careful Peepers!

Careful Peepers!  Careful where you put those feet of yours.  They're right clodhoppers, for sure. MOUSES!

You cats out there ever notice how peeps are constantly puttin' their feet where their feet don't belong?  I'm tellin' ya, it's happenin' across the nation in epidemic proportions, for sure. MOUSES!

Why just the other day...


Just the other day, Peep #1 was doin' some dishes at the kitchen sink, when she stepped back about an inch or so, and almost stepped on my sister Tess' tail.

Don't worry, she didn't actually step on it, but let me tell you, she came within a whisker's length of doin' so, for sure.

Tess, realizin' how close she came to havin' her tail stepped upon, started growlin' at the peep; although truth be told, Tess' growls are not unheard of in these here parts.  I mean, Tess growls at the wind.  MOUSES!

But it gets worse, my friends.  Far, far worse.

After almost steppin' on Tess' tail, do you know what the peep did?

Better yet, do you know what the peep didn't do?

Well she didn't apologize to Tess.  Nope, nor did she beg for her forgiveness.  She didn't even promise to never almost accidentally step upon her tail again.

Instead...

Instead, she told Tess to be more careful with what she was doin' with her tail.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?  MOUSES!

Well Tess was none to pleased with the peep's response, I can tell you that.  No sirree, she was none too pleased AT ALL.  In fact, Tess responded by growlin' some more at the peep.  MOUSES!

For some stupid ol' mousin', moused-up reason, peeps expect us cats to not put our tails in harm's way.

For some stupid ol' mousin', moused-up reason, peeps think we cats shouldn't be flickin' our tails, this way and that, in and around peeps' feet.

For some stupid ol' mousin', moused-up reason, peeps think we cats - and not peeps - should be thinkin' about the safety of our own tails.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?  MOUSES!

If we cats can't rely upon peeps to watch out for our tails, what good is it havin' any peeps?

I mean...  WE CATS HAVE RIGHTS.

It's true.  I kid you not.  It's right there in the Cats' Bill of Rights, you know.  Right there where it says, "NO CAT shall be responsible to watch out for the whereabouts of his or her own tail, when there's a peep around who can watch out for the whereabouts of said cat's tail, for 'em."  Yup, that's just what is says.

MOUSES!

If we cats wanna lurk about peeps' feet, without 'em knowin' we're lurkin' about their feet, we are entitled to do exactly that.  It says so right there in the Cats' Bill of Rights.

And if we cats wanna flick our tails back and forth, while we're lurkin' about peeps' feet, even though those peeps don't know we're lurkin' about their feet, never mind the fact they don't know we're flickin' our tails back and forth right around their feet, why we're entitled to do exactly that, too.  It says so right there in the Cats' Bill of Rights.

And if we cats wanna...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  You think that our lurkin' about your feet, and flickin' our tails this way and that, while we're lurkin' about your feet, when you don't actually know we're lurking about your feet, is askin' for trouble?  You do?  Really?

Well do you know what?  I AGREE WITH YOU.

Of COURSE it's askin' for trouble. 'Cause if you accidentally step on my tail while I'm flickin' my tail back and forth around your feet, while I'm lurkin' about your feet without your knowin' I'm lurkin' about your feet, YOU are gonna be in BIG TROUBLE, for sure.

That's kinda the whole point of this here blog post, Peepers.  You know, how you peeps need to learn to watch out for our tails, even if you don't happen to know we're lurkin' about, right there by your clodhopperin' feet.

What the mouses did you think this blog post was about, Peepers?

MOUSES!

who did it?

"No Peepers, NO!  Don't do it.  Please... PLEASE...  NOOOO!!!"

I stood by the livin' room door, watchin' the peep.  My eyes burned with salty tears. With one paw, I wiped them dry.  Bowin' my head, I said a silent prayer.  The least I could do was give it a proper sendoff.

No, the least I could do was find the guilty culprit.  MOUSES!

I looked around the room, peerin' at each of my fur-sibs.  One by one, I stared intently into their eyes.  Not eliciting a response, I stared at them all again.  Narrowin' my eyes and settin' my jaw, I demanded, "Okay then, who did it?"  I crossed my paws over my chest.  "Who did the dirty deed?"

My question was met with silence.

Andy looked at me blankly.  His usual look, I'm afraid.  Rushton gushed all innocence, but I knew better than to be fooled by those looks of his.  Nevertheless, he wasn't volunteering any information.  Mason rolled her eyes, indicating she was sure no one would confess, least of all Rushy.  Under her breath, Tess growled.  Typical.  Tess has been known to growl at the wind. Seriously, my friends, she has.  And prompted by Tess' growling, Tobias began to wash behind an ear.  Suspicious behaviour had it been any other cat, but the likelihood of Toby being guilty in this particular case, was almost nil.  Almost, but not enough for me to eliminate her from my list of suspects.

And speakin' of suspects, I had five.  Unfortunately, not one of 'em was willin' to confess. MOUSES!

"Do I have to ask again?" I said in a louder voice.  "Who did it?  WHO PEED ON THAT NIP HEART?  MOUSES!"

At that very moment, Dionysus - the timeshare cat - entered the livin' room.  Lookin' about, he wandered toward the pile of nip hearts lying in the corner by the big green chair.

I gazed off into the distance, allowing my mind to wander.  I raised one eyebrow.  "A sixth suspect," I muttered to myself.  "Hmmm...."

Dionysus - the timeshare cat - was now stretched out, lyin' among the nip hearts.

Tess growled again, but no one paid any attention.

Standin' on all fours, I walked over to Dionysus.  I looked down at him, his eyes glazed over from bein' high on the nip.  "Did you do it?" I questioned.  "Are you the guilty culprit?  Did YOU pee on that nip heart?  DID YOU?"

I heard Mason harrumph from behind.  "He's not going to admit anything Seville.  Just look at him lying there, drunk on the nip."

"Lookie here Dionysus, you timeshare cat, you," I said, proddin' him with a paw.  "You may live here part time and yes, I admit, some of those nip hearts are yours, but that doesn't mean you can waltz into this here livin' room, and go around peein' on..."

Before I could even finish tellin' Dionysus off, he rolled over and fell asleep.  MOUSES!

"We're just lucky it was Peep #1 who found the peed-upon nip heart, and not one of us cats," Mason began.  "I can't imagine anything worse than lying down next to your favourite nip toy and placing your cheek up against it, only to find it sodden with pee. Yuk!"

"Especially when it was someone else who, you know... peed." I added.

Dionysus was still sleepin', and Tess was still growlin', when Peep #1 returned, a foul look upon her face.  Standin' there, she looked down at us cats, scowlin'.

"Did you bury the nip heart?" I asked, a tremor in my voice.

"It's in the garbage," the peep answered, "where it will stay.  And if I find any more peed-upon nip hearts, they'll be tossed out, too."

Then, one by one, we cats were removed from the livin' room.  After the last cat was unceremoniously dumped in the front hallway - for the third time - Peep #1 closed both doors behind us.

I stared longingly into the livin' room through the glass doors.  "No Peepers, NO!  Please... PLEASE...  NOOOO!!!"

But the peep, bein' a peep, laughed a truly heartless, cruel, and evil laugh.

Seriously, my friends.  Cruella Deville would look like an umbrella-toting nanny, singing songs of her favourite raindrops and roses, in comparison.

Okay, so she didn't exactly laugh.  It was more of a cry of frustration, really.  A cry of frustration on account of her noticin' that Dionysus - the timeshare cat - was still sleepin' soundly among the remainin' nip hearts, and the knowledge that when she opened up those glass doors to go get him, one of us other cats was probably gonna dart past her feet and back into the livin' room, AGAIN.  MOUSES!

the retraction

OH MY MOUSES!  Get a grip woman, would ya? You'd think you were one of those Real Housewives of Beverly Hills or somethin'.  Now those women have REAL troubles, for sure. MOUSES!

I mean, if you can bicker over somethin' someone once did to you ages and ages ago -  for an entire evenin' - whatever that somethin' someone once did, it must have been pretty moused up, if you ask me.  MOUSES!

And speakin' of moused-up troubles, have you met my long-haired marmie brothers?

You know, I should have my own television show.  One of my very own.  Seriously, I should, 'cause I can bicker with the best of 'em, for sure.

I can do a pretty good smacky paw, too.

And speakin' of smacky-paws, have you met my long-haired marmie brothers?

Why just the other day, one of those long-haired marmie brothers of mine...

What's that, Andy?  Oh yeah...  You're right.  Sorry 'bout that.

Hey, what can I say?  Even a broken clock is right at least once a day.

But by broken clocks, I am not talkin' about me.  No sirree.  Nothing 'bout me is broken. MOUSES!

However, I will retract my last statement.  Yup, I will make a full retraction, forthwith.

Regardin' my insinuation that recent smacky-paw events occurring at my house involved my long-haired marmie brothers...  Well, they didn't.  I am hereby retractin' that statement, and issuing an apology to both Anderson and Rushton.  As I was reminded, about five minutes ago, said smacky-paw events were actually between myself and my sister Mason.  MOUSES!

What are you blatherin' on about now, Andy?  I apologised.  Are you satisfied with nothin'?

Nope, that there retraction on my blog is gonna have to do it.  It's not like I tweeted out the mistake to all and sundry on Twitter.  MOUSES!

Sundry.  Sundry.

It's an alternative spellin' for Sunday.

Kinda.  Sort of.  Okay, maybe not.  MOUSES!

Now where was I?

Oh yeah, I was talkin' about the smacky-paws.  The other day, I smacked my sister Mason real good, for sure.

Darn it.  I need to print another retraction.

Regardin' my last statement, what I should have said was, I smacked my sister Mason really well, for sure.

Whew!  That was close.  I could already hear the Grammar Police sirens off in the distance.

But back to those smacky-paws.  SHE STARTED IT!!!  'Nough said.  MOUSES!

What's that, Andy?  Why did Mason smacky-paw me in the first place, you ask?

Well...  Uh...  Actually...

Actually, I kinda think she was smackin' me back.

Pardon me, Andy?  Why did I smacky-paw Mason, causin' her to smacky-paw me back, you ask?

Well...  Uh...  Actually...

Let me get back to you 'bout that.

Oh yeah!  NOW I remember.  Mason made a comment 'bout me that I didn't like.  She did. Something 'bout my LORDIN' MY BLOG over the rest of you cats.  So I smacked her real good, for sure.

MOUSES!  Again, I meant, I smacked her really well, for sure.

That's better.  Another close call with those darned Grammar Police.  Next thing I know, I'll have the Merriam-Webster Dictionary on my tail.  MOUSES!

Say that again, Andy?  What does my lordin' my blog over the rest of you cats mean, you ask?

Well...  You know how I...

Um...  Never mind.  You don't need to know 'bout that.

But now that I think about it, I don't think Mason was the one who came up with the comment 'bout my lordin' my blog over the rest of you cats.  Truth be told, I think she was just repeatin' somethin' someone else said.  Somethin' someone with long-haired marmie-coloured fur said.

SMACK!!!

But on the other paw, now that I think about it a little more, maybe Mason was actually repeatin' somethin' the peep said.  Yeah, that was it.  Mason told me she heard Peep #1 say' somethin' about my lordin' my blog over the rest of you cats.

Hmmm...  But I can't smack a peep. That would be like bitin' the paw that feeds you and all that.  But I'm really, really, REALLY feelin' the urge to give someone a right good smack.   HMMM...

SMACK!!!

Sorry 'bout that Andy.  That was an alternative smack.  MOUSES!

the thing

*sniff*

I sniffed the....  THING lyin' before me. What could it possibly be?

I sniffed it again.  *sniff sniff*

It wasn't a nip mouse, and that was for sure.  For starters, it contained no trace of sniffable nip.  What's more, it did not look like a mouse.

Could it be a nip thing?

Nah, even a nip thing would have to contain nip.  MOUSES!

I sniffed it again.  *sniff sniff sniff*

Could it be...  a mitten?

Nope, the thing was not mitten-like.  Not mitten-like at all.  It didn't look like any mitten I had ever before seen.

On the other paw, it did kind of look like the claw of a lobster.  "Do lobsters wear mittens?" I thought to myself.  Nah, lobsters don't wear mittens.  They live in the ocean and everyone knows wet mittens get all soggy and cold.  And even if they didn't, no self-respectin' lobster would ever wear a mitten lookin' like that.  MOUSES!

And why...  Why had the thing sprouted a wart?

It was true.  On one side of the thing, there was a lumpy ol' lump.  A lump that looked wart-like, for sure.

But in all honesty, the whole thing in question looked like it had been partially chewed up by a deep-sea monster, before bein' spat out like the seeds of a melon.

Do deep-sea monsters even eat melons?  MOUSES!

Sittin' back on my haunches, I had a good think.  What did I know?  What evidence did I actually have?  If I thought it through carefully, surely I could identify the identity of the thing.

Hmmm...

Okay, so it was made out of yarn.  That much I knew.

And as I had found it in the peep's knittin' bag, I was certain she was responsible for knittin' the atrocity, for sure.

A nip mouse, it was not.  A nip thing, neither.  A knitted cover for a lobster's claw was still a consideration, although highly unlikely.

Hmmm...

Although I had already excluded the possibility of it bein' a mitten, I remembered Peep #1 workin' with some black yarn and a pattern for mittens.

Could it be...

Certainly it couldn't.

But...

MOUSES!

"Hey Peepers!" I cried.  "Is this here knitted atrocity of a thing, your audition piece for the Great Canadian Knittin' Show?  Is it actually supposed to be...  A MITTEN?  MOUSES!"

I looked at the thing lyin' before me, again.  I rubbed my eyes with a paw.  I gave my head a good shake. I spun 'round three times, before curling up into a ball, tucking my head next to my tummy, and squeezing my eyes tight for, my friends, there are some things a kitty can never unsee.  MOUSES!

I unfurled myself and rose to my paws.  Circling the thing lyin' there on the floor, I reached out with a paw, and gave it tap.

Clearly, whatever it was, it was dead.  Further evidence of the thing bein' a knitted thing of the peep's.

But it looked like no mitten I had ever before seen.  I mean, what was that other thing on the knitted thing's side?

No, not the wart.  The thing on the thing's OTHER side.

The thumb, you ask?  Ask well you might, but no peep - ever - has had a thumb that size.  Why, it had to be half the width of the wrist, for sure.  MOUSES!

"Hey Peepers!" I cried.  "Is this here knitted atrocity of a thing, a mitten for mutant peeps?"

"Or perhaps for aliens?"

Hmmm...

"HEY PEEPERS!  IS THE GREAT CANADIAN KNITTIN' SHOW ASKIN' PEOPLE TO KNIT MITTENS FOR ALIENS NOW?"

Now that sounded unrealistic even to me.

Everyone knows aliens don't wear mittens.  MOUSES!

I scratched behind my ear with a paw.

And how was this Great Canadian Knittin' Show gonna work, anyway?  A knock-off from a knock-off, for sure.  But what I was questionin' was the logistics of it all.

Whippin' up some cakes and pastries in a weekend was fine for bakin' shows, and sewin' up a little outfit in a day was fine for a sewin' bee, but knittin'?  I mean, knittin' takes time.


Saturday mornin', the contestants all start knittin' a sweater.  By that evenin', they've finished a sleeve.  Eleven million years later, the projects are ready for judging. MOUSES!

Maybe that was why the project at paw was simply a mitten.

A mitten with a super-sized thumb.

Wearable by fashion-backward lobsters and aliens, alike.

MOUSES!

that's funny

*sniff sniff*

*sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff*

Walkin' into the kitchen, I found my brother Anderson giving the air a good sniff.  "Whatcha sniffin' there, Andy?" I asked.  "Givin' the ol' peep hints about changin' the litter boxes?"

"No, the litter boxes are fine, Seville."

*sniff sniff*

*sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff*

"Are you sure?  'Cause you know, they don't call you Sir Fartsalot for nothin'.  MOUSES!"

Anderson scowled at me.

I scowled right back.

"Seville, I heard Peep #1 talking, and she said something about something being funny.  So I thought I'd sniff out whatever she was talking about.  If you remember, the last time the peep smelled something funny, it was cream that had gone off.  I'm hoping that's what it is again."

I sat back on my haunches and looked my brother up and down.  "You know, it's doin' stuff like sneakin' cream that got you the name Sir Fartsalot in the first place.  MOUSES!"  I stood up on all fours and added, "You, my lactose intolerant, long-haired marmie freak brother of mine, are not allowed to have cream."

"But if it smells funny the peeps aren't going to take it!" Anderson cried.

"And neither should you," I said with a flourish of my tail.

At that very moment, my other long-haired marmie freak of a brother, Rushton, entered the room.

"Guys, the word funny does have other meanings, you know.  It can mean strange, too."  Rushton looked closely at Andy.  "Maybe the peep was telling you you were strange."

"She wouldn't do that!" Andy exclaimed.

"Would too!" Peep #1 cried from the family room.

All three of us marmalade cats dropped our jaws in unison.  I looked at Andy.  Andy looked at Rushton.  Rushton looked at me.  Then we all turned to the family room, before getting up to march our way over to the peep and demand an explanation.

"But don't worry, that wasn't what I was doing," smiled the peep as we entered the room.  "I wasn't talking about any of you being strange."

"So you were talking about cream bein' off?  About cream smelling funny?" Anderson queried.

The peep looked perplexed, but only for a moment.  She's used to Andy askin' stupid questions, you see, so she has learned to ignore 'em.  It took her a while but eventually she figured that out. Figured out about ignorin' stupid questions, I mean.

"Seville," the peep began, "I was talking about you."

"WHAT?  I'M NOT FUNNY!  MOUSES!"

"Yes you are," the peep grinned.  "But not in the way you boys were discussing.  I was talking about how your blog is humorous and makes people laugh."

"OH YEAH!" and I slapped a paw to my forehead. "My blog can be funny, in a humorous kind of way."

"Should you really be encouraging him, Peepers?" Rushton asked under his breath. "You know how he uses that blog of his to mock Anderson and me."

"That's not true!" I cried.  I glanced about at the faces in the room.  "Okay, so it's a little true, but seriously, long-haired marmie freak brothers of mine, I mock the peep way more than I mock either of you.  Peep #1 has proven herself to be highly MOCKABLE, if you know what I mean."

Peep #1 furrowed her eyebrows.

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Peepers." I stated.  "But it's not my fault you do such odd things."  I rubbed my chin with a paw.  "Hmmm...  Odd, strange, stupid, funny...  Whatever."

Peep #1 pursed her lips.  "Seville, I have half a mind not to tell you this but..."

"Half a mind?  Half a mind?  Only HALF?  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" and I rolled onto my back in a fit of giggles.

"As I said," Peep #1 continued through gritted teeth, "I have half a mind not to tell you this, but..."  and she raised a finger, warning me not to start laughing again.

"But Seville, Blogpaws announced the finalists for the 2017 Nose-to-Nose Awards last night, and..."

"And Seville is winnin' some funny smelling cream?" Andy interjected.  "Because if he is, I want in on that action, too.  Seville, that's gotta be THE BEST PRIZE, EVER."

Again, the peep looked perplexed, but giving her head a good shake, she continued.  "Seville, your blog is one of four finalists for Best Pet Humor Blog."  She stood up, and walking over to me, she bent down and scooped me up into her arms.  "Congratulations my big orange dude.  You're a finalist!"

I narrowed my eyes.  "But if you were talkin' about my blog, how come you were tellin' Andy somethin' smelled funny?  And how come you were tellin' Rushy I was strange.  And..."

"Seville, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about.  I said no such things.  What I said was, Seville will be very pleased to hear he's funny."

"AS IN STRANGE?"

"No, as in funny.  Funny...  Making people laugh and..."

"You're sure, Peepers?  You're absolutely positively sure?  I just want you to be really, really clear. You're talking 'bout funny as in humorous, right?  You're not sayin' my writin' is odd or smells weird like cream that is off or..."

"Or about that time when I snuck some cream when no one was looking, and you called me Sir Farsalot?" Andy asked.

The peep ignored Anderson's question.  Sometimes ignoring Andy's questions is best.

"Yes Seville, I'm talking about funny as in humorous," the peep said reassuringly.

"Well in that case, THIS IS GREAT!  No, this is better than great. This is absolutely mousin' fantastically amazingly mousetastic!  MOUSES!!!" And with that, I tucked my head under the peep's chin and began to purr, allowin' her to give me a good cuddle.

And in a very quiet voice - almost a whisper - Andy asked, "Does this mean I'm not getting any cream?"

boing...

Boing...  Boing...  BOING...

Hmmm...  That's not quite right.  But if I tinker with this here...  And I tinker a little with that there...

BOINNNGGGGG.....

Well the springs are boingin'.  But they're only boingin' up and down.  So far, I'm not havin' any luck in getting 'em to boing forward, at all.  MOUSES!

Oh hello there, my friends.  You happened to catch me rippin' apart....

Uhhh....

You happened to catch me diggin' into...

Ummm....

On the other paw, you happened to catch me doin' nothin' at all.  Nope, there's nothin' of interest here.  MOUSES!

Okay, so I was doin' a little tinkerin' with the springs from the family room chesterfield.  You did catch me doin' that.

But I ask you, what's a little tinkerin' among friends?

Oh-oh.  Excuse me.

What's that, Peepers?

Uh, nothin'...

No Peepers!  There's no need for you to come into the family room.  I'm just talkin' to myself, is all. Just talkin' to myself, lullin' myself to sleep.

Yeah, that's it.

Yes Peepers, I'm just gettin' ready to have a little nap here.  Nothin' to worry your pretty little head over.  I'll call you if I need you.  Okay?  And until I do - call you, I mean - don't bother coming into the family room.  There's no need for you to come into the family room at all.

I said, DON'T COME INTO THE FAMILY ROOM!  At least not yet.

Peepers, don't you know it's rude to interrupt cats when they're talkin'?  Even when they're talkin' to themselves?  MOUSES!

Whew!  That was a close one, for sure.  For a minute there, I thought the peep was gonna come in here and find this mess I made with the family room chesterfield.

But I ask you, what's a little mess among friends?

And who knew chesterfields contained THIS MUCH stuffin'?  I know I didn't.  Did you? MOUSES!

No, it wasn't the stuffin' I was after.  I was lookin' for the springs.  I found 'em, too

Pardon me?  Why was I after the chesterfield springs, you ask?

Well...

Well it's that time of year, you see.  That time of year when the clocks are moved forward on account of Daylight Savings Time.  And you know what they say, right?  They say, time springs forward.  Springs forward.  Springs forward.  You're seein' the pattern here?  The pattern with those springs?

But the problem with all this springy stuff is, after losin' an hour of sleep last night, I'm not feelin' very springy.  Nope, I'm not feelin' springy at all.

So I got to thinkin', what if I could find me some actual springs, and use 'em to add a little spring to my step.  You know, to make me all springy, even after that lost hour of sleep.

But the other problem is, these here springs - the springs I happened to find in this here chesterfield - appear to be defective.  Yup, they appear to be defective, for sure.  Try as I might, I can only get 'em to work up and down.  So far, there has been no forward springy movement, at all.

And by the way, when usin' springs on the bottoms of your paws, to add a spring to your step, do not use 'em in areas with low-hangin' ceilings.

Just sayin'...

But I will add this:  THANK GOODNESS for that pile of chesterfield stuffin'.  Who knew it could make for such a comfy landing.

Again, just sayin'...

Anyway, I think what I need are some non-defective springs, 'cause these ones that used to be inside the family room chesterfield are apparently not up to spec.

Hmmm...

Anyone know if chairs have springs, too?

Just askin'...

MOUSES!

growin' up

Growin' up, I always thought I was a peep.

I was talked to like a peep by all the other peeps.  I was always spoken to in full sentences, with lots and lots of words, for there was no baby kitty talk for me.

Believin' I was a peep, I did peep things.  Peep things like sittin' on peep chairs, and sleepin' on peep beds.  I watched television with peeps.  I read books with them, too.  And like all the other peeps, I enjoyed hobbies such as knittin' and gardenin' and the chasin' of balls.

GROWIN' UP, I WAS A PEEP.

Then one day I looked in the mirror, and I said to myself...

"What the mouses?  I don't look like a peep at all.  I'm WAY BETTER LOOKIN' than your typical peep."

So I said to the first peep, "Peepers, you know somethin'?  I think that maybe, instead of a peep, I'm actually a cat."

But would anyone believe me?

Well I got myself one of those DNA testin' thingies advertised on TV, and when the results came back, sure enough...

I, Seville the Cat, was in fact A CAT, and not a peep.  MOUSES!

SO NOW I DO CAT THINGS.  Cat things like...

Okay, so I still do all the same ol' things I did before.

Yeah, I do, 'cause it turns out, a lot of those peep things I used to do, are cat things, too.  Peep things like...

Peep things like growin' up, not knowin' who or what you are.  MOUSES!

I mean, how many peeps out there actually grow up thinkin' they're one thing, only to find out they're somethin' else entirely?

I MEAN, DOES THAT ACTUALLY HAPPEN?

Well they say so on TV so it must be true.  Right?

WRONG!  They say lots of stuff on TV, and lots of it turns out to be totally untrue.  Case in point: ALTERNATIVE FACTS.

Oh my gosh.  What if peeps growin' up, thought they were cats?  What if when growin' up, peeps were walkin' around on all fours...

Wait a minute.  That's called crawlin' and that's exactly what baby peeps do.

Hmmm...

Okay, so what if peeps ALREADY grown up thought they were cats, and were walkin' around on all fours?  What if they were walkin' around on all fours, mewin' at other peeps and sniffin' each others' tails?

Oh my mouses!  WHAT IF PEEPS HAD TAILS?

How on earth would they wear their pants?

MOUSES!

And speakin' of pants...

Growin' up, I was always told I was a pair of pants.

Now you see how ridiculous that sounds?

Yeah.

MOUSES!

But back to the topic of pants.

If while preparin' my din-dins, Peep #1 tells me to keep my pants on, but as a cat I don't wear any pants, how do I do that?

And if while attemptin' to clip my claws, Peep #1 says I have ants in my pants, but as a cat I don't wear any pants, how can that be?

But if I did wear pants, and I happened to have ants in said pants, would I not wanna remove 'em for sure?

And if those nonexistent ants in my nonexistent pants happened to be FIRE ants, would that make me a liar-liar wearin' pants that happened to be on fire?  And would I be spewin' alternative facts?

Hmmm...

Good thing I'm a cat and that cats wear pants.  MOUSES!

let me help you with that

Hey Peepers!  You missed a spot.  Let me help you with that.

There.  All done.  You're good to go.

What's that, Peepers?  What?  What did I do?

NO, I did not brush any loose cat hair off your black jacket.  Don't be silly, Peepers. Why the mouses would I do that?

Truth be told, I added some more.

Yeah, that's right.  That's what I said.  I added a little more loose cat hair to the back of your jacket.  You can thank me later.

What's that, Peepers?  Why?  Why did I do that?

Are you hard of hearin' or somethin', woman?

I SAID, ARE YOU HARD OF HEARIN' OR SOMETHIN'?

Did you not hear what I said before?

I SAID, DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT I SAID BEFORE?

Oh my mouses.  Sometimes I really wonder 'bout you, Peepers.

Like I said, you had missed a spot.

Do I have to spell it out for you or somethin'?  I  said, you had missed a spot.  YOU HAD MISSED A SPOT.  YOU.  HAD.  MISSED.  A.  SPOT.  MOUSES!

For goodness sake, not only are you hard of hearin' these days, but apparently, you're not too good with the thinkin' stuff, either.  Let me explain it to you.

I'm tellin' ya, it's like teachin' an infant how to walk before they can crawl. MOUSES!

Okay Peepers, when I saw you puttin' on your black jacket earlier, I happened to notice a rather large patch of black on your back, just below your right shoulder.  A rather large, empty patch of black fabric, with no cat hair on it which, as you can imagine, looked kinda weird on account of there bein' cat hair all over the rest of the jacket.

SO BEIN' THE EVER-SO-HELPFUL KITTY THAT I AM, I took a few loose cat hairs from my gorgeous marmalade fur, and stuck 'em onto your jacket.  You know, in order to make that bare patch look a little less bare, and a little more like the rest.

Don't stare at me with your mouth wide open, Peepers.  It's not a good look.

Anyway...  Clearly, when you were usin' that sticky roller thingy on your jacket before, you forgot to glue some cat hair onto that bare patch.

What's that, Peepers?  What?  What's that you're babblin' about now?

YOU WHAT?

WHAT THE MOUSES ARE YOU TALKIN' ABOUT, WOMAN?

Peepers, are you sayin' that the sticky roller thingy is meant to REMOVE cat hair from your jacket? Remove it?  Remove it as in, take it away? MOUSES!

Are you sure about that, Peepers?  ARE YOU SURE?

'Cause in all honestly, I think the jacket looks way better with a few cat hairs on it, strategically placed here and there.  You know, to decorate it and stuff.

WELL IF YOU DIDN'T WANT CAT HAIR ON YOUR JACKET, WHY THE MOUSES DID YOU LEAVE IT LYIN' ON THAT CHAIR SO WE CATS COULD SLEEP ON IT LIKE WE DID?

I mean, really.  REALLY.  I mean...

Oh my mouses, I don't know what I mean.

Peepers, you have me all confused now, too.  One minute you're leavin' your jacket on a chair to be decorated with our loose hair, and the next minute, you're tryin' to get our beautiful cat hair, WHICH WE SO GRACIOUSLY DONATED TO THE CAUSE, off said jacket.

And may I add, if gettin' the cat hair off the jacket really was what you intended to do, you didn't do a very good job of it.  There was only one bare patch.  Only one.  One as in only one more than none.

QUIT YOUR BABBLIN', WOMAN.  You're makin' no sense at all.

Not to say you were makin' any sense before, but now you're makin' even less.  Now you're just kinda crazed.  Crazed like a crazy squirrel who has run out of nuts in the midst of makin' nut pies.

Not that YOU'VE run out of nuts.  Oh no, and no sirree.  Peepers, you're about as nutty as nutty can be.

Why Peepers, you're as nutty as the nuttiest mad hatter that ever there was, durin' a COMPETITION of mad hatters, all tryin' to outdo the other hatters, in a race to the finish line of maddening hattering madness.

And what the mouses is a hatter, anyway?  Someone who wears hats?  Nah, that can't be it. Someone who makes hats?  Could be...

And would those hats made by those hatters, happen to be decorated with gorgeous loose cat hairs in dulcet shades of marmalade?

Really Peepers, the flailing of arms thing is quite unbecoming.

Oh my mouses!  PEEPERS!  I see another spot.  Yup, right there. Another bare spot, right under your left arm.  I couldn't see it before.  Not until your arms started flailing.

Here Peepers, let me help you with that second missed spot.  MOUSES!

lettin' go

Perhaps you heard how the first peep joined this writing group thing-a-ma-gig, a while back.  Well let me tell you, there has been nothin' but trouble, ever since.

The thing is, Peep #1 is a lousy writer.  Oh yeah, lousy as lousy can be. My gosh, the woman couldn't write her way out of the telephone directory. Why, she couldn't write her way out of the yellow pages, either. MOUSES!

Because as we all know, I, Seville the Cat, am the writer in this here family, for sure.  MOUSES!

So anyway, the other day, the peep was struggling and struggling AND STRUGGLING with her writin; assignment.  The topic was "letting go," and for the life of her, she couldn't come up with a thing.

That's when I said to her, "Peepers, what you need to do is let go and let ME write that assignment for you.  MOUSES!"

Well it didn't take much convincin'.  Nope, before I knew it, my claws were goin' clickety clack on the computer keyboard, just like a train makin' its way along a railway track, and I was doin' the peep's homework for her.

Now THAT'S interestin'...   A dog may eat your homework, but a cat will do it for you.  MOUSES!

So sit back, put your paws up, and enjoy the followin' after-school special about lettin' go.  I mean, sharin'.  I mean...  whatever.  MOUSES!

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

“I said, let go.”

“No way, Sivvers.  You let go.”

“No YOU let go, Rushy!”

“Uh-uh.  YOU."

“Listen here, you long-haired marmie freak, LET GO OF MY NIP MOUSE THIS INSTANT.  MOUSES!”

“No way, Seville.  I’m not letting go for anything.”

“You’ll let go if I tell you to.  You’ll let go if it’s the last thing I ever tell you to do.  RUSHTON, LET GO!!!”

“I’m not letting go Seville.  Not even if Peep #1 comes in here and tells me to.”

“BOYS, LET GO OF THAT NIP MOUSE.”

“Now you’ve done it, Rushy.  But I’m still not lettin’ go.  I’m pretty sure I can spin this so that you take the blame.  What the mouses?  What am I sayin’?  Of course I can spin this so that you take the blame.  I, Seville the Cat, can spin like no other cat has ever spun before.  Why, I…”

“BOYS, DON’T MAKE ME TELL YOU AGAIN.”

“Hear that, Sivvers?  Peep #1 says you have to let go.”

“Not what I heard, bro.  I heard Peep #1 say YOU had to let go.  Now be a good long-haired marmie freak, and let go of my nip mouse right now.”

“You’re a marmie, too.”

“Yeah, but my fur is short.  I’m not a freak.”

“Don’t call me a freak, Seville!  Peep #1 said you’re not allowed to call me that.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t hear her say it, and anythin' I don’t hear with my own two ears doesn’t count, so just let go of my nip mouse and…”

RRRRRRRIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPP!!!!!

“BOYS!  WHAT DID I TELL YOU WOULD HAPPEN IF YOU FOUGHT OVER YOUR NIP MICE LIKE THAT?”

“Now look what you’ve done, Rushy.”

“What I did?  What YOU did, you mean.”

“Rushton, you should have let go of my nip mouse when I told you to.”

“You mean YOU should have let go of MY nip mouse when I told you to.”

“LONG-HAIRED MARMIE FREAK!”

“Peep #1 told you not to call me that!”

“LONG-HAIRED MARMIE FREAK!”

“Sivvers... she said not to do that.”

“Call you long-haired?”

“No, call me a freak.”

“Now you want me to call you a freak, Rushton?  Well let me oblige by..”

“Seville, that’s mean.  You’re being mean.”

“Peepers, Rushton tore my nip mouse in half.”

“Seville, I saw what happened.  You and Rushton both tore that nip mouse in half, together.  That’s right, you did it together.  And do you know why?”

“Because Rushton wouldn’t let go?”

“No Seville, because neither one of you would let go.  You were both so insistent upon winning, you’ve ruined that nip mouse for everyone.”

“Yeah, well he wouldn’t let go first.”

“And you wouldn’t let go second, Seville!”

“Yeah, well you still should have let go when I told you to, Rushy.”

“FOR PETE’S SAKE, BOYS, JUST LET IT GO!”

“FINE.”

“Fine.”

“Long-haired marmie freak!”

“BOYS!!!”

“Mouses, Peepers.  You don’t have to yell.  Calm down.  Take a deep breath. You REALLY need to learn how to let things go.”

And by the way, if you'd like to listen in our rehearsal for my little after-school special, you can do so on SoundCloud, right here...  "lettin' go"