Sunday 19 August 2018


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.


"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.


"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!"


"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.


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.



  1. I think tummycentric should be a word. I am definitely tummycentric, always feeding my tummy :)

  2. Hey, wait for me, my tummy could use some snacks too!

  3. If it involves snacks, count us in as being tummycentric, too! MOUSES!

  4. Oh poor Anderson, he's so driven by treats and food. You wouldn't catch me doing that... now I must dash, I have a cream and mouse soufflé in the oven!
    Toodle pips and purrs

  5. Poor Andy, you will give him an inferiority complex at this rate. You know what will happen then don't you, you will have to explain what that is.

  6. Oh, that's a GREAT word. Tummycentric (MOL).
    That describes Caspurr exactly (hehehehehe).

  7. Feeding the tummy from the inside or the outside is very impawtant, kitties1

  8. "Tummycentric" tee hee hee! I like that word, Severs! I think you should start your own dictionary. Like, Andy, I like my belly rubbed, 'cause it feels oh-h so-o good. Sometime I stretch out my legs for more, especially when I'm in Dad's arms and belly to the sky. I hope Andy's tummy was nice and happy after treat time. Winks.


I love hearin' from my pals. I really, REALLY do. PURRS.