mornin' escapade

Don't look at me, Peepers.

No seriously, don't look at me.  I haven't yet finished my mornin' ablutions.

Go ask Andy for help, why don't ya.  He doesn't care 'bout doin' mornin' ablutions.  Have you SEEN the state of his tail?

MOUSES!



Earlier this mornin'...

Hey Peepers, whatcha doin'?  Somethin' stupid as usual?

MOUSES!

I only ask 'cause uh...

Well...

'CAUSE WHATEVER IT IS, IT'S LOOKIN' PRETTY WEIRD.

MOUSES!

You're hearin' a noise, you say.  A strange noise.  An annoyingly strange noise.

Hmmm...  You don't say.

Oh yeah, you DID say.

MOUSES!

No.  No, I don't know what the noise is.

Oh yeah, I can hear it.  I just don't know what it is and quite frankly, I don't care, either.

You think I should help you check it out.  You think I should help.  HELP.  What do I look like, YOUR SLAVE?

You're thinkin' a mouse or somethin' might be behind the wall.  Or in the shoe cupboard  down below?

Hmmm...  A mouse, huh?  Ask Andy.  He goes in that cupboard all the time.  Goodness knows what he does in there.  It's not like he fits into any of your shoes.

You'd like ME to go into the cupboard and see if there's a mouse settin' up house in there.  Again, I repeat:  What do I look like, YOUR SLAVE?

MOUSES!

What?  How come you're lookin' at me like that?

What do you MEAN I could be more cooperative?  I suggested you go ask Andy, didn't I?  How much more cooperative do you expect me to be?

But seriously, Peepers, what do you mean?

Really?

Really?

Excuse me while I go into the kitchen.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Okay, I'm back.

Why did I leave the room to laugh?  Well, 'cause last time I laughed at you, I did it right in your face, and you complained it was rude

Okay, so let's get this straight.  You're hearin' a noise and you're thinkin' it might be a mouse, and YOU'D LIKE ME to help you.

Excuse me, I have to go laugh again.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!!

I'm back.  Good to go now.

No, I don't mean I'm good to go into the cupboard.  I'm mean, I'm done laughin' at you.  You wanna check out the cupboard, you're gonna have to check it out yourself.  If you get down on your hands and knees, I bet your head will fit in there, and...

Oh gosh, sorry 'bout this, Peepers.  I really thought I was done before, but...

Excuse me.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!

Okay, I'm back.  And this time, I really am back for good.

What's so funny, you ask?

Well...

Well the thought of my helpin' you by goin' into that cupboard where Andy hangs out was pretty funny, for starters.

Then there's the image of you stickin' your head in that cupboard where Andy hangs out.  Well that's pretty funny, too.

And then there's the fact that the noise you're hearin' isn't even comin' from the cupboard in the first place.

No seriously, it's not.

Really!

Yes, yes, I KNOW you've been lookin' about in the sunroom, tryin' to track down the noise for the past forty-five minutes.

Yes, yes, I KNOW a whole forty-five minutes of lookin' for a noise is a very long time, but..

But...

BUT LOOK UP, PEEPERS.  LOOK WAY, WAY UP.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

And speakin' of tickets, I bet I could have sold tickets to this little mornin' escapade of the peep's and made enough money for a whole week's worth of nip.  MOUSES!

Okay Peepers, see that dragonfly caught between the blind and the skylight?  THAT'S who has been makin' the funny noises.

Don't get all huffy with me.  Not MY fault you wasted the last forty-five minutes lookin' for a mouse.

AND BY THE WAY, THE STEP LADDER IS IN THE KITCHEN.  TRY NOT TO FALL FROM IT WHILE RESCUING THE DRAGONFLY!

'Cause we all know you're gonna try.

MOUSES!

get out the masks!

Red alert!  RED ALERT!  Red alert on level one.  I repeat, red alert on level one.   Decontamination to begin in nine, eight, seven...

GET OUT THE MASKS!

Gas masks, Peepers.  Stat!  GET OUT THOSE GAS MASKS AND GET THEM OUT NOW.

What?  You mean to tell me you don't smell that?

Really?

Really?

Honestly and truly?

Are you SURE?

Take a deep breath, Peepers, and...

NOW you smell it, don't ya.

Not a question but rather, a statement of fact.

MOUSES!

Yeah, Mason used the litter box outside the downstairs bathroom door and it's a red alert, gas mask kinda event, for sure.

MOUSES!

OUCH!  What the mouses did you do that for, Mason?  Why did you smacky-paw me like..

Uh..  Never mind.  I think I might already know.

Boy oh boy...  SISTERS.  Sisters sure don't like to face the truth, do they.

Again, not a question but rather, a statement of fact.

MOUSES!

OUCH!  Again with the smacky-paws, Mason?  Why the mouses...

Uh...  Never mind.  I think I already know.

MOUSES!

You know...

You know, it's not my fault that every time you use the litter box, THE WHOLE ENTIRE STREET knows 'bout it from the smell, and...

OUCH!

Never mind.

MOUSES!

Like I said before...  SISTERS.

MOUSES!

Hey Mason!  You should bottle that scent and sell it to the government as a replacement for tear gas, and...

OUCH!

Yeah, that one I probably deserved.

But seriously, Mason, I'm thinkin' if you were to do that, you could make a small fortune, and...

OUCH!

Okay, so you could make a BIG fortune, and...

OUCH!

What was that...

Uh...  Never mind.  I think I already know.

MOUSES!

So uh...

Ummm...

So if I were to suggest we could make a fortune sellin' gas masks to peeps after you've used the ol' litter...

OUCH!

And if I were to suggest we could make a fortune sellin'...

OUCH!

You didn't even let me finish my sentence that time.  For all you know, I was gonna suggest we could make a fortune sellin' uh...

Ummm...

Roses?

Yeah, roses.  Mason, you and I could make a small fortune sellin' roses to peeps.

No smacky-paw that time, huh?  Well that's better.

So as I was sayin', you and I could make a small fortune sellin' highly scented roses to peeps to cover up the smell of your havin' used the ol' litter...

OUCH!

If I've said it once, I've said it a million and thirty-two thousand times...

SISTERS.

MOUSES!

that's gonna hurt

"Ooh-boy...  That's gonna hurt."

Andy looked at his paw.  "Nah, it didn't hurt at all.  See?" and he held up the paw in question.  "Didn't leave a mark or anything."

I wrinkled my nose and made a face.  "Not what I meant, Bro.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked perplexed.  "Then what did you mean?" he asked me.

"I meant, it's gonna hurt when Mason gets you back.  'Cause you KNOW she's gonna.  Oh yeah, she's gonna get you back for givin' her the smacky-paw, for sure.  MOUSES!"

I could see the beginnings of realisation dawn on Anderson's face.

"There's a REASON we boys don't smacky-paw our sister, Andy, and that reason is..."

"...'cause Mason is the Queen of the Smacky-Paws, herself," Andy cringed.

"Yup," I nodded.  "You smacky-paw Mason, she smacky-paws you back.  Usually adds a few extra smacks just for good measure, too."

Andy rubbed his jaw, already wincin' in anticipation of bein' smacky-pawed by his sister.  "Why do you suppose she didn't smack me right there and then?"

"Well..."  and I considered Andy's question, carefully.  "You might have taken her by surprise," I answered.  "It's been a long time since any one of us boys was so foolish as to smack our sister.  I can't even remember the last time I gave her a smack.  Probably years.  She might be so used to no one bein' that foolish that she momentarily forgot how to respond."

"Maybe she'll..." Andy began.

"On the other paw," I continued.  "She might also be waiting 'til you least expect her to smack you back.  Lettin' the suspense and worry build up in the meantime."  I nodded to myself.  "Yeah, that's just the kinda thing our sister would do."

"So you're sayin'..." Andy started.

"I'm sayin', one moment you're gonna be happily mindin' your own business doin' whatever business you do, and the next moment, Mason is gonna come up behind you and smacky-paw you from here to Timbuktu.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked worried.  "Where's Timbuktu?" he asked.

"Nobody really knows," I said in a very low voice.  "No one sent there has ever returned."

Andy's eyes grew wide with fear.

"Awww...  I'm just joshin' with you, Bro.  Timbuktu isn't a place anyone goes to these days.  Mason can't actually smacky-paw you there.  There are no direct flights, you see.  BUT SHE WILL SMACKY-PAW YOU, you can count on that.  And it's gonna hurt, too.  Believe me, I know."

"But I thought you said you hadn't smacky-pawed Mason in years.  How can you remember how it felt when she smacky-pawed you back?"

"Mason has smacky-pawed me for OTHER reasons, unfortunately," and I let out a loud sigh.  "Most recently, she smacked me for uh...  Hmmm...  HMMM...  You know somehin', Andy?  I think the last time she smacky-pawed me, it might have been just for fun.  MOUSES!"

"She can do that?" Andy asked.

"Oh sure.  Mason can do just about anythin' she likes.  And don't bother tellin' on her, either.  Even if you get the peeps to question her, she'll just give 'em that look of innocence of hers, denying doin' anythin' wrong, and the next thing you know, YOU're bein' told not to bother your sister.  Believe me, I know.  MOUSES!"

By this time, Anderson was lookin' super scared.  More scared than I had ever seen him look before.

"Trick is," I explained, "when you think Mason is in a smacky-paw mood - AND YOU KNOW SHE IS NOW -  now that you've gone and smacked her and everythin'.  When you see her comin', don't try to run away.  She's quick for a.,.  Uh...  Um...  For a CURVY gal, you know?"

"Come to think of it, I think callin' her a curvy gal might be why she last gave me a smacky-paw.  MOUSES!"

"Anyway," I continued, "like I was sayin', don't try to outrun her.  Best way to avoid Mason's paw is to outrun whoever else is in the room.  Either outrun 'em, or stand right behind 'em, givin' her someone else to smack."

Andy nodded with understanding.

I looked 'round the corner of the kitchen and into the family room.  There was Mason, sittin' on the chesterfield and holdin' up one of her front paws.  One by one, she extended a claw, breathed on it first, then polished it on her chest furs.  Once done, she hopped down from the couch and with determination, headed toward the kitchen.

"Andy, lesson one," I said, before makin' my way behind my brother, so as to place Andy between Mason and myself, when she entered the room.

Moments later, Mason turned the corner and spotted Andy.  Glaring at him, she crouched.  The next thing I knew, my sister was flyin' through the air with Anderson in her sights.  Andy stood there, his paws frozen to the ground.

SMACK!

"OUCH!"

SMACK!  SMACK!!  SMACK!!!

"OUCH!  OUCH!!  OUCH!!!"

When the dust settled, Mason was back on the chesterfield, and Andy was lickin' his wounds, smoothin' out his long fur where Mason had made it look all dishevelled and stuff.

"You hurt there, Andy?" I asked him.

"Not too bad.  She got me where my fur is extra thick."

"Yeah," I nodded.  "She's all into justice, that sister of ours, but she's not actually mean.  But best not to upset her again.  MOUSES!"

tummycentric

Anderson narrowed his eyes and scowled.

"What's up?" I asked.  "How come you're scowlin' there, Andy?  I have to ask, you see, on account of it usually bein' me who does the scowlin' in this here house.  MOUSES!"

"What's up with you?" my brother replied.

"With me?" I said, innocently.  "Nothin' is up with me except, OF COURSE, for my wonderin' how come you're scowlin'.  And not only are you scowlin', but you're scowlin' at ME.  MOUSES!."

"I'm scowling because you're staring, Seville.  You're staring right at me.  You've been staring at me for the last half hour."

"I HAVE NOT," I stated with indignation.  "Okay, so maybe I have," I reconsidered.  "But it's not without reason.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked confused.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

"Um..." Andy paused.  "UM..." he repeated.  "What reason is that?" he wondered aloud.  Then he started countin' on his paws, all the possible reasons.  MOUSES!

"I've been watching you, Brother Dear, and I've been noticin' just how tummycentric you are," I told him.

"Tummycentric?  That's not even a word," Andy said, stompin' a paw.

"Is too.  At least it is now.  MOUSES!"

"You can't make up words on a whim," Andy muttered.

"Can too.  MOUSES!"

"So uh...  What does it mean?" my brother asked.

"What does WHAT mean?  Tummycentric?  What does tummycentric mean, you ask?"

Andy nodded.

"Are you SURE?   'Cause seriously, Andy, a moment ago, you were sayin' the word tummycentric didn't even exist."

Andy thought 'bout that for a minute.  He did.  HONESTLY.  I saw the smoke comin' out of his ears and everythin'.  MOUSES!

"Fine, I'll tell you," I said.  "It means that you're always thinkin' about that tummy of yours.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked down at his stomach.

"See?  There you go again.  Tummy this, and tummy that, and tummy..."

"But I have a nice tummy," Andy explained.  "It's the nicest tummy I have."

I furrowed my brow.  "That doesn't even make sense, Andy.  That tummy is the ONLY tummy you have."

"Maybe...  But it's still the nicest."

I shook my head in dismay.  Only my brother, Anderson, could make sense of somethin' utterly and completely senseless.  MOUSES!

"And I don't think about it ALL the time," Andy continued.

"Oh yes you do," I said.  "Okay, so maybe not in the middle of the night when you're sound asleep, but...  Hmmm..."  I gnawed on a claw.  "On the other paw, I don't know what you dream about while sleepin', Andy.  Maybe you spend all night DREAMIN' about your tummy, too."

Andy looked dumbfounded.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

"So anyway..." I began.  "The thing is, you're extremely tummycentric, Andy.  If you're not askin' the peeps to rub that tummy of yours, you're askin' them to give you somethin' to put inside it.  MOUSES!"

Andy thought about that for a moment.

Then for a moment longer.

Twenty. Minutes. Later...

Twenty minutes later, he was still thinkin'.  FINALLY, Anderson spoke.  "But I like it when Peep #1 rubs my tummy.  I like it a lot."

"I know."

"You do?  How do you know that I like having my tummy rubbed?" my brother asked.

"Because you've asked the peep to rub it like ten times already this mornin'.  You've been lyin' there on the chesterfield, exposin' your tummy to the world, practically BEGGIN' the peep to rub it.  She touches that tummy of yours, and the next thing you do is spread your legs out in four opposite directions, so that she can rub its ENTIRE EXPANSE.  MOUSES!"

"But..."

"I haven't finished there yet, Bro.  I'm still explainin'."

"But I have a very big tummy!" Andy cut in.  "And big tummies need lots and LOTS of rubbing."

"OF COURSE IT'S A BIG TUMMY!" I cried.  "THAT'S 'CAUSE YOU KEEP PUTTIN' THINGS IN IT!  When that tummy of yours is not bein' rubbed, it's bein' fed, for sure.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked perplexed.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

Gettin' to his feet, Andy looked squarely at me.  "Well my tummy is telling me it needs feeding.  Now.  Right now, my tummy says.  And I believe in always listening to my tummy, so that's me off in search of snacks.  Coming?"

"Snacks, huh?" I murmured.  "Hmmm...  Actually, Anderson, maybe bein' tummycentric isn't such a bag thing after all."

And together, we both marched into the kitchen in search of some snacks.

MOUSES!

gimme, gimme, gimme

Gimme, gimme, gimme.

Gimme some treats, man.

I mean, Peepers.

I mean...

Please?

Yeah, that's it.  Gimme some treats, please.  'CAUSE I REALLY NEED THE TREATS.  MOUSES!

Earlier that evenin'...

Gimme, gimme, gimme.

GIMME, GIMME, GIMME.

GIMME, GIMME, GIMME.

Just a wee bit more there, Peepers.  Just a tad.

That's a tad?

Hmmm...

Just a wee bit MORE than a tad, then.

Please.

Okay, so when I say wee, I actually mean more than...  Than that.  Another leaf, please.

That's a leaf?  I can barely see it!  I'm havin' to squint, and everythin'.


Okay, so how 'bout several leaves?  Yeah, several more leaves.  Several more leaves that are bigger than that.

PEEPERS, DON'T BE STINGY WITH THE NIP.

MOUSES!

And so it was, after the peep brought in fresh sprigs of catnip for all of us cats.

I, of course, ate mine with delight.

That's right, I ate it.  I literally ate it.  Every last bite.

And then I needed more.

So I went over and ate Mason's, too.

Silly girl, all she did was sniff hers.

Oh sure, she sniffed it a lot.  But she didn't use up all the scent with her sniffin'.  Nope, it still smelled like catnip, for sure.

Little wrinkled, perhaps, but worth eatin', nonetheless.

And THANKFULLY, she didn't slobber all over it.

FYI, slobber is the reason I did NOT even attempt to eat Andy's when he was through with his.

MOUSES!

But anyway...

But anyway, do you know what happens to a kitty when a kitty eats two fresh sprigs of the nip?  Two sprigs, plus a few extra leaves, said kitty manages to get his peep to give him.

Well...

WELL A KITTY GETS THE MUNCHIES, for sure.

MOUSES!

Which is why I am now IN NEED of some treats.

GIMME, GIMME, GIMME.

PEEPERS, GIMME SOME TREATS.

Please.

MOUSES!

isn't that special

Well isn't that special.

MOUSES!

So the peep, bein' a peep, forgot to gas up the car on Friday.

Now normally, her doin' that wouldn't bother me one bit as in general, I'm not a big fan of the car.  The car takes you places.  Places YOU DO NOT WANT TO GO.  You know, like the doctors and such.

But I digress.  Back to the lack of gas in the car.

So as I was sayin', the peep forgettin' to get gas normally wouldn't bother me, but as I was in need of a few things at the store (things like nip, nip, and more nip), the lack of gas was VERY BOTHERSOME, indeed.

MOUSES!

Now for most peeps, not gassin' up on a Friday isn't a big problem, but for my peep - my peep who does not know how to put gas in a car - it is.

MOUSES!

So bright and early Saturday mornin', right after the peep gave me my breakkies, I reminded her how she forgot to get gas the day before.  That's when she called her gas station of choice.

"Is the full service pump open on Saturdays?" the peep asked.

"I'm afraid not."

"CUR-SED MOUSES!" I cried.

The peep, bein' a peep, went all quiet.

"But I'll pump your gas for you anyway," the gas station attendant continued.

I bet 'cause he heard me cursin' those mouses.

"Just pull up to the full service pump, and honk the horn if I don't see you right away."

I sat back on my haunches and looked up at the peep.  "Awww...  Isn't that nice of him?" I said.

Then I thought about the situation.

He could have been bein' nice.  The peep says the peeps workin' at that gas station are very nice peeps, indeed.

But on the other paw, it might have been more 'bout self-preservation.

You know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if they've got warnin' notices up on ALL the walls of the gas station.  DO NOT ALLOW THAT PEEP #1 ACCESS TO THE SELF-SERVE PUMPS, is what those notices must say.

Yeah, that wouldn't surprise me one bit.

You see, not only does Peep #1 not know how to pump her own gas, but she shouldn't be ALLOWED to pump gas, either.  Lettin' my peep loose with stuff like that is just ASKIN' for trouble, for sure.

MOUSES!

It's not that she's accident prone, or anythin' like that.

It's more because she's old and decrepit.

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

You're not decrepit, you say?

Really?

Really?

Are you SURE?

MOUSES!

You'll note she's not squabblin' about bein' called old.

MOUSES!

But seriously, my friends, if Peep #1 were to attempt to pump her own gas...

The world would never again be the same.

MOUSES!

Hmmm...  I wonder if gas stations charge for the gas that incompetent old decrepit peeps accidentally spill and splash all over the ground.

I wonder if gas stations charge incompetent old decrepit peeps to CLEAN UP the gas they accidentally spill and splash all over the ground.

CLEANUP PUMP THREE!

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

Yeah, yeah...  You're not decrepit.

Oh so you claim...

And how are we with the word, INCOMPETENT?

Don't like that one either, huh?

Then how would you describe yourself?

No answer, huh?

Hmmm...  Would you say you were, basic-skills-that-everyone-ELSE-in-the-whole-wide-world-and-even-their-DOGS-know-how-to-do challenged?

I think I would.

MOUSES!

turn it off

Turn it off.

TURN IT OFF.

TURN. IT. OFF.

For the love of mouses, COULD SOMEONE PLEASE TURN  THE HEAT OFF?

MOUSES!

Way back when, sometime in June I believe, SOMEBODY decided to turn the heat way, WAY up.

Somebody...

Hmph, that somebody was Probably a PeeP.

MOUSES!

And you know what?

THEY NEVER THOUGHT TO TURN IT BACK DOWN.

MOUSES!

So now it's August, and the heat is WAY hotter than any heat should ever be.

Do peeps not know we cats can't deal with this kinda heat?

Well, it's not so much that we can't deal with it, as we don't wanna.  I mean, WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would wanna deal with this kinda heat?

MOUSES!

What's more, they're laughin' at us.

The peeps, I mean.  The peeps are laughin' at us cats.

OH YEAH, that's right, they're LAUGHIN'.

Why just the other day, I was lyin' on the family room floor, and I SWEAR I heard Peep #1 laughin' at me on account of the heat.

It's true!  She said something 'bout my lookin' like I was doin' a hula dance as I was lyin' there on my back with my front legs stretched to one side.

I was simply airing out my tum.

And truth be told, I was airin' out my bum, too.

MOUSES!

You know, Peep #1 wouldn't appreciate it if I were to go around laughin' at her while she's airin' out her bum.

Okay, so she doesn't actually go 'round airin' out her bum.

Her loss, 'cause in this kinda heat, airing out one's bum helps a lot.

But I bet she wouldn't appreciate it if I were to go around laughin' at her for other reasons.

Okay, so I DO do that but seriously, she is just a peep, whereas I, Seville the Cat, am a cat.

And we cats are super sensitive to stuff like that.

MOUSES!

But back to this heat.

It's hot.  Too hot.  Way, way, WAY too hot, for sure.

DOES NO ONE KNOW I'M A CANADIAN KITTY LIVIN' UP HERE IN CANADA?

Canada is SUPPOSED to be COLD.

MOUSES!

I'm tellin' ya, if I ever find the peep who's to blame for all this.  The peep who turned the temperature  way up...

If I ever...

IF I EVER...

The first thing I'm gonna do is...

Well...

Well I don't quite know what I'll do.

Not yet.

It's too hot to think 'bout stuff like that right now.

But I WILL figure it out.

Eventually.

And then...

AND THEN...

And then I'm gonna laugh at 'em, for sure.

Yup, laugh right at 'em.

Laugh right at 'em while I'm doin' whatever it is I'm gonna do.

MOUSES!

are you KIDDIN' me?

For mousin' out loud.

Are you KIDDIN' me?

Oh COME ON...

Awww...  MOUSES!

*sighs*

*SIGHS*

First it was the mouse in the garage.

Then there was that frog.

Now the birds are wantin' in on the action, too?

MOUSES!

Hey!  You!  Yeah, YOU.  YOU, you stupid bird.  DON'T BE A TURD!!!

Sorry, I know.  I know it's not nice to call others names, but..

Fine.  FINE.  Fine, so you're not a turd.

Not my fault bird rhymes with turd.

But you know, I'd just like to point out, just because the peep insists on parkin' the car in your flight path, it doesn't mean you should be droppin' your poopies - ie. turds - all over said car.

NO IT DOESN'T!

MOUSES!

And whatever you do, don't you even THINK about dropping 'em on me.  Bad enough that as a cat I have to wash my OWN bum.  I don't need to be washin' up what comes out of yours, too.

MOUSES!

*sighs*

So anyway...

So anyway, I bet you're all wonderin' what happened this time.  Yup, I bet you're all wonderin' that, for sure.

No, there wasn't a bird in the garage.


But there WAS a bird.

Just not in the garage.

MOUSES!

Let me explain what happened, at my house, yesterday.

So the peep was all up in arms 'bout somethin' happenin' to her stupid ol' lettuce plants.  The new ones she just planted.  The ones in the stupid pots that were just startin' to poke their heads out of the soil.

Don't worry, I'm not gonna bore you with the tedious details.  I mean, we are talking 'bout lettuce plants.  WHO THE MOUSES CARES ABOUT THOSE?

Apparently, the peep.

Turns out, long story short, birds have been tryin' to eat 'em.

The baby lettuces, I mean.

So there you have it.  First it was the mouse causin' trouble.  Then the frog.  Now, birds.

MOUSES!

And the thing is, the peep, bein' a peep, IS EXPECTIN' ME to do somethin' about it.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I am a cat.  Cats are supposed to deal with birds, right?

SAYS WHO ???

Apparently, the peep.

But you see, the cats in my fur-fam are more into livin' and let live.  We're lovers, not killers.  WE DON'T CHASE NO STUPID LOUSY DIRTY ROTTEN BIRDS!

Oh sure, we watch the daily bird shows and stuff.  We watch 'em.  We WATCH the birds.  WE DON'T KILL 'EM!  We actually quite like the birdies.  By nature, we kitties are peaceful kitties, you see.

But now the peep is freakin' out about her stupid ol' lettuce plants.


What's a kitty to do?

Seriously, what IS a kitty to do?  I'm all out of answers, myself, which is why I've recently installed a suggestion box out at the back door. Maybe someone would like to suggest what a kitty like me should do 'bout these dirty rotten turds - I mean, BIRDS - eatin' the peep's baby lettuce plants.

So far, no one has made any suggestions.

Nope, not a one.

Not even the peep.

MOUSES!

ribbit

If I've said it once, I've said it a million and thirty-seven times:  I, Seville the Cat, live in a zoo.

MOUSES!

Seriously, I do.

MOUSES!

You all heard 'bout the mouse in the house...  I mean, garage, right?

Yeah, well he's gone.

Yup, it's true.  That ol' mouse heard 'bout how us cats were lookin' for volunteers to evict him, and he packed his bags, all on his OWN accord, and up and left the very next day.

Well...

Well at least that's our story, and we're stickin' to it.

MOUSES!

But now...

Now there's ANOTHER interloper livin' in that ol' garage.

Can you believe it?

MOUSES!

So a couple days ago, the peep was settin' down' a tray of plants in there - in that ol' garage, I mean - and the next thing she knew, somethin' jumped up in the air, almost hittin' her right in her face.

Right in her face.

Right IN her face.

Can you believe it?

MOUSES!

And the peep, bein' a peep, FROZE.  Just like a statue.

You ever notice that, my friends?  You ever notice that when peeps get scared or startled or the like, they freeze solid.  Solid, just like statues.

Stupid, really, when you think about it.  I mean, if there's somethin' out there that's scary - somethin' that might harm you in some way - your first instinct should be to get the mouses out of there, pronto.  Get the mouses out of the danger area, for sure.  Get the mouses away from whatever it is that's scarin' you.  You know?  Well that's what I'd do.

But peeps?  HA!  Peeps don't have HALF the common sense we cats have, so...

So instead of doin' the reasonable thing, they freeze.  Yup, just like statues.

MOUSES!

At least that's what the smart peeps do.

And when I say smart, I mean smarter than the other peeps.  I do NOT mean smarter than us cats.

MOUSES!

But back to the not-so-smart peeps.  THOSE peeps don't freeze like statues.  OH NO...  Those peeps go stickin' their noses right in whatever it is, that's dangerous.  HOW MANY LIVES would have been saved if only the peeps in those slasher movies did not go into the room from which the strange noises were emanatin', moments before?  Hm?  HM?  Answer me that, why don't you.  MOUSES!

When danger is lurkin', we cats don't freeze like statues, nor do we INVESTIGATE suspicious slasher killer sounds.  No, we cats are way smarter than that.  We cats high-tail it out of the dangerous situation like no one has ever high-tailed it before.

Or we hide under a bed.

Whichever one works best at the time.

You know.

MOUSES!

But anyway...

But anyway, Peep #1 is not as smart as a cat, but apparently is smarter than some other peeps, so...

So she froze solid like a statue.

And after thawin' a bit, she looked around for whatever alien entity had jumped up, nearly hittin' her right in the face.

Turns out, the alien entity wasn't an alien at all.  Nope, not even close.  Turns out, the alien entity was...

A frog.

Can you believe it?

MOUSES!

So now...

So now it looks like we have a frog livin' in our garage.  Hoppin' about and ribbitin' like he owns the joint.

MOUSES!

I'm not sure for how long he'll be in there - the frog, I mean - on account of my unwillingness to organise the troops...  I mean, my fursibs, for his removal.

Plus, I'm pretty sure little froggy frew got in the garage in the first place, due to somethin' THE PEEP did, so...

So if she wants rid, she's gonna have to do it herself.

Just like with the mouse.

MOUSES!