I cannot tell a lie

No Peepers, it was not I who...

On second thought, maybe it was.

Or maybe...

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

Darn it.  Foiled by my conscience again.

Peepers, I cannot tell a lie.

But an alternative fact?  Now THAT I might be able to do.  MOUSES!


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

But you know, when it comes down to it.  I mean, really down to it.  I mean like, really, really, really down to it, whether or not a cat is guilty of doin' an unmentionable act is often determined by whether or not there are any witnesses to the doin' of the said unmentionable act.  The question is not whether or not I committed the act but rather, whether or not you can prove I did.  MOUSES!

What?  What's that Peepers? You don't need no proof, you say?

Well I say, that's a double negative, meanin' that even you admit you do need proof after all, which would be my point, exactly.  MOUSES!

What?  What's that Peepers?

I DON'T HEAR YOU...

Silence of the peeps.  And we all know what that means.

Actually, it could mean one of two things.  Either the peep realizes I am in the right, or...

Or she's diggin' up evidence of my unmentionable act.  MOUSES!

HEY PEEPERS!  Whatcha doin' there ol' pal, ol' buddy, ol' peep?  Whatcha up to?  Whatcha...

ACTUALLY, the silence of the peeps can mean one of three things.  Either the peep realizes I am in the right, or she's diggin' up evidence of my unmentionable act, or...

Or she has fallen asleep.

Clearly, my unmentionable act was not unforgettable, at all.  MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', forgettable as it may be, Seville has really done it this time.  And you're wonderin'...

JUST WHAT DID I DO?

Good question.  Take your pick!  Item number one, two, or three?

But truth be told, item number one, my special-special bein' scattered all over the kitchen floor, was not done by me.

At least not directly.

Okay, so I may have had a paw in it.  But not literally! I mean, it wasn't me, personally, who knocked over the bowl.  I may have caused someone else to knock the bowl over, but it was not my actual paw that did the knockin'.  MOUSES!

And as for item number two...  Well short of performin' a DNA test, I can't see how anyone is gonna prove I was the one who kicked all that litter out of the litter box.  And really and truly, at best, all that DNA test would prove would be that I had used the litter box prior to the kickin'.  It wouldn't prove that I had been the one doin' the kickin'.  Besides, it's not my fault the peeps weren't quick enough to get in there and clean up the box right after I had used it.

I mean, IF I had been the one who had used it.

You know what I mean.  MOUSES!

And all the evidence pointin' a paw at me for item number three is purely circumstantial.  Purely circumstantial in a very roundabout way.  In fact, it is so very circumstantial, in such a very roundabout way, that my even thinkin' about it, has me goin' in circles.  Goin' in circles, quite literally, chasin' my tail.

And if the peep had a tail she'd be chasin' hers, too.

But thank goodness she doesn't!  Have a tail, I mean, 'cause quite frankly, tails on peeps don't look good at all.  They can't pull the look off like we cats, you see.

For starters, HOW WOULD THEY WEAR PANTS?  MOUSES!

Can you imagine?  Can you imagine a bunch of pantless peeps runnin' about?

Of course, they could wear skirts.

Or dresses.

Or even kilts.

Whatever.

Anyway...

Anyway, about that item number three. Let's just say, it involved someone sprayin' somethin' that should never have been sprayed.

But I still say, IT WASN'T ME.

And without any evidence to the contrary, NO WAY, NO HOW, CAN IT BE PROVEN OTHERWISE.

MOUSES!

can you believe it?

So the other day, I was mindin' my own business, hangin' out in the garden when...

Scratch that.

Hmmm...

So the other day, I was thinkin' of ways to assist the peep when...

Yup, that sounds WAY better, for sure.

Okay, so the other day, I was thinkin' of ways to assist the peep with her gardenin', on account of my bein' an extremely helpful kind of cat who does things like that, when...

When the peep informed me, she did not require my help.

MOUSES!

I couldn't. Believe. My ears.  Seriously!  I knew the peep was sayin' what she was sayin', but I simply could not believe she would say such a thing.  I figured she must have been sayin' it by mistake.  I mean, why else would she say such things?  So I, bein' the extremely helpful kitty that I am, totally ignored the peep.

The peep, however, continued to talk.  She was babblin'.  Babblin' on and on.

And on and on and on...

AND ON AND ON AND ON, well after she said she didn't require my assistance.  MOUSES!

But for the life of me, I couldn't tell you about what the peep was babblin', on account of my ignorin' all that babbln' she was doin'.

So anyway, the peep was goin' on and on about somethin', but all I heard was, "Blah, blah, blah. Blah blah, blah blah, blah blah."  That's right, she said, "Seville, I don't need your kind of help," and then it was all blahs from there.  MOUSES!

But back to my helpin' the peep.  And when you think about it, my helpin' her was extremely kind of me, considerin' the fact she was doin' all that babblin'.

Now I knew Peep #1 said she didn't need my help, but I also knew that about that, she was totally wrong.  After all, when was the last time Peep #1 didn't need my help?  I'll tell you when.  NEVER. MOUSES!

Yeah, Peep #1 needs a lot of help, for sure.  Luckily for her, I'm a very helpful sort of cat so...

So I got right in there and helped the peep.

So anyway, after diggin' the first hole in the flower bed, Ol' Peepers here started babblin' on even more about somethin', which I, of course, ignored.

After diggin' the second hole in the flower bed, Ol' Peepers here continued to babble on about somethin' which again, I ignored, although truth be told, the second set of babbles were a whole little harder to ignore than the first, on account of their bein' decidedly louder.  MOUSES!

All I knew was, the peep was plantin' stuff and she was doin' it all wrong.

That's right, my friends, she was DOIN' IT ALL WRONG!

I'm sorry to be redundant but I figured it was worth repeatin'.

So anyway, the peep was plantin' things and she was doin' it all wrong, puttin' the wrong things in the wrong places, and diggin' holes where they didn't belong.  CLEARLY she was needin' my help to figure out what stuff should go where, and that sort of thing.

So after diggin' the third hole in the flower bed, the peep's babblin' reached a volume that my delicate ears could no longer tolerate.  There also appeared to be a direct correlation to the number of holes I was diggin', and the volume of the peep's babblin'.  Upon realizing this, I stopped my diggin'.

I then sat myself down and met eyes with the peep.  I'm pretty sure she thought I was listenin' to her every word but really, I was contemplating far more important things.  Things such as which I should do first, have a snack or a nap.  Snack then nap or nap then snack?  And THAT'S when it hit me.  That's when I realized I should, in fact, have a snack, followed by a nap, followed by a second snack.

After deciding upon the most optimum order of snacks and naps, I started thinkin' about what my first snack should be.

For one brief moment, I placed my focus back on the peep.  You know, to see if she was continuing to babble.  She was.  MOUSES!

At that point, I noticed a cloud in the sky.  The cloud in question looked a lot like a fish, as we all know clouds often do, and it occurred to me that a freeze-dried salmon treat would make an excellent snack, for sure.  I must have meowed aloud about the fish cloud or somethin' because at that point, everythin' became quiet.  The peep had finally stopped babblin'.  MOUSES!

My mind was on that snack but I knew it would be wrong of me to head indoors without first, finishing helpin' the peep.  So I did what any helpful kitty would do and started workin' on diggin' a fourth hole in the flower bed when...

When the peep picked me up, carried me indoors, and deposited me on the kitchen floor.

MOUSES!

And then...

And then....

AND THEN...

Then she turned around and marched back outside, without even gettin' me my snack.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

MOUSES!

don't cry over spilt milk

Peepers.

Peepers?

PEEPERS!

Oh hi there peeps.  I was just wonderin' why you were so upset.

You're not all that upset, you say?  You're only a little bit upset?  Well how little is a little?  Is it a whole lot less or just a little bit less, than all that?

Hmmm...

So you mean, you're upset like I was upset, when I discovered my very favourite nip mouse in the whole wide world had been slobbered on by some cat other than myself, but then realized my second favourite nip mouse in the whole wide world was still slobber-free.

HMMM...

Well that means you're pretty moused-up upset, Peepers, but not in a completely inconsolable way. MOUSES!

Anyway, you haven't answered my question.  How come you were upset in the first place?

Oh.  Oh yeah.  I knew all about that.

Oh sure!  I saw it happenin'.  I was on the window ledge watchin' when it did.

Well they enjoyed 'em, for sure.

They did!  Honestly.  In fact, I'd say they enjoyed 'em as much, if not more, than you were gonna enjoy 'em, so...

Peepers, didn't anyone ever tell you not to cry over spilt milk?  It's unbecomin' of a peep.  Now spilt cream?  Spilt cream is a TOTALLY different matter, for sure.  And spilt NIP?  Oh my mouses.  Spilt nip is the worst kind of spillage you can have.  Why, spilt nip is the spillage of all spillages. Spilt nip is...

Just goes to show you, every cloud has a silver linin'.

What?  Oh.  Sorry 'bout that.  I kinda forgot to say out loud what I was thinkin'.  That's why you're so confused.  THIS time.  There's no accountin' for your bein' confused ALL the times you're confused. You do tend to be a super confused peep.

Fine, I'll explain.  I was just thinkin' to myself, NOTHIN' is as serious as spilt nip, and spilt nip is not what you have.  Now spilt cream does come in in second place, albeit a pretty distant second place at that.  But even if you had spilt some cream, there would still be no need for you to cry over it on account of your not needin' the cream anymore anyway, on account of your no longer havin' any strawberries to eat with that cream.

Don't be so hard on yourself, Peepers.  It's very difficult for peeps to keep up with my thought processes.  What can I say?  My mind works in mysterious ways and it ALWAYS works at top speed, for sure.  Sometimes you might think my mind is runnin' amok but really, it's just that I'm thinkin' so quickly, you can't possibly keep up.  I mean, you're just a peep.  Sometimes I can't keep up with it myself!  MOUSES!

Oh yeah, I did say that, didn't I.  I did mention my bearin' witness to the events of last night.

Well...  Well the thing is, I was up on the windowsill, enjoyin' a nice cool evenin' breeze, when I saw a couple of rockies hangin' out by those strawberry plants of yours.  And I have to tell you Peepers, they were really excited when they discovered the berries were ripe.  I guess ripe strawberries are pretty tasty IF you like that sort of thing.  Personally, they're not somethin' I would eat, but to each his own.

Why didn't I say anythin' at the time, you ask?

Well...  Well I figured you already knew.

Yeah.  Why wouldn't you?  I mean, it's not like somebody else put those pots of strawberries right there.  Right there on the ground, where the neighbourhood marauding gang of rockies pass every night.  You must have known they'd find 'em there.  In fact, some might even think you left 'em there on purpose.  You know, left 'em there for them to be found.  I just figured that was your plan all along and...

Peepers.

Peepers?

PEEPERS!

You know, you can deny it all you like, but I think you're more upset 'bout these strawberries than you're admittin' and...

Peepers, now that I think about it, it would be really thoughtful of you if the next time you have some strawberries ready for those rockies, you would leave out a little cream.  I'm pretty sure they'd really enjoy some strawberries and cream, and in order to have strawberries and cream, you kinda need to have the cream.  Without the cream, strawberries and cream are just...  You know...  Strawberries.

MOUSES!

I need a box!

What to do, what to do...

MOUSES!

Oh hello there, my friends.  I'm afraid you've found me in a bit of a sticky situation, for sure. Tomorrow is International Box Day and I, Seville the Cat, do not yet have a box.  That's right.  I'm boxless.  MOUSES!

I don't know how it happened.  Usually the peep is good for a box or two.  There's usually at least one box lyin' about.

Lyin'.  Layin'.  Lyin'.  Whatever.

But today, on International Box Day Eve, there is not a box to be found.  MOUSES!

WHAT AM I GONNA DO?

On the other paw...

What's this?  Could this be a box?  A box especially pour moi?

Humph!  This box appears to have a bunch of stuff already in it.  But my need to have box for International Box Day, supersedes any need this stuff has to be in a box.

Hey Peepers!  What do want me to do with all this stuff here in this here box?

What stuff, you ask?  This stuff.  This stuff here in this here box.

What box, you ask?  This box.  This box here with all this stuff.

Boy-oh-boy, you'd think I was askin' her to do complex mathematical calculations or somethin'. Sometimes I really wonder 'bout the intelligence of my peep.  MOUSES!

Hey Peepers!  You want me to just chuck it?  Just chuck out all this stuff from this here box?  I'll leave it out by the back door and you can toss it in the garbage later.

I don't know.  Just some papers and things.  I don't they're very important.  None of 'em pertain to me.

And with that, I was unceremoniously lifted out of my new-found box, and plunked down on the carpet beside it.

MOUSES!

But Peepers, THAT'S MY BOX.

No, I don't have my name on it, but neither do you.

I bet I can leave my mark on that ol' box quicker than you can write your name.  MOUSES!

NO, I didn't pee on the box.

NO, I didn't pee on anythin' in the box, either.  What kinda kitty do you think I am?  MOUSES!

Peepers, I need a box.  I NEED a box.  I need a box by tomorrow, for sure.

Tomorrow!  TOMORROW!  Do you know NOTHING, woman?  Tomorrow is International Box Day and I, Seville the Cat, am in dire need of a box.

NOT A LITTER BOX.  MOUSES!

A box box, Peepers.  You know, a box.  I need a box.  I need a box to play in, a box to nap in, a box to have a little wash in, and whatever-else-I-wanna-do in.  You know, a box!  A box in which to do box things.

Again with the litter box wise-cracks?  Since when did you become such a potty-mouth, Peepers? MOUSES!

Well Peepers, if I can't have that box, you'll need to find me some other box.  You have any spare boxes hidden about?

What do you MEAN you don't keep spare boxes hidden about?  What kind of peep are you?  Don't you know it's your duty to have spare boxes on paw for emergencies such as this?

Peepers, my not havin' a box for International Box Day IS an emergency, for sure.  Boxes and nip mice should ALWAYS be in ready supply.  It's all there in our cat-peep contract.  Good peeps know that.  Clearly, you're not a very good peep.

And since you're such a lousy peep...

I mean, since you're such a WONDERFUL peep, who has obviously momentarily forgotten how very important it is for kitties such as myself to have boxes for International Box Day....

That's a good Peepers.  That's the ticket!  Now you finish emptyin' out that there box, and you'll have my International Box Day box ready before you know it.

Ahhh...  What a box.  This is the PERFECT box, for sure.

Thanks Peepers!  I knew you could do it.  You just needed a little encouragement, is all.

AHHH...

Oh, and Peepers?  Don't forget, I'm not the only cat livin' in this here house. I'm not the only cat whose gonna need a box for the Box Day celebrations tomorrow.  My fur-sibs are all gonna want boxes of their own, too.  You have any more boxes needin' emptyin' out?

What?  MORE litter box jokes?  They weren't funny the first time and they're not funny now.  MOUSES!

his royal haughtiness

Of course I'm hot.  Tell me somethin' I don't already know, Peepers.  MOUSES!

Although actually, as today is a whole lot cooler than the last few days, I guess I'm not quite as hot now, as I was then, but...

But that's not what you were talkin' about, right?  You weren't talkin' about the weather and stuff.  You were talkin' about how I was hot.

Although really, Peepers, I'm not sure it's all that appropriate for you to be talkin' about my hotness.  I mean, you're not just any ol' peep.  You're MY peep.  You're my peep as in the peep who is my non-fur mum.  Like, as in my mum.  My mom.  My furless mom.  You know...  Whatever.

But the thing is, everyone knows it's inappropriate for mums to be talkin' about their boys' hotness.  That's like the makings of some kinda horrible, REALLY CREEPY, Reality TV.

Either that or an episode of Law and Order SVU.  MOUSES!

Of course, it IS okay for you to mention, every now and then, within reason, how handsome I am in the marmalade glory that is me.

You know, especially if you happen to be mentionin' it to the LADYCATS out there.

But really...  REALLY!  Really, it is simply not okay for you, my non-fur mum, to ever describe me usin' the word, hot.  Not unless, of course, you actually ARE talkin' about the weather.  But as you and I both know that's not what you were doin', I'm gonna have to put my paw down and say somethin' right here, right now. That's right, I'm gonna have to say no to your talkin' about my bein' hot.

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What are you babblin' on about now?

Oh.  Haught.  HAUGHT.  Haught?  What kinda stupid word is haught?  MOUSES!

Is it some kind of alternative spellin' for hot?  'Cause if it is, it's still not okay for you to say I'm haught. That's still way too creepy in a really creepy kinda way.

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What are you continuing to babble on about to yourself?

OHHH...  Not haught.  Haughty.  So you weren't callin' me hot.  You were sayin' I was haughty.

Like as in a HOTTIE?

Oh my mouses, no.  No!  No, Peepers.  NO!  NO, NO, NO!  Callin' me a hottie is even more inappropriate than sayin' I'm hot.  It's like one of the most inappropriate things a mum can ever say about her boy.  It's vergin' on disgustin' in a really disgustin' kinda way!

What?  What's that, Peepers?  You're STILL babbling on 'bout stuff to yourself?

OHHH...  You weren't callin' me a hottie.  You were sayin' I'm haughty.

Well that's a totally different story.  Oh yeah, it's fine for mums to be callin' their boys haughty.  Nothin' weird, creepy, or disgusting 'bout that...

WAIT A MINUTE.

I JUST REMEMBERED WHAT THE WORD HAUGHTY MEANS.

MOUSES!

No Peepers.  NO!  No, it is not okay for you to be callin' me haughty.  It might not be creepy or disgustin' but it's....  It's..  It's...  IT'S RUDE!  Yeah, it's rude as all get out and...

What?  What?  What's that Peepers?  You're still babblin' on about stuff?  STILL?

Oh.  So you didn't just call me haughty.  What you actually did was refer to me as His Royal Haughtiness.

Hmmm...

Well that kinda gives me a title, doesn't it?

His ROYAL Haughtiness.

HIS Royal Haughtiness.

His Royal HAUGHTINESS.

HMMM...

And I've always wanted a title.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  I'm rememberin' what the word means.

But like I said, I've always wanted a title.  So...

His ROYAL Haughtiness.

We'll go with that.

MOUSES!

for the love of mouses

Oh for the love of mouses.

No, seriously. SERIOUSLY.  It's not just an expression you know. My brother Rushton sure does love his mouses.

MOUSES!

As you may or may not have guessed, Rushy caught himself a mouse this mornin'.

The peep, bein' a peep, was not amused.

On the other paw, Andy was.

That's right, Andy was right in there, stickin' his nose where his nose didn't belong, tryin' to see what Rushy had caught.  And then, with great amusement, those two long-haired marmie freak brothers of mine, just sat there, lookin' at the wee mouse lyin' on the ground.

Of course, Peep #1 was right in there too, checkin' out what Rushy had caught; but as I said earlier, SHE was not amused.

MOUSES!

The other day, Tess caught a chippy.

Actually, she caught two.

Or maybe it was the same one, caught twice.  As chippies don't go around wearin' name tags, we'll really never know.  MOUSES!

Remember?  Remember way back when, when Nissy used to do that?

Catch chippies, I mean.  Nissy never wore a name tag and if he did, he didn't tell me, so I can't report about that.

Anyway...

So anyway, the other day, Tess came trottin' down the driveway with a chippy danglin' from her mouth. Well Peep #1 spotted her immediately, and was up and outside within minutes, encouraging Tess to let the chippy go.

And when I say encouragin', I REALLY mean that the peep beeped the car horn, which made Tess leap at least a foot into the air as she was walkin' right past the car at the time of the beepin' horn.  Once back on the ground, she spun 'round to face that ol' car, lifted a paw and shook it.  "YOU CRAZY DRIVER!" she yelled.  And that, my friends, was about when the chippy fell out of Tess' mouth, before scamperin' away.

Of course, the peep wasn't even in the car at the time, and the car wasn't even movin', so therefore, technically, there was no driver to yell at.   Realizin' this, Tess yelled again.  "CRAZY NON-EXISTENT DRIVER!" she cried, but by then, the chippy had managed his escape.

The peep, bein' a peep, tried to stifle a laugh but Tess spotted her smirkin', which caused her to stomp down the rest of the driveway, growlin' all the way.

Tess, I mean.  Not the peep.  MOUSES!

Then about half an hour later, it happened all over again.

And believe-you-me, the second time the peep beeped the car horn at Tess, Tess was wild with fury.  "YOU STUPID PEEP, BEEPING YOUR BEEPING HORN AT ME WHEN YOU'RE NOT EVEN IN THE BEEPIN' CAR!" she yelled.  "LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE.  YOU'VE MADE ME LOSE MY CHIPPY!  AGAIN!"

Talk about road rage.

I never even knew one could even have road rage on a driveway.  You know, without bein' on a road.

This, my friends, is one of the reasons Tess can't get her driver's licence.

That and the fact she can't reach the gas pedal and see out the window at the same time, on account of her bein'...  You know...  A cat.  MOUSES!

Of course, Tess is known for bein' enraged.  Why once, just the other day in fact, she was caught growlin' at herself.

No, seriously.  SERIOUSLY.  She really, really was.  She was the only one in the room at the time, and she was growlin' like no other kitty growls, so I'm figurin', Tess was growlin' at none other than..  Well...  Tess.

Some peeps talk to themselves, so I suppose it's reasonable to assume a cat might growl to herself.

Especially if the cat in question happens to be Tess.

Tess does enjoy growlin'.

And she does it really well.

MOUSES!

and they sighed with relief

BREAKING NEWS...

Peep #1 mowed the lawn yesterday.

And the world sighed with relief.

MOUSES!

Seriously, they did. Really.  Truly!  Honestly to goodnessly.

Okay, so goodnessly isn't really a word.  But how the mouses else was I gonna make goodness rhyme with truly?

MOUSES!

But actually...  Actually, if I'm gonna be talkin' about bein' honest.  Well...

Okay, so it wasn't the WORLD that sighed with relief.

But I'm bettin' the neighbours all did.

MOUSES!

Now you might think I'm exaggeratin' about this, but really I'm not.  The peep hadn't mowed the lawn in over two weeks, you see, so really and truly, I'm not.  Exaggeratin', that is.

And that was just the front yard.

The backyard?  HO-HO!  You don't wanna go there.

No.  Seriously.  You don't.  'Bout a week ago, some jungle explorer guy went missin' back there.

Don't worry though.  I've ordered the peep a scythe.  I'm thinkin' that might do the trick, and if it doesn't, I have my eye on a little herd of sheep.

MOUSES!

But seriously, do any of you cats out there have problems with your peeps not keepin' up with their lawn mowin' duties?  And if so, how do you get 'em back on track? Inquirin' minds wanna know.

In my case, once the grass had passed my knees, I felt the need to confront the peep.

Okay, so it wasn't so much a confrontation as uh...  Um....  BRIBERY.

Anyway, I tried gettin 'the peep to get out there and mow the lawn - if you wanna call it that, 'cause I'm not sure you CAN call it a lawn once it passes a certain height.

Anyway, I tried gettin' the peep out there by offerin' her treats.

Snooty peep.  Apparently, eatin' freeze-dried salmon treats is beneath her.

MOUSES!

So when bribery didn't work, I resorted to threats.

But APPARENTLY, my threatenin' the peep to no longer assist her with her knittin', isn't really a threat.

MOUSES!

But eventually, after the ineffective attempts with bribes and threats, the peep did finally see the light.

That's right, she managed to push aside the taller than tall grass out there, and a little sunlight was able to find its way through.  That would be 'bout the time she was finally able to see that light.

So yesterday afternoon, out Peep #1 went, lawn mower in tow.

Well she was pushin' it, not pullin' it, so it wasn't really in tow, but you get the picture, I am sure.

And now...  Now have an actual lawn!  That's right.  An actual lawn in the front yard.  You know, a lawn, as opposed to some kind of grassy maze or cornfield.


Too bad 'bout that explorer guy in the backyard though.  As far as I know, he's still out there.  Yeah, still out there, attemptin' to find his way out.

MOUSES!

Peep #1 says she'll tackle the backyard over the weekend.  I wish he luck with that, 'cause from the looks of things, it just might tackle her back.

MOUSES!

my precious

So I was mindin' my own business, hangin' out in my garden, when I heard Peep #1 talkin' to herself.

Well she was kinda talkin'.  Chantin'?  Nah, talkin', I think.

Anyway...

So I was mindin' my own business, hangin' out in my garden, when I heard Peep #1 talkin', sayin', "My precious.  Oh my precious," in a weird, and really creepy kinda way.

First thing I did was look for giant walkin' trees and hobbits and elves and things.

Findin' no trace, I wiped my brow with a sigh of relief.  Whew!

Now back to the peep.

So I was mindin' my own business, hangin' out in my garden, when I heard Peep #1 say, "My precious.  Oh, my precious," in a really creepy kinda way, while starin' at somethin' she was holdin' in her hands.

After DOUBLE-CHECKIN' - 'cause one can never be too careful 'bout this stuff -  that there were no walkin' trees, hobbits, elves, or things, I approached the peep with great trepidation.  "Whatcha got there Ol' Peepers?" I asked.  "Anything good?  Some nip, perhaps?"

With glazed-over eyes, the peep sat on her haunches, rockin' back and forth, and back and forth, while repeating the words, "My precious," over and over again.

Okay.  So none of that really happened.  MOUSES!

Well...  Truth be told, some of it did.  I was in the garden, and so was the peep.  But the peep's eyes weren't all glazed over and stuff.  And she wasn't doin' any impersonations of Gollum or any of his kin.

Did Gollum even have kin?

Hmmm...  Whatever.

What REALLY happened is this:

I was mindin' my own business, hangin' out in my garden, when I heard Peep #1 say, "Oohhh... Look at this!" in a perfectly innocent kinda way.

A myriad of thoughts raced through my mind.  I quickly realized that the peep had found somethin' truly valuable and precious...

And by precious, I mean in a sweet, non-creepy kinda way.

So anyway, I realized the peep had found somethin' incredibly valuable and apparently, she had found it in the compost she was usin' for the garden.  CLEARLY, she had found some long-lost treasure.  Some long-lost treasure of immeasurable value.  Priceless, one might even say.

Should I call the press?  Should I call the museums? Should I call my banker to give him the go ahead to purchase those nip futures?

I sidled up to the peep to get a better look at the priceless artifact held in her hands and...

And...

AND...

"WHAT THE MOUSES?" I cried.  "Why, that's nothin' but a stupid ol' piece of glass you're holdin' there in your hands.  Do you know how many nip futures a stupid ol' piece of glass will buy?  I'll give you a hint, Peepers.  It's less than one.  IT'S NONE!"

The peep, bein' a peep, was totally unfazed.  "Isn't it pretty?" she asked.  "Look at the pretty treasure, Seville.  Look how it..."

"Mouses woman!" I interrupted.  "Didn't you hear me?  IT'S NOTHIN' BUT A STUPID OL' PIECE OF GLASS!"

"No Seville," she explained.  "It's sea glass.  And look how pretty..."

I took a deep breath, and reminded myself how the peep was just a peep, and that this sorta nonsense was bound to happen when dealin' with...  You know...  Peeps.

"Peepers, if that there stupid ol' piece of glass is sea glass, how come you found it here, in the garden, in the composted leaves?  Aren't you supposed to find sea glass by the...  Uh....  Um...  Let me think.  What's that place again?  Oh, I know.  The SEA?"

Still unfazed, the peep held her little find up to the sun.  "It's so pretty," she sighed.

"You take a fallin' branch to the head there, Peepers?" I asked.  "Or maybe some acorns?" and I looked around for any acorn-pelting squirrels lurkin' about.  Seein' none, I peered more closely at the peep.  Could her behaviour be attributed to sunstroke, perhaps?"

"And such a nice colour.  Light blue with a hint of green."

Sunstroke.  That had to be it.  MOUSES!

But then I got to thinkin'...

Then I thought better of that.

Clearly, this was one mystery destined never to be solved.  How the mouses does one find sea glass in a big ol' pile of compostin' leaves, in the middle of a garden, nowhere near any sea?  It made no sense.  It made no sense at all!

Unless...

UNLESS...

Unless the sea glass was actually part of some long-lost buried treasure.  A treasure buried long, long ago.  Perhaps in an old wooden chest.  A chest filled with silver and gold.  A chest left by pirates wearin' eye patches and the like.

But on the other paw, if one is gonna find buried treasure in my yard, it's more likely to be a treasure of a very different kind.  After all, I do live with several other cats.

But on the OTHER paw, what if there really was a treasure?  And could there be even more lyin' about?  Lyin' about, right here in my very own yard?

Hmmm...

HMMM...

Someone dial up my banker! I HAVE NIP FUTURES TO BUY.  MOUSES!