  I'll have plenty of time 'cause I don't think I'm gonna be goin' home until tomorrow, or something like that.

And speakin' of the Fancy Feast and the pouches...  I'm starving!  Yeah, I'm starvin' to death over here.  Literally!!!  I missed breakfast.  Gonna miss lunch, too.  Anybody headin' over to the burger place down the street or the chicken one at the corner?  I sure could do with a little somethin' for my tummy.  The peeps gave me my supper yesterday and then a snack later on but at nine o'clock all the food dishes were removed from the kitchen.  There was only water left.  A strappin' mancat such as myself can't survive on water alone.  Even prisoners get bread!  Not that I'd want bread but my point is that they get something.  Anything.  Actually, at this point, I'd even take the bread.  Did I mention that I was starving?

Hey, wait a minute....  I'm on-line right now.  Hehehe...  All I've gotta do is order something.  Hmmm... there's a pizza joint next door.  Wonder if I can find them on the Internet...

Anywho...  if you haven't heard by now, I had a little accident last Friday night.  Came in with a sore leg.  First thing Saturday morning, as soon as the clinic opened, peep #1 called and made me an appointment.  Dr. Teresa took some funny lookin' pictures of me.  They say that a picture says a thousand words.  Well, the two pictures she took of me said that I had torn all the ligaments in my right knee.  I think that means that there's nothin' holdin' my leg together.  That can't be good, you know.  MOUSES! 

My doctor is gonna put some artificial ligaments in my knee to replace the ones I broke.  Hope they're of a better quality than the ones I had 'cause, as you might have heard, I tore those ones to bits.  Or was it shreds?  Either way, they're pretty much useless now so I need some new ones.

I heard the peeps say that I've got the best surgeon in the hospital.  Hope they're right about that.  I think they are.  My peeps wouldn't let a doctor who wasn't good operate on me.  I'm positive 'bout that.  They love me way too much to let anyone but the best near me!

And speakin' of bein' loved...  I've got some of the best pals in the whole wide world and they love me, too.  Just look at all the gorgeous cards I've received.  The top one was made by Maggy, Zoe and Ann.  You might know them as the Zoolatry Girls.  They posted this beautiful card of me on the Tabby Cat Club blog so that everyone would send me purrs and prayers today.

My BFF, Herman from It's a Wonderpurr Life, sent me the card showin' me workin' away on my laptop, publishing my blog and whatnot.  Yup, Herman knows you can't keep a bloggin' investigative reporter such as myself down.  Sore knees or not, I'm gonna get my blog to the presses!  The electronic presses, that is.

Last night, I recieved this stunning card from the lovely, and pretty stunning herself, Savannah or Savannah's Paw Tracks.  I just love how she shows me in her card how much she loves me.  Looks like she loves me lots!  Makes even a mancat like myself go a little pink in the ears.  Yes, it's true...  real mancats do blush.

My pal Cody from CAT CHAT sent me an e-card but I couldn't figure out how to post it here on my blog.  Apparently, tech support at the hospital is just as shoddy as what I've got at home.  Someone should write a book called "Blogging for Cats" or somethin' like that.  Hey, I'm a writer!  Maybe I should write that book.  I would, of course, have to bring in a technical expert.  Somebody who knows the techy side of the blogosphere.  Hmmm...

But all is not lost.  If you head on over to Facebook, I've pinned the card from Cody to the top of my fan page, Nerissa's Life.  It's a really neat card.  Musical and everything.

Oh-oh...  here they come.  I see a nurse out in the hallway.

You know...  on second thought...  maybe I'll just skip this surgery thing.  Maybe I don't need it after all.  Maybe I've changed my mind.  I think I might just break out of this here popsicle stand.  I could teleport out, I think.  Peepers!  Prepare the teleportation device!  Peepers!  PEEPERS!!  PEEPERS!!!   Anytime 'bout now would be good.  Beam me up and out of here.  Oh...  MOUSES!