a little advice

Let me tell you something.  Unsolicited advice is rarely well received but if you're lucky, the cat on the receiving end won't give you any advice as to where to stick it. MOUSES!

Now first of all, I have to point something out.  Cats are always allowed to give peeps advice, unsolicited or not. Always.  That's right; it's a fact.  Cats are incredibly intelligent, you see, and quite frankly, peeps are lucky to get our advice for free. MOUSES!

But cats giving other cats advice?  Well that's an entirely different story.  Ever heard of smacky paws?

You know, peeps watch cats doing the smacky paw thing and usually believe the cats are arguing over territory - like the best napping spots and sunpuddles - or toys.  Or food.  Yeah, sometimes they'll think we're arguing over that last remaining treat.  But more often than not, one of the smacky pawing cats decided to offer the other smacky pawing cat some unsolicited advice and although we cats can dish it out, we can very rarely take it.  Thus, the event known as smacky paws, you see.

I remember once when I suggested to my sister Connie that she not slobber quite so much on the ol' nip toys.  I said it nicely.  I was only trying to help.  But what kind of response did I get?  What I got was a pawsmack upside of the head and and extra dose of slobber all over the nip toy in question.  MOUSES!

And if you think that's bad, you've obviously never witnessed the result of a peep foolishly attempting to give a cat any unsolicited advice.

What's that, Peepers?  You'd prefer if I didn't fling the kitty litter out of the box like that?  Sure thing, Peepers.  No probs.  I can fix that in a jiff.  Instead of flinging, I'll just tip this whole box over and do my business right there on the floor.  How's that for you, Peepers?  That work out okay?

Needless to say, a cat reacts to unsolicited advice in this way - once - and that cat will never have to deal with unsolicited advice again.  MOUSES!

But what about peeps giving other peeps unsolicited advice?  How well do you think that might turn out?

Well I can tell you the answer to that right here and now.  It doesn't.  Nope, doesn't work out well at all.  MOUSES!

Not being the free spirits that we cats are, peeps don't usually resort to the ol' smacky paw thing. It's too bad, really, as a few more smacky paw sessions might result in a little less stress in the general peep population.  Of course, it might also result in an even more heavily burdened judiciary system.  MOUSES!

So if the smacky paws are not on the table, what are?  What avenues do peeps have to deal with the givers of unsolicited advice?

Recently, my Peep #1 was on the receiving end of advice that was simply not solicited so let me tell you what advice I gave to her.

I knew she wouldn't go for the smacky paws idea so I didn't even suggest that one and instead, moved right on to the ol' trip and run.  It's an easy technique.  Just stick out a paw or tail in front of the advice-giving peep when they're walking and not looking and viola!  You'll have one tripped up peep on your paws for sure.

Of course, the beauty of this technique is that if you do it correctly, the peep who has been tripped can't prove you tripped 'em on purpose and therefore you'll never get any blame.  In fact, if you do it really well, they'll actually apologize to you for tripping over you.  Sometimes, they'll even give you extra treats!  It's genius, if I do say so myself.

Unfortunately, the ol' trip and run does have a downside.  Peeps aren't very bright, you see, and often fail to pick up on the nuances of the technique.  If they don't know - and can never figure out - that you tripped 'em on purpose, to punish them for their unsolicited advice, they'll never learn to stop giving said advice.  MOUSES!

Peep #1 didn't want to take that particular suggestion on account of something about tripping up peeps on purpose being kind of illegal.  Don't know what her problem is.  I trip up my peeps all the time.  Guess they just haven't clued in to this fact.  MOUSES!

My next suggestion was the do-what-they-suggest technique which works like a charm.  They give you a suggestion and you do it however, you do it so very well that they realize they should never have suggested the suggestion it in the first place.  They say jump and you don't ask how high.  No siree.  You simply jump.  You jump higher and farther than you've ever jumped before and hopefully, you'll land somewhere you shouldn't be landing and break something other than any of your own body parts and if you do this well, let me tell you, they'll never tell you to jump again.

Remember the peep's advice to not fling kitty litter out of the litter box?  'Nough said.  MOUSES!

Of course my peep, being the peep that she is, rejected this advice saying something about her not using a litter box.  She had no idea, whatsoever, that I was merely giving an example and as I'm assuming no one was giving her unsolicited advice on using a litter box, her answer for the do-what-they-suggest technique would not have involved kitty litter, at all.  What a peep.  MOUSES!

So after all that, my last piece of advice for the peep was to give 'em some advice right back however, as we all know, this last suggestion could lead to the Unsolicited Advice Paradox - or UAP, for short - which is a paradox that has been known to be paradoxically paradoxing.

The problem is this.  In order to give the giver of unsolicited advice, advice to not give unsolicited advice, one must, in fact, give unsolicited advice.  Do you see the problem that this can create?  It is a paradox of paradoxical proportions, for sure.

And the receiver - formerly giver - of the unsolicited advice almost never recognizes that he or she was originally in the wrong and will often accuse the giver - formerly receiver - of giving him or her advice that was unsolicited, and get all huffy and get all puffy and start fuming because even though they were able to give it, they can't take it at all.

Before you know it, no one remembers who was in the right and who was in the wrong because seriously, if you didn't like receiving unsolicited advice in the first place, should you, in fact, be giving any advice, at all?  And once the paradox fully takes hold, both parties think they're the injured ones. MOUSES!

So that brings me back to the ol' smacky paws.  Someone says something you don't like?  Give 'em a smacky paw.  Two minutes later, you can both go on your merry way with no grudges being held and no paradoxes created.

Either that or just yell at 'em but not in an advice-giving kind of way.  MOUSES!

WHY?

Why?  WHY?  Why would anyone do that? WHY???

As you might imagine, there is only one word for this situation and that word is, MOUSES!

Okay, two words. Mouses and why.

I think we've all seen the latest Internet craze.  The latest Internet craze that has out-crazed every other crazy craze out there.  You know the one. The one where peeps scare cats with cucumbers.  It's a craze and it's crazy, too, because...  Well just because it is.  Crazy as...  Truth be told, I'm not sure anything else compares.  Like I kind of implied, it's the craziest craze of all time.  MOUSES!

First of all, why?  Yeah, I know, I'm having a tough time getting past the ol' why.

Why would anyone even want to scare their cats?  I mean, these are otherwise reasonable and sensible peeps who live with cats whom they supposedly love and yet, they're out there, scaring them.  On purpose.  And getting it on video, too!  MOUSES!

Let me tell you something.  If my peeps were ever to wake up one morning and say to themselves, I think I'll scare Seville today and get it on tape...  Well let's just say, that might be the last time my peeps would ever be waking up.  MOUSES!

Perhaps that's a bit of an exaggeration.  I mean, I love my peeps so I would never do them any real harm.  Never any real harm.  But they might start finding deposits of poop left in their shoes.  Just saying...

And they would deserve NOTHIN' less, I can assure you.  MOUSES!

But after asking why, we have to ask, how.  HOW?

Believe it or not, there are peeps out there, right now, as we speak, trying to figure out how these devious cucumber criminal masterminds are scaring us cats but that is not the how to which I am referring.

I don't wanna know how a cucumber might scare me.  I wanna know how someone figured that out in the first place!  I mean, HOW?

Duh, I don't know...  I found this cucumber in the fridge.  What should I do with it?  Should I put it in my salad or...  Oohhh....  I'll see if it will scare the cat!

MOUSES!

I'm telling you, only a peep can think like that.

It...  It...  It...  It's not like the cucumbers just happened upon the cats' food dishes or their sleeping quarters or their toy boxes and lay down beside them, all by themselves.

Seriously, how many peeps out there leave spare cucumbers lying about on their kitchen floor?   Is this something some peeps do?  Is this some sort of weird tradition?

Hmmm...  I bought this case of cucumbers at the market today and have no idea what I should do with it.  Maybe I'll start flinging cucumbers all over the house.  See where the chips - I mean, cucumbers - might fall.  Yeah, that's what I'll do.  Sounds like a fun afternoon.

Again I must say, MOUSES!

Somewhere along the line, the initial cucumbers came in contact with the cats and I'm betting my whiskers that there was peep involvement in the first introductions.

No cat has ever gone lookin' to pick a fight with a cucumber, I can assure you.  MOUSES!

And why cucumbers?  How do cats feel about tomatoes and eggplants and bell peppers, too?  Do they scare us?  Does anyone know?  Does anyone care?  MOUSES!

And why are we concerning ourselves only with fruits in disguise?  Fruits that masquerade themselves as veggies?  I once saw a mean-looking potato.  That thing had twenty-nine eyes.

And then there was that mutated two-headed cabbage....

MOUSES!

AND WHAT ABOUT PICKLES?

That's right, my friends, pickles.  As we all know, pickles are baby cucumbers, imprisoned in glass jars after being drowned in a brine.  And it's not we cats doing this to the baby cucumbers.  It's the peeps doing it, for sure.  So why are the cucumbers participating in the scaring of cats and not in the scaring of peeps?   MOUSES!

And as a cat, would I be scared of a jar of baby cucumbers otherwise known as pickles?

One will never know, my friends, because my peeps are good peeps. My peeps don't go around intentionally looking for things that will scare me. My peeps would never dream of doing anything like that.  And why?

Because I know where my peeps keep their shoes and like I said earlier, I'm not above leaving a little deposit in those shoes as punishment for bad behaviour, if they should ever dream of behaving so badly as to go out of their way to scare me.  MOUSES!

sometimes I wonder...

Sometimes I wonder...

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking I'm gonna say, sometimes I wonder 'bout my peeps.  Well truth be told, I do.  In fact, I wonder about them more than just sometimes.  If we're gonna be honest here, I wonder about them ALL the time.  It's kind of like a full-time job or something!  Those peeps of mine do have a tendency to do an awful lot of crazy stuff that all needs to be wondered about, for sure.  MOUSES!

But this time - this ONE time - I was wondering about someone else.  This time I was wondering about...

Perhaps I should go back to the beginning.

Sometimes I wonder about peeps.  Not my peeps but peeps in general.  MOUSES!

So I was watching a little television this morning, with the peeps, when an advertisement came on.  It was an advertisement for a silver coin.  Apparently the Royal Canadian Mint is selling twenty dollar coins with Superman on 'em or something like that.

Now you might be thinking, so what?  To tell you the truth, the first time I saw this aforementioned advertisement, I thought, so what, too.

But that was the first time.

Today when I saw the ad, I realized that I have seen this particular ad many times before.  Clearly, they're having some trouble selling those coins.

So I did a little kitty math and twenty minutes later, I realized that these coins are basically free. FREE.  FREE!  And they still can't sell 'em.  Can't sell 'em for free!  MOUSES!

Oh, I'm sure they they've sold some.  Well at least I hope they've sold some but they haven't sold 'em all because, like I said, they're still advertising them on TV.  MOUSES!

But let's get back to this business about these coins being free.

These silver - yup, that's right, they're made of silver - coins cost twenty dollars each but they're worth twenty dollars, too.  So if you went to the bank and wanted to deposit one or something, you'd be depositing twenty dollars just as if you were depositing a twenty dollar bill because the twenty dollar coin is worth twenty dollars which is exactly what you paid for it so in other words, it's kind of like it's free.

It's not all that different from taking four five dollar bills to the bank and asking them to give you one twenty dollar bill in their place, when you think about it, except for the fact that in that case you're going from four bills to one instead of one coin to one bill but still, really, you're just switching it up a bit without spending a cent.  Or a dollar.  Or even twenty.

Now you're probably wondering how much it actually costs to get this free twenty dollar coin. Nothing.  Hard to believe but it's true.  There's free shipping and everything.  MOUSES!

But here comes the catch.  You know there always is one.  There's always a catch, especially when we're talking tuna but even when we're not, there's always a catch to be caught.  MOUSES!

These twenty dollar coins might be free to the buyers - who, as explained above, are technically simply exchangers or traders - but they're not exactly free to the Canadian taxpayers and stuff.  Let me explain...

If a peep trades - yeah, trades - a twenty dollar bill for a twenty dollar coin that's worth twenty dollars, the peep still ends up with twenty dollars.  Sure, it's now a silver coin instead of paper but bottom line is, it's still twenty dollars.  Now if that peep is trading rather than buying, the Mint must be trading, too, which means they can't be selling.  They're simply trading the silver for paper.  So even though they're calling it a sale, it's really a trade of two things of equal value which means there's no profit to be made in that there sale, that's really a trade, at all.  MOUSES!

But if you have two happy traders, what's the harm in that?

Well like I said earlier, today was the not the first time I have seen this ad for this twenty dollar coin, worth twenty dollars.  I've seen this ad many times before.  Apparently, the Royal Canadian Mint has been advertising these coins over and over and over again.

This means that the Royal Canadian Mint has been paying money to advertise their selling (which remember, is really trading) of these twenty dollar coins for twenty dollars.  In other words, they've been paying money to make zero profit.

Now I will admit that I, myself, have only seen the ads on CBC Television which is funded by the Canadian government so really, I suppose, money from one arm of the government is simply going to another arm of the government so one could argue that no real money is being spent on these ads unless, of course, you take into account that those advertising slots could have been sold to some other business, independent of the government, that would have PAID good money for them. Perhaps they would have paid using twenty dollar coins or perhaps they would have used twenty dollar bills but it doesn't really matter because as we all know, twenty dollars is still twenty dollars. And if you take that into account, then yeah, advertising revenue has been lost - LOST - assuming, of course, that someone wanted to buy advertising in the first place.  MOUSES!

You know, when you think about it, this buying and selling of advertising slots by different arms of the government is a whole lot like trading, too.  Trading numbers in columns on one arm to columns on another arm which we'll call trading for lack of a better word - because it's not like I'm an accountant or anything who would know such things - as the various columns are all on arms belonging to the same entity...  the government.

And it doesn't end there.  Nope, it sure doesn't.

Remember how I said there was free shipping on all these trades?  Guess the Mint must be paying for not only advertising but for shipping, too, although I suppose this is really simply more trading because I'm assuming they'll be shipping via Canada Post which is another appendage of the Canadian government.  MOUSES!

To tell you the truth, I've confused myself with all this talk of buying and selling that's really trading.  Trading and counting up the various Canadian appendages upon which we can tally said trades.

But if we look really hard - really, REALLY hard - I do believe that somewhere in all this confusion, is the answer as to why Canada can no longer afford to make one cent coins, otherwise known as pennies.

I'll make 'em a trade.  I'll trade the Canadian government one twenty dollar coin for some of my thoughts.  MOUSES!

a little common sense

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty...

Oohhh...  Is that a bird I hear?  Where, where is he?  Oh there he is! Hello there Mr. Birdy. You having a good day so far? That's good to hear.

Now where was I? Twenty-uh...  Awww, not again.  MOUSES!

One, two, three, four...

PEEPERS!  Come over here for a second, would you?  You forget to pick up some sense in the common sense aisle last time you were at the grocery store?  They do sell that over there, don't they?  I mean, they sell pretty much everything there, right?  You forget to get a bag of sense?

Don't give me that look, Peepers.  I'm perfectly justified in asking such a question.  I've been counting all these bags of leaves you dumped back here.  Taken up most of my morning and I still haven't finished counting.  Had a few distractions, you see.  But never mind that.  Never mind the distractions.  Instead, mind the fact that I'm wondering why I'm having to count all these bags in the first place.

What's that, Peepers?  But I do have to count all the bags.  I need to figure out exactly how lacking in sense you are and my final leaf bag total will tell me that.  MOUSES!

One, two, three, four...

Hold on Peepers!  Don't leave just yet.  Let me ask you something.  Let me ask you exactly why you've dumped all these bags of leaves back here because as far as I can tell, all you've done is make one big ol' mess.  The magnitude of the mess will be determined once I finish my mathematical calculations although, truth be told, I appear to be having a little trouble getting past the number four.

But back to the question at paw.  Why have you dumped all these bags of leaves back here?  I only ask because I'm thinking you're doing something backwards.  I mean, everyone else in the neighbourhood is raking up their leaves and putting them in bags and then putting those bags at ends of their driveways so that they'll be taken away.  They don't want them any more.  They don't want the leaves.  They're thinking of them as garbage or something.

So why on earth are you driving around, picking up the stuff they're throwing away?  And then hauling them into my back yard and dumping them in my garden?  MOUSES!

You think about that for a minute, Peepers, while I get back to my counting.  One, two, three, four...

What did you just say, Peepers?  You say the leaves aren't garbage?  Then why is everyone putting them in garbage bags and hoping someone will haul them away?  And why-oh-why have you taken it upon yourself to be the person who ends up doing said hauling?

Now if they were bags of nip I could certainly see why you'd want to pick them up although even I wouldn't know what to do with this much nip.  I mean, there are a whole lot of bags back here.  That would be a whole lot of nip.  That would enough nip to nipify all the cats in Atlantic Canada, to be sure.  MOUSES!

Hmmm...  You don't suppose there might actually be some nip in some of these bags, do you Peepers? Maybe one or two nip bags got mixed up with the bags of leaves?  Nah, I would have smelled the nip by now if there were.  MOUSES!

I should get back to my counting.  One, two, three, four...

What's that, Peepers?  You think I should do what? Hmmm...  Four times nine, divided by nine and then multiplied by the length of this row of bags divided by the length of how many I've already counted and then multiplied and divided by nine again?

Nope, that's just making it more complicated, Peepers.  How 'bout we try this.  You start counting over at that end and I'll count from this end and when we meet up, we'll add 'em all together.  But be sure to keep your counting to yourself, okay?  I'm hoping to get past four this time.  MOUSES!

Okay, Peepers.  What have you got?  How high did you count?

Really?  That high, huh?  You sure?  I only ask because I wasn't aware you were capable of counting that high.  Didn't realize you had that many claws...  I mean, fingers and toes.  MOUSES!

So we'll add your sixty-eight bags to my four.

Yeah, what of it?  Look, the only reason I didn't count past four was that there were a number of distractions over at my end of the pile of bags of leaves.  I actually counted to four numerous times but you know how it is.

Oh excuse me Peepers but I'd like for you to meet Mr. Birdy and his missus.  They're visiting for a bit before flying south.  They have a condo in Florida, I do believe.

Yeah, distractions like that.  MOUSES!

So where were we?  Right.  We need to add your sixty-eight to my four.  Well...

What's that, Peepers?  You say the answer is seventy-two?  How did you come up with that, Peepers?  You have that memorized or something because if you do, you're doing it all wrong.  With the new kitty math at our paws, you have to add stuff to my four in increments of nine until you reach the point where you can't add any more nines.

Because kitties do everything with nines!  Jeesh...  Some peeps.  MOUSES!

Then, of course, after all that adding you have to multiply everything by nine at least once and then divide by nine the same number of times.

Because like I said, we kitties like the number nine.  It is the purrfect number, to be sure.  (Please excuse the kitty talk but I couldn't help myself there.)

Now, four plus nine plus nine plus nine...  Okay, four plus nine, seven times...  Well that equals sixty-seven.  Then we subtract sixty-three from your sixty-eight.  That gives us five.  Then if I add that five to sixty-seven and multiply that total by nine, twice and then divide by nine, twice, I get...

Look at that, Peepers.  Your answer of seventy-two was right after all.  MOUSES!

And you say you did that just by somehow knowing that four added to sixty-eight would be seventy-two, huh?  Interesting...

Well we'll discuss your weird, old-fashioned and archaic math they used to teach at dinosaur school at some other time, Peepers.  Right now, I want to discuss this lack of common sense you appear to have.  By my calculations, it appears that you're about seventy-two bags of leaves short of a spoonful of sense.  MOUSES!

What's that, Peepers?  Oh.  Really? Well in that case...

Apparently, the peep is creating a new flower bed in which she plans on planting primroses and stuff and since there is currently lawn - yeah, that's what we call it at my house even though most real gardeners would beg to differ - in the area where the flower bed is to be, she's piling up the leaves and adding a little alfalfa meal to help speed up the decomposition process so that by next fall, she'll have lots of nice humus-rich soil for those primroses. Wonder why she didn't just say so in the first place.  MOUSES!

testing

"Check.  Check.   Testing...

Er-hm...

"Test.  Testing.  This is a test.  The following is a test;  do not be alarmed."

ER-HM...

"MEOW!  Meow meow meow...  meow meow...  meow meow meow meow meow meow.   MEOW!"

How was that, Peepers?  How did I sound? Did you hear all my words?  Did you hear every meow?  Was I too loud?  Was I not loud enough?  Was my acting over the top?  Little overly dramatic?  Not dramatic enough?  Be honest with me, Peepers. What did you think?  Enquiring minds wanna know.

You thought what?  MOUSES!

Of all the nerve.  Hmmph.  MOUSES!

Okay.  I'll start all over again.

"Test.  Testing..."

Stop interrupting me, Peepers.  I'm trying to test out this microphone gadget thingy.  The problem is, I think, that this microphone is designed for peep ears and not cat ears.  My ears aren't able to hold it up properly so that I can speak into it the way one is supposed to.  That's why...

Again with the interruptions?  MOUSES!

No Peepers, THAT'S. NOT. IT.  That's not it at all.

I know!  Do you know what I need?  I need a different microphone.  I need one that will stand on the desk all by itself.  One that doesn't require peep ears to hold it up.  Peepers, you wanna run out and get me one of those?

Look Peepers, I already told you that that wasn't my problem.

Maybe my problem is my director slash stage manager slash tech support.  What do think about that, Peepers?   Huh?  You think my problem might be you?

NO.  Look Peepers, you're totally off base with this.  Like I said before, that is not my problem at all.  MOUSES!

You're interrupting me again?  Gosh you're persistent, Peepers.  Is persistence your middle name or something?  If I told you once, I've told you a million times.  That's not my problem.  My problem is not that I'm speaking cat.  MOUSES!

But of course my readers are able to understand me.  They read my blog, don't they?

What do you MEAN I have an accent?  MOUSES!

Look, there's nothing wrong my accent, Peepers. You have an accent, too, you know.  Everyone does.  It's all relative, you see.  And by relative I don't mean relatives like in family.  Different kind of relative, for sure.

Besides, my accent is absolutely adorable, if I do say so myself.

Oh.  Oh yeah...  Ooohh...  Hmmm...  I'm beginning to see your point, Peepers.  MOUSES!

It has been brought to my attention that when I write my blog posts in Peepified English, my feline accent doesn't come through in the writing.  Reading my words on the computer screen is one thing but hearing them is another.  Basically, when you hear me, what you hear are a whole lot of meows. Basically, what you hear are all meows.  MOUSES!

What to do...  What to do...

You think I should take some elocution classes or something, Peepers?  You wanna sign me up for some of those?

But what should I do in the meantime?  I mean...

I know!  I know exactly what I'll do and it's gonna be perfect, for sure.  MOUSES!

Peepers, I'm going to hire you to read my blog posts for me.  You think you can handle that?  You think that won't tax your brain too much?  What?  What's that, Peepers?  WHAT?

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANNA BE PAID?  MOUSES!

As the peep and I work through the contractual details, why don't I leave you with this.  If you click right here on "cowabunga!"  - yeah, right there on the word cowabunga highlighted in red - you'll be magically transported to where the sounds are held in the clouds and you can hear Peep #1 reading my blog post with the same name.  She'll be reading it in Peepified English without any feline accent, she says.

And providing that my incredibly poor technical support team - otherwise known as Peep #1 - is able to remember how to make these audio posts, there will be more to follow.  MOUSES!

string theory

Kitty physics.  You've gotta love it but boy-oh-boy is it ever complicated.  MOUSES!

Well...  It's not so complicated for me, of course.  Not complicated for me because I'm a kitty and we kitties understand kitty physics better than peeps ever will because...  you know...  we're kitties. MOUSES!

But I was trying to explain some kitty physics to the peeps the other night and let me tell you, they're as hopeless with kitty physics as they are with other important kitty stuff such as mousing and jumping in the air several times their own height.

You ever watch a peep mousing?  You ever watch a peep try to catch a mouse with nothing but their bare paws?  Not only is it not a pretty sight but they can almost never do it.  Very similar to their trying to comprehend kitty physics, to be sure.

Now that's interesting.  The word catch starts with the letters c, a and t which, of course, spell cat.  Very interesting, indeed.  It's no wonder the peeps can't catch onto kitty physics no matter how many times you try to explain it to them. MOUSES!

But back to the point at paw.  I mean hand.  No, I actually do mean paw.  MOUSES!

Okay, so the other night, I was trying to explain String Theory to the peeps.  Long story short, the peeps didn't understand and we have a whole mess of string that is now somewhat...  well uh... messy, to the least.

Actually, the peeps didn't have any string on paw so we used yarn.  Pretty much the same thing, I suppose, except for the fact that we now have a whole mess of unusable yarn rather than unusable string but either way you look at it, the stuff is kind of unusable.  Nope, that's not right.  It is unusable.  That yarn will never be even considered for use in knitting again.  MOUSES!

Now you might be wondering why I, as a cat, know about String Theory in the first place.  Fact is, we cats are very interested in strings and theories revolving around said strings are of equally great interest.  Strings are right up there with nip but as there are currently no Quantum Nip Theories in the world of physics, String Theory has soared to the top of the feline physicist's list.

That being said, there is a school of thought that once tried to unify Quantum Loop Theory with a Quantum Nip Theory on the basis that cats can get a little loopy when they're on the nip.

No, that's not correct.  There was a school of thought that tried to unify Quantum Loop Theory with a Quantum Nip Theory however that school of thought turned out to be a school of fish and when a clowder of loopy cats on the nip got the munchies - as we all know happens when cats are nipped - well...  Well let's just say that particular school of thought no longer exists.  MOUSES!

So that pretty much brings us back to the strings.

After trying to explain String Theory to the peeps for what seemed like an eternity (I swear I used up a whole, entire life), I thought to myself, maybe some visual aids might help.  So I grabbed Peep #1's bag of tricks - I mean, yarn - and started explaining this concept of strings.  Strings within strings within strings within strings.

That's where I went wrong, my friends. I should have started with something other than strings because explaining that there were strings within the very subatomic particles making up those strings proved to be far too confusing for the peeps.

I briefly thought Peep #2 was getting the gist until I realised, the second peep's lack of questions was actually due the peep having fallen asleep. MOUSES!

Peep #1 didn't fall asleep,though.  No, she was far too concerned with her yarn.  Her yarn that I had strung all over the family room, this way and that.

But after having strung balls of various coloured yarn all over the place, I was in far too deep to ever go back.  MOUSES!

So with the strings strung about the room, I grabbed an old whisk and started to whisk, explaining that the vibrations of said whisk would cause the strings within the whisk's atoms to vibrate, too. These subatomic vibrating strings, of course, are what allow us to access the ninth dimension using whisk technology, which is what allows us to travel through time.

This was my second mistake.  Do you know what happens when you start whisking with a whisk in a room strung up with string?  Knots.  Yup, not-so-good, good old-fashioned knots.  There were knots all over the place.  The strings were tangled up in ways I had never imagined possible.  So tangled, in fact, I momentarily thought I might have accidentally proved some sort of unifying Quantum Nippy Loop Theory, previously unknown.  MOUSES!

So I instructed Peep #2 to gather up all the string as let's face it, String Theory was clearly beyond the second peep's grasp and turned my attention to explaining to Peep #1 how String Theory applies to eggbeater teleportation technology.  How the curvature of the eggbeater's beaters spinning around one another and vibrating the strings within them warps the very fabric of space and time, much as gravity does.  This, of course, allows us to access energy sources in the fourth, fifth and sixth dimensions which power the teleportation device, hurtling us through space until we reach our destination.

And this, my friends, was my third and final mistake of the night.  Being a little drowsy after being awakened from that nap, Peep #2 had not yet cleaned up the mess with the strings and so when I fired up the old eggbeater, one of those strings got caught up in a beater.  Next thing I knew, the eggbeater was flying around the room picking up speed and getting more and more entangled with the string.  The peeps fled out of sheer terror as I, Seville the Cat, tried to catch the eggbeater in mid-flight.  That turned out to be more difficult than I had anticipated but luckily, as the eggbeater's beaters got more and more entangled with those strings. it reached a tipping point and the strings made of yarn brought it to a sudden stop.

Unfortunately, even though the actual string - yarn - put the brakes on the eggbeater's flight, the strings within the atoms of the eggbeater were still vibrating at top speed, accessing energy from goodness knows what dimensions.

Bottom line is, we currently have an unstable time vortex in the family room. I've pushed a big plant in front of it and am hoping no one will notice until I can figure out how to seal that thing up. MOUSES!

Stay tuned for next week, we'll discuss supernovas, black holes and the illusive red dot.

cowabunga!

Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  No, it's...

COWABUNGA!!!

Moments earlier, the peeps had been sitting in the family room when Peep #1 pricked up her ears.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking, peeps can't prick up their ears like we cats do and actually, you'd be right on that account.  Peep #1 can't move her ears at all without moving her entire head as her ears appear to be somewhat dysfunctional when it comes to independent movement but nevertheless, when odd noises emanate from other rooms in the house, she is able to do something to make those ears of hers detect them.  This appears to be especially true when the odd noises are being made by cats.  MOUSES!

Anyway, as I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, the peep heard some stuff going on in the kitchen and it was cat stuff, to be sure.

She was off like a shot or like we - okay, I - like to say at my house, off like a gas-powered rocket hovering near the vicinity of my brother Anderson's - otherwise known as Sir Fartsalot - tail after he has managed to sneak a little cream.

And that's when she saw it.  That's when Peep #1 saw my other brother, Rushton, suspended in mid-air, clutching Nosey-Neighbour-Cat in his grasp.  Then they were down on the kitchen floor and then they were rolling around like hockey players all fighting with flailing sticks over the same puck because even though hockey teams have humongously huge budgets, they can apparently afford to use only one of those pucks at any given time.  It was a full-blown, no claws barred, rough-and-tumble, all-out cat fight, for sure.  MOUSES!

You know in cartoons when you see two cartoon peeps fighting and they're kind of rolling around and kind of spinning all at the same time, caught in each other's clutches, with dust flying all about them?  You know how cartoons do that?  Well let me tell you, it's not just cartoons.  It can happen in real life, too.  MOUSES!

That's right, my brother and Nosey-Neighbour-Cat were going at it, fighting like they've never fought before.  And bits of orange and dark grey fur were flying about in the air all around them.

Then out of nowhere....

Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  No, it's...  SUPERKITTY!  Superkitty to the rescue, for sure.  MOUSES!

That's right, my friends.  That's when my sister Mason came flying out of the sunroom and into the kitchen yelling "COWABUNGA!" at the top of her lungs.  And yes, she really was flying!  Flying through the air.  She must have made a running leap or something for she was soaring through the night sky...

Okay, she was soaring from the sunroom to the kitchen but still...

One moment, Mason was in mid-air and the next moment, she had landed right on top of Rushton and Nosey-Neighbour-Cat, to be sure.

At that point, Rushy took off to goodness knows where and Nosey-Neighbour-Cat fled to the sunroom, finding a spot to hide under one of the chairs.

Mason went right after him, letting that nosey neighbouring cat of ours know in no uncertain terms that that kind of fighting behaviour was unacceptable in our house.

The peep stared in shock and horror at the kitchen floor.  Chunks of marmie orange fur were everywhere.  Clumps of dark grey Nosey-Neighbour-Cat fur were, too.  MOUSES!

And emanating from the sunroom, low growls could be heard.  Nosey-Neighbour-Cat was cornered while Mason silently stared him down which, my friends, I can tell you with absolute certainty - not to mention my own personal experience - is rather unnerving to say the least.  MOUSES!

So that was what happened at my house about a week ago, on Hallowe'en.

Now before anyone gets too worried, everyone was fine.  Well at least we cats all were.  The peep, however, was a basket of nerves, to be sure.  MOUSES!

But seriously, Peep #1 did check Rushton out thoroughly and although he was missing several pawfuls of fur, there wasn't a scratch on him.  Probably due to the thickness of that long-haired coat of his which under normal circumstances resembles an unruly tumbleweed although truth be told, is somewhat thinner after the above mentioned incident.

Mason, too, was fine.  She took the boys by surprise, you see, never letting either one of them get in a swipe at her.  She's tricky like that.  Always has been and likely, always will be.  You know girls. MOUSES!

And Nosey-Neighbour-Cat?  Well he appears to be hale and hearty as well.  Peep #1 checked him out as best as she could, after he ventured out from under the chair in the sunroom, several hours later.  Not a mark on him.  Now his fur isn't long and wild and crazy like Rushy's however, the peep says it is pretty thick which is likely what saved him.

So now, Mason is thinking she should make a guest appearance or two on that new show, Supergirl, and is wondering why no one yet has called her.  She is currently looking for a theatrical agent.

After discovering that Peep #1 had swept up and disposed of his dislodged fur so that he could not superglue it back on, Rushton is weighing the pros and cons of wearing several hair pieces or trying a totally new look.  He is currently looking for a groomer who specializes in such things.

Nosey-Nieghbour-Cat is licking his wounds which although made only to his ego and not to his skin, have put a damper on his nosiness, to be sure, and is thinking of suing my sister.  He is currently looking for a lawyer to take his case but so far, has had no luck.  I have directed him to the Weasel Syndicate although truth be told, I don't think he stands a chance.

And as for the peep? Well she settled right back into being a peep.  A peep whose ears are incapable of movement independent of her head and whose nerves will continue to be unnerved by the goings on at my house.  What can I say? She really is nothing more than a peep.  MOUSES!

facing fear

So the peep has joined a local writer's group. Apparently, she was invited.  Invited.  The peep!  Can you believe it?  Don't they know that I, Seville the Cat, am the real writer in this here family?  MOUSES!

Anyway, Peep #1 joined this writing group and sure enough, right off the bat, she came begging - yes, BEGGING - to me for help.  Her exact words were, "Help!"  Okay, that was actually her exact word but you get my drift, I am sure.  MOUSES!

I have discovered that Peep #1 isn't used to writing stuff in her own voice.  When she writes, she writes fiction and hides behind either the plot or the characters or sometimes even both.  She never writes really serious stuff as I do and that, my friends, is why she needs my help.  As you all know, I write serious stuff all the time and when doing so, I use my own voice.

Dare I say it once more?  Sure, why not?  MOUSES!

So the scaredy-cat peep...

Hmmm...  Scaredy-PEEP is more like it.

So the scaredy-peep came running to me, begging for my assistance.  Figures.  We've been down this road before.

I, not being one to mince words simply said, "Give it here, Peepers.  I'll see what I can do."

Of course, the peep then complained, saying she simply needed help and wasn't asking me to do her homework for her to which I replied, "What do think I am?  Some kind of teacher?  MOUSES!"

Peep #1 then stomped out of my office in a huff as I called out behind her, "You'll get my bill in the mail!" although to be perfectly honest, I'll probably just paw it over to her and save myself a stamp.

So here I am, writing Peep #1's writing assignment for her.

Now Peep #1's writing assignment was about fear and/or courage.  Fear?  Courage?  Rather apropos, if you know what I mean.  Well at least the fear part is.

So let's get down to business and talk about this here thing called fear, shall we?  Let's talk about the peep's inability to write using her own voice.  Why she apparently can't do that.  Well the answer is clear.  It's all about fear.

That's right, the peep is too scared to write using her own voice.  Too scared to let other peeps see or hear what she really thinks and probably way too scared to hear any replies.  So when Peep #1 writes, she uses characters and plots to get her message across. Kind of a roundabout way of doing things if you ask me.

Now the peep would argue that I, Seville the Cat, use humour behind which to hide but quite frankly, I have to disagree.  I know there are peeps out there who do that but that kind of thing is simply not for me.  Firstly, I'm not a peep; I'm a cat.  Secondly, I use humour to entertain and not to hide.

If I were to hide behind something, I'd hide behind a piece of furniture or an appliance.  Or better yet, underneath one.  I mean, what is gonna protect me more?  A big ol' chunk of steel and wood or a little wee joke?  Seriously, think about it for a minute, would you?  Peeps can see right through jokes whereas they cannot see through carbon steel.  MOUSES!

Why just last week, my sister Constance had to visit the doctor again.  Yeah, she's been going there every week ever since she broke her leg but that's beside the point.  The thing is, Connie doesn't like going to see the doctor because - you guessed it - she's afraid.  She's scared.  It's all about fear.

But when Constance is scared, does she hide behind a joke as the peep falsely accuses me of doing?  Or does she hide behind some made-up character's voice as the peep actually does?  Of course not!  Connie is a cat and therefore, she's smart.  That's why when Connie hides, she hides behind furniture and appliances and the like.  In fact, last week Constance hid behind the chest freezer, the upright freezer, the trunks under the stairwell, underneath the living room chesterfield, behind those big old trunks a second time and even up on the ledge leading into the basement although truth be told, that last spot turned out not be a very good hiding spot at all as the peep could see her, plain as day, even if she was out of reach.  Bottom line is, forty minutes later, Connie had to go visit the doctor after all.

Now the lesson to be learned here is...  Peep #1 is way more persistent than anyone ever thought.

Scratch that.  A better lesson to be learned is that if you're going to hide, hide somewhere where you'll actually be hidden and not behind something silly like humour or someone else's voice or...

Nah, scratch that, too.  The REAL lesson to be learned here is that the best way to face fear is to do exactly that.  To simply face it.  Let me explain.

Six months ago, after my brother Nerissa's death, I was handed the reigns of this here blog, Nerissa's Life.  It was scary.  Scary as all get out.  I had never written a thing before in my life and now was expected to come up with a blog post twice a week, every week.  I didn't think I could do it at all.

But did I run?  Did I cower and hide?  Did I ask the peep to write my blog posts for me?

OF COURSE NOT!

I sat right down at the computer and tried to figure out how to turn it on.  Yeah, that part was hard, I have to admit, but once I had tackled the whole on/off switch thingy, I started writing right away.  I wrote and I wrote and I WROTE.  I wrote as much as my little paws could handle.  And once that was done, I discovered that I, Seville the Cat, could actually write after all.  There had never been any reason to be afraid.  There had never been anything to fear.

Six months later, I will admit that every now and then, I still do get a little scared about writing. Sometimes I'll find a topic I think might be too much to handle.  Sometimes I can't find a topic at all! Yeah, that can be really scary, for sure.  But as with all fears, the best way to overcome them is to face them.  To just go ahead and do it and that is exactly what I did.

So as I sit here at my desk, I'm wondering...  Should I press print and give this here text to the peep to hand in or should I go tell the peep that to overcome her fear, she needs to face that very fear itself. She needs to write about something serious, using her own voice and she needs to do it on her own.

I'm torn.  Torn between doing the right thing and pressing delete or doing the wrong thing, handing the peep this text and earning a little nip money on the side.  Decisions, decisions...  What to do?  What to do?

Hah!  Nip money always trumps all else.

"Oh Peepers....  I have your assignment for you.  And please pay with cash.  I don't accept cheques.  MOUSES!"

                                 ********************************************

Yesterday was a bittersweet day at my house.  Yesterday would have been Nissy's fourth blogoversary had my amazing brother still been with us, writing this here blog.  Yesterday was a day that should have been full of celebrations but instead, it was marked with such sadness, for we all miss Nissy so very much.  purrs

lending a paw

Well that's it.  Hallowe'en is over and done with for another year.  Time to put away the decorations.  Scratch that.  Time to put away the decoration.

That's right.  Ol' Peepers, here, had but one Hallowe'en decoration up which is one more than she had last year so I guess she's on some kind of roll but she's not rolling very fast at all.  Not rolling nearly as fast as a giant pumpkin would roll down a very steep hill but that, my friends, will have to be another blog post for another day.

Anyway, it's time to put away the peep's one decoration 'til next year and hope and pray she does a better job of decorating at Christmas.  MOUSES!

And speaking of decorations and the lack thereof, the peep has very recently found out how much she really does need to do a better job if she wants any trick-or-treaters to visit in future years.  And when I say recently found out, I mean exactly that.  In fact, she found out less than an hour ago. Apparently, we had only a third of the trick-or-treaters some peeps had.  Peeps right here in our own neighbourhood!  Without good, well-lit decorations, they don't know to venture up the driveway, you see.  MOUSES!

But back to tidying up and things.  The decoration has to go in the garage and it's time to put away the costumes and stuff, too, although truth be told, the peeps didn't dress up for Hallowe'en. Therefore, at my house, there are no costumes to put away.  I thought about dressing up, myself, but after realizing that would entail my wearing clothes, I thought better of that, for sure.  MOUSES!

As for the leftover candy?  Well...  Well I'll let the peeps deal with that.  I'm thinking they won't be putting it away 'til next year, though.  They will be putting it away. Just not in safe keeping and not for another Hallowe'en as I happened to notice the peeps got stuff they like themselves, too.

But there definitely was leftover candy as like I said, Peep #1 totally failed on the well-lit decorating front.  We only had seven kiddos visit us this year.  One can never guess how many trick-or-treaters there will be.  Sometimes a lot and sometimes hardly any.  All depends upon the year and the lack of decorating, it seems.

But as I watched those seven trick-or-treaters last night - from a very safe distance, of course - I couldn't help but think about what I think about the most.

No, I was not thinking about nip.  Okay, maybe I was thinking about nip just a bit.  But that sort of goes without saying, you know?  I mean, nip is always on my mind.

What's that?  Was I thinking about treats?  Well...  Okay, you've got me again.  I was thinking about treats, too, but who can blame me?  After all, the few kids who did venture up the driveway were yelling trick-or-treat at the door.  I mean, they were actually saying the word treat.  How on earth could I not think about treats after hearing other people mention them?  Not thinking about treats would be almost impossible to do.

But what I was thinking about the most was, of course, cats.  Cats and this whole trick-or-treating idea.

                                             **********************************

Why is it that every year, kids dress up in costumes and go from door-to-door asking for candy and everyone thinks they're cute and adorable even when some of their costumes are actually quite scary and they ooh and they ahh and wish them all a Happy Hallowe'en but...

But when a starving kitty arrives on that very same doorstep, asking not for candy but rather, for a little food to fill his or her empty tummy...

Yes, my friends, I was thinking about that.

If homeless kitties were to dress up as ghosts and ghouls and princesses and superheroes, not to mention cartoon cats, would peeps pay more attention to them then?  Would peeps then give them a dish of food to fill their empty tummies?  Or make a warm shelter to protect them from the wind and the rain?  And the snow and the cold?  Or even better, would they invite them inside, offering those kitties a forever home of their very own?

Is a costume what it takes?

Speaking as a cat, I would certainly never begrudge a child some trick-or-treating fun on Hallowe'en. So why do some peeps begrudge a starving kitty the food and shelter they need to survive?  Is there something wrong with these peeps?

I say, if a peep can buy candy for the trick-or-treaters, they can buy food for the homeless kitties of the world out there who are in need.  MOUSES!

I suspect that part of the issue is that Hallowe'en fun is exactly that.  It's fun.  It's a time when peeps can enjoy dressing up in scary costumes or remembering what it was like when they were little tykes, themselves, going door-to-door.  I suppose that thinking about the fact there may be starving kitties in one's neighbourhood isn't exactly fun, if you know what I mean.

But consider this.  If thinking about how there might be hungry neighbourhood kitties isn't something you enjoy, imagine how miserable it must be to not only be thinking about it but to be one of those starving kitties, yourself.  To not know where your next meal is coming from.  To not know if you'll even find a next meal at all.

There are feral, abandoned and lost cats in everyone's neighbourhood.  In yours and in mine, too. Sometimes we don't see them.  Sometimes we do.

My gosh, I was once one of those lost kitties, myself.  All the members of my fur-family were, too.

As responsible citizens, both human and feline, it is our duty to keep a watchful eye out for kitties in need.  To identify those cats who don't have homes.  To notice when a visiting kitty needs food or shelter or both.

With Hallowe'en now gone, winter will be approaching.  In some places, winter may already be here.

Feral kitties living outdoors need shelter from the cold.  Really effective shelters can be constructed fairly cheaply and with readily accessible materials.  I won't pretend to be a master shelter builder or anything like that and believe-you-me, my peeps aren't either.  But over at Alley Cat Allies, there are peeps who know exactly how to make a protective shelter.  They even have what they call a Shelter Gallery where you can find out all sorts of useful information.

Can you imagine if you were a feral kitty without a colony, living all by yourself, out in the cold? How lonely and scared you would feel?

And can you imagine how wonderful it would be if you were to find a warm, safe shelter?  Can you imagine?  It would feel too good to be true.

All cats living outdoors need a helping paw, now and then, when it comes to food, too.  Some kitties will keep their distance but that doesn't mean they're not hungry.  They're just so very scared, you see.  If a cat shows up on your doorstep, please help that kitty out for he or she is most likely hungry and in need.

And, of course, abandoned and lost kitties would love to have a forever home of their very own.  A home where they are loved and cared for.  A home where they have a family and are family, too.

The worst day of my life was the day I found myself lost.  Lost, cold and oh-so-very hungry, not knowing where I could take shelter.  Not knowing where I could find anything to eat.  Not knowing if I would ever eat again.

Details are sketchy as to how I ended up at the peeps' door.  They joke that I must have followed the signs but truth be told, I'm not really sure how I found them at all.  All I know is that I was scared and alone.

But that was when my luck turned right around for finding the peeps really was the luckiest day of my life.  They gave me food and water and when they realized I was in need of a forever home, they brought me inside, giving me that, too.

Of course, not every cat is as lucky as I.  Not every cat is able to find his or her forever home.  So many lost and abandoned cats are lucky just to find their next meal.

So please...  PLEASE...  Please think about how willing you were to give the cute little trick-or-treaters their candy last night when they asked.  Think about that.  Then think about the kitties of this world who need a meal to fill their empty tummies and realize that if we can provide candy for trick-or-treaters, we can provide needed meals for kitties, too.  Please keep watch for cats who might be homeless.  Identify if they're lost, abandoned or feral and find a way to help them in their time of need.


Lending a helping paw is our duty as responsible citizens, you see.