Hmmm... The calendar says, today is November 25th.
"Oh my mouses! Peepers!!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?"
Apparently, the peep doesn't know wh...
"Or maybe she just doesn't care," I heard the peep yell.
"Yeah, yeah... We all know you care. Or at least you WOULD care if you knew. Knew what it means, that is."
I bet my fur-sibs care. I bet my fur-sibs care a LOT. Methinks me needs to go tell 'em what day today is, right now.
"Andy! Rushy! Mason! Today is the 25th day of November."
Wait for it...
What, no excited cries of glee?
"ANDY! RUSHY! MASON! TODAY IS THE 25TH DAY OF NOVEMBER!"
"Try not to yawn so wide, Andy. You might break your jaw. On the other paw, probably not. I mean, yawnin' as wide as you can is part of your trainin' for your daily inhalation-of-food marathons, isn't it."
Not a question. Statement of fact.
And I'll give you ANOTHER fact, too. Apparently, none of my fur-sibs realise the significance of today's date.
Well that's just not right. I believe I shall have to explain its significance to 'em.
"ANDY! RUSHY! MASON! THERE'S ONLY ONE MORE MONTH 'TIL CHRISTMAS!!!"
There. That got their attention, for sure.
Yup, that's right, folks, there's only one more month 'til the big guy in red arrives with a sleigh full of nip mice and stuff.
I can't wait.
Of course, it also means that I, Seville the Cat, have to be on my very best behaviour for the next thirty days.
Not that I'm not ALWAYS on my best behaviour.
And OBVIOUSLY, it's easier for me to be on my best behaviour, than for my fur-sibs to be on theirs.
Especially Andy, 'cause...
Yup, for the next month, I'm gonna be behavin' like every good kitty cat should.
AND THAT MEANS...
No hacked up hairballs...
In shoes. The hackin' up of hairballs is perfectly acceptable - and sometimes even necessary - as long as it's not done in spots where peeps put their stupid bare feet.
And no litter box spillages...
At night. Durin' the day it's not quite so bad, on account of peeps bein' able to see where they're walkin' and stuff. Not to mention seein' what needs cleanin' up.
And, of course, no smacky-paws.
No UNNECESSARY smacky-paws, I should say, on account of some smacky-pawin' bein' unavoidable, to say the least. You know, on account of my livin' with a couple of long-haired, freaky marmie brothers, who sometimes REALLY NEED a good smacky-paw to the back of the head, and...
"What? What's that, Peepers? What's that you're babblin' on about now?"
"I said, FINE!"
Apparently, I must amend point number three.
No smacky-pawin' of fur-sibs at all.
At least not when peeps are lookin'.