"I said, YOU'RE A BIT OF A DWEEB, and apparently a hard-of-hearing one, at that. MOUSES!"
"Do you even know what a dweeb is, Seville?"
"Of course I do. Don't be so ridiculous Peepers. It's uh.. Um... Hmm... Be right back. MOUSES!"
Several minutes later...
"Okay, so maybe you're not a dweeb after all. Shame though. Dweeb sounded like a really good word to use to describe you. It had a good ring to it, you see. I liked how it sounded to my ears. Hello my friends, this here is Peep #1. She's a real dweeb. Or uh, Would you like to meet my dweeb? You know, that sorta thing. MOUSES!"
I noticed the peep rolling her eyes at me.
"Don't you roll your eyes at me, Peepers. Not my fault you're a nincompoop."
"Nincompoop. It means a stupid or foolish..."
"I know what it means, Seville. The question is, why are you calling me one?"
"Because APPARENTLY the term nincompoop suits you better than dweeb. DUH."
Again the peep rolled her eyes and this time the eye roll was accompanied with a hands in the air kinda gesture, along with a shrugging of the shoulders.
"Look Peepers, it's like this: as the author of an upcoming - sure to be best selling - book, I think it would be prudent for me to expand my vocabulary. You know, find new and inventive ways to describe run-of-the-mill, ordinary things like uh... Well... YOU. I can't constantly refer to you in my book as the peep, or my peep, or Peepers. I need a few new names for you. Pet names. Names like... Well I was gonna use dweeb but nincompoop seems to be a more accurate description, so..."
"Seville, I'm not sure I want to be in your book."
My jaw dropped. "WHA???"
"I said," and the peep narrowed her eyes while slapping a stupid-looking kinda grin on her face, "I'm not sure I WANT to be in your book. What do you think about that?"
"Not much. MOUSES!"
I glared at the peep. The peep glared back at me. We sat there for the next five minutes,the peep and I, glaring at one another like we were havin' a glaring contest with neither one of us willing to concede. A mosquito flew past my nose. I gave it a swat, accidentally breaking eye contact with the peep and losing the impromptu contest. Stupid mosquito. MOUSES!
"Well the fact is, Peepers, you're in the book whether you wanna be or not. I'm almost finished writing it so you can't change your mind now. It's way too late in the game to think about backing out when..."
"It's not like you asked my permission to include me in the book in the first place."
"Well... Well no. No, I didn't. But that's totally irrelevant to the situation."
"Oh? How so?
"Because I say so. Oh, don't look at me like that, Peepers. It's not like you didn't know all along that you'd be included in my book. I mean... I mean.... Well, I need SOMEONE to mock in the book! And mocking you is pretty much what I do on my blog twice a week, so uh... So if you weren't such a nincompoop, you would have figured it out for yourself that there'd be a wee bit of peep mocking in my literary masterpiece, and..."
Peepers turned to leave the room.
"Oh come on, Peepers. It's not like I've written you in for comic relief."
"Why don't I believe you?"
I shrugged. "I dunno. But the fact is, I don't need you for comic relief. I have fur-sibs for that. MOUSES!"
And just for fun - and 'cause it wouldn't be fair for me to mention my book without my sharin' a little somethin' from it - here's another excerpt. Enjoy! purrs
“So whatcha doing’ there, Petey?” I hopped onto the desk next to the computer Peepers and I shared.
You know, the computer I use when writing my cat blog, Nerissa’s Life, and keeping up with my various social media accounts on Facebook and Twitter. What the peep does with the computer, I have no idea. It’s not like she has fans all over the world with whom she needs to converse.
I looked sternly at Peter and asked, “Does the peep know you’re using her.. I mean, OUR computer?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Did I hear you call me, Petey?” he asked. I thought I detected a note of derision when he repeated the little name I had come up with for him.
“Sure. Petey. It’s short for…” I chuckled. “I guess it’s not really short for Peter after all. The two names are actually the same length, but…“ I noticed Peter’s scowl becoming more… More scowly-like, for lack of a better word, and figured I should probably ixnay the ickinamenay business with an apologetic-sounding, “Whatever.”
Petey… I mean, Peter, continued to look somewhat displeased. If he were a cat, my money would be on his starting to growl anytime now.
“So anyway,” I began again, “whatcha doing’?” I looked at the computer screen and saw he had been reading posts in some Facebook group for Canadians. Looked like peeps in the group were getting all riled up about something or other. Politics. Ugh. I let out a loud sigh. Figures. If I knew one thing about Facebook, it was that peeps were incapable of playing nicely together when they were talking about politics. MOUSES!
Peter clicked on “home,” and in an instant the screen went from the group he had been participating in, to the general feed. “What I’m doing is really none of your business, Seville.”
“Oh contraire,” I told him. “That there computer belongs to me and the peep, so EVERYTHING you do on it is my business. MOUSES!”
Peter grumbled some nonsense about something nonsensical - to tell you the truth I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention - before attempting to click on the little Windows key to shut the computer off.
“Hold on there, Petey," and I placed a paw on his hand. “Not so fast.”
He glared at me.
“Fine. PETER, if you insist. But don’t be so quick to turn off the computer,” and I pushed his hand away from the keyboard. “I need to use it myself.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, questioningly.
“I do! I need to work on my blog and stuff. You know, stuff like checking in with my fans on Facebook and Twitter, and sharing a few dog-shaming photos and funny cat videos. That sort of thing.”
“Your social media accounts?“ asked Peter.
“Yeah, you heard me. We cats RULE when it come to social media on the Internet, you know. If it weren’t for us, Facebook and Twitter wouldn’t even be able to make a living. MOUSES!“
Peter stood, pushing back his… I mean, MY chair. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” and I waved him off with a paw. “AND CLOSE THE OFFICE DOOR ON YOUR WAY OUT PLEASE!” I called after him. “A little peace and quiet in here would be nice. I need to concentrate on what I‘m doing. MOUSES!”