the fairy tale

I sat back on my haunches and looked about the room.  "It's the weirdest thing," I said to myself.  "I know I left that ball of yarn out here last night.  I KNOW it!"  I peered under both the chesterfield and its matching chair, thinking the yarn might have rolled - or been kicked - under one of them by mistake but no, there was no sign of it under either one.  "PEEPERS," I called out.  "Have you seen..."

"The peep is busy upstairs looking for something."  It was my brother Rushton who answered my call.

"Is she looking for my ball of yarn?" I asked, hopefully.

"No," Rushy answered.  "She's muttering about some of the laundry she did yesterday having gone missing, and I doubt she laundered your ball of yarn.  And since when did YOU get a ball of yarn, anyway?"

"Since I took one out of the peep's knitting bag," I replied.  "Thing is though, it's gone missin'."

"Maybe Peepers found out you stole her ball of yarn and took it back.  Did you look for it in her knitting bag again?"

"Of course I did," I said with a sneer.  "Uh..." and I hesitated, "but maybe I'll a take another peek.  You know, to be sure."

Rushy rolled his eyes, obviously not believin' me.  MOUSES!

"Nope, not here," and I pulled my head out of the knitting bag.  "But there is a half ball of forest green yarn that would look really good with your fur.  You want it?"

Rushton sighed.  "I do, but I don't.  The peep says we're not allowed to play with her yarn, and I don't want to get into trouble."

"Suit yourself," I shrugged.  "But I still can't figure out where my ball of yarn went."

"When you were looking for your yarn," Rushton began, "did you happen to come across a big lump of orange-coloured fur?  That loose fur the peep got out of my coat when she combed me last night?"

"If I had, I would have left it right where I found it.  I'm not touchin' your fur."  The very thought disgusted me.  "The peep probably put it in the garbage or the compost bin or somethin'."

"She didn't," Rushy said.  "She was going to, but I snatched it out of her hand because...  Well...  Well because it was mine, and winter's coming, and I might need that fur to keep me warm."

I shook my head and went back to looking for my ball of yarn when something white caught my attention.  Was that a scrap of 100% white cotton peeking out from behind the armoire?  "How did that get there?" I wondered aloud.

I pawed my way over to the armoire, grabbed onto the fabric, and gave it a good pull.  Something - or someone - was holding onto it at its other end.  I gave it another tug, this time leaning back and using all fifteen pounds of my weight as leverage, and...  And...  And...

SPLAT!!!

Okay, so it wasn't so much a splat as a...  Uh...  Um...  Well I tumbled backwards and landed on my tail, okay?  It hurt, too, but I had hold of that piece of fabric.  I, Seville the Cat, had won.  MOUSES!

I took a good look at the fabric I held in my paw and saw it was a white t-shirt kinda thing belonging to the peep.  Was this one of the tops she had put in the laundry yesterday?  One of the things that Rushy said had gone missing?  How on earth did it end up behind the armoire?  And a better question was, why on earth were there a whole bunch of...

"Are those rectangular holes cut out of the peep's top?" Andy asked, interrupting my train of thought.  "She's not going to be pleased when she sees that."  He put one front paw on my shoulder, and used the other to hold up the shirt to get a better view.   "Sivvers, my boy, you're in it up to your whiskers."

"I didn't cut those holes out of the peep's top," I said, grabbing the t-shirt out of Rushy's paw.  "But someone sure did.  Someone cut a bunch of teeny-tiny rectangular holes in this thing.  It's totally ruined, for sure."

I went over to the armoire again and leaned up against the wall behind it.  Closing one eye, I attempted to peer between the chunky piece of furniture and the wall.  Oops!  Wrong eye.  Hehehe...  My bad.  But never one to give up, I closed the other eye and took another peek.  What I saw made me stagger backwards in shock.  Turning around, my mouth hanging open, I said to my brother, "Rushy, you're not gonna believe what's goin' on back there.  MOUSES!"

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

Remember to return to Nerissa's Life, the blog, on Sunday December 1st for the conclusion to my latest adventure.  MOUSES!

that's pretty rude

You heard what I said there, Peepers.  I said, THAT'S PRETTY RUDE.

MOUSES!

Although truth be told, there was nothin' pretty about it.

MOUSES!

On the other paw, there was me, and I'm pretty.  Well, handsome is the better word.  After all, I am a MANcat, you see.

MOUSES!

Now where was I?  Ah yes, I was tellin' you how you were rude.

Peepers; You. Were. Rude.  Your behaviour was rude.  You were behaving rudely, ol' peep.  You were bein' RUDE.  Are you gettin' the drift there, Peepers?  You catchin' on to what I'm sayin'?  Need I say it once more?

YOU. WERE. RUDE.

MOUSES!

And your point would be, Peepers?  How does a cat bein' able to look at a queen have anythin' to do with you starin' at me?  I mean, first of all, you're not a cat.  You're not even close.  You're nothin' more than a peep.  And secondly, you're not a queen.  You're not a princess, either.  At least I don't think you're any kinda royalty.  You have a crown or somethin' stashed under the nightstand or in a kitchen cupboard there, Peepers?

BwahahahahahahahaHA...  Sometimes I crack myself up.  As if kings and queens were in the habit of hiding the royal jewels under bedroom furniture and in kitchen cupboards and stuff.  Mouses, I'm one funny cat.

THAT'S FUNNY AS IN HA-HA, PEEPERS.  NOT FUNNY AS IN STRANGE.

Like I said before, you're so rude.

But back to the topic at paw.  You, Peepers, were staring at me.  That's right.  I saw you staring at me out of the corner of my eye.  You, a peep, staring at me.  Me, a cat.  And not just any cat, either.  ME, Seville the Cat.

And as a cat, I don't like bein' stared at.  We cats generally don't.  ESPECIALLY not by peeps.

IT'S RUDE.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin' there, Peepers.  You're thinking 'bout how I, Seville the Cat, am so irresistibly charming and handsome, you can't help but stare at me.

WELL GET OVER IT PEEPERS 'cause like I said, I don't like bein' stared at.  It's RUDE.

MOUSES!

What's more, I'm gettin' tired of hearing 'bout how my irresistible charm is the reason you can't keep your paws off me and are always pickin' me up and givin' me kisses and stuff.

Like your bad behaviour is somehow MY fault.

Which it's not.

MOUSES!

But back to how you are rude.  Peepers, there's no doubt about it.  You are one rude peep, for sure.  Sittin' there on the chesterfield, gawkin' and starin', and starin' and gawkin', at ME.  So please go back to your knittin' and your TV watchin' and keep your eyes OFF me.

MOUSES!

Oh Peepers....

OH PEEPERS...

PEEPERS!

Peepers, I've been sittin' here on the chesterfield for like five whole minutes, and not once have you looked over at me to see if I was okay or if I was in need of a cuddle or chin scritch or tummy rub.  Not once.  Not once, I tell you.  Not even once!

Now you're bein' RUDER than rude.  NOW YOU'RE IGNORING ME.

MOUSES!

there's a WHAAHHHT?

"There's a chipmunk out on the front step," is what the peep said.  Yup, I heard her myself.  Peep #1 was lookin' out the front door, and she said, "There's a chipmunk out on the front step."

MOUSES!

But Peep #2 must have misheard her or something, 'cause the second peep was shocked - SHOCKED, I tell you - to hear there was a skunk out on the veranda.

MOUSES!

They look so much alike, you see, what with their both havin' stripes down their backs.

NOT.

MOUSES!

Now don't get me wrong.  I, Seville the Cat, couldn't care less.  I couldn't care if we had chippies or skunkies or both hangin' about at our front door, 'cause chippies and skunkies are BOTH kinda nice.  Chippies are fun for chasing...

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

YOU'RE GONNA HAVE TO SPEAK UP, THERE, PEEPERS.  And ENUNCIATE, too!  For a minute I thought you said...

Aw, never mind.

MOUSES!

So anyway, APPARENTLY, chippies are not for chasin', after all.  But what does the peep know, anyway?

MOUSES!

But as I was sayin', chippies and skunkies are both kinda nice.  Cats and skunks are known to get along.  In fact, my Auntie Primrose - may she rest in peace - had a best friend who was a skunk.  Yup, a best friend she used to hang out with under the garden shed.

Or so I am told.

MOUSES!

Chipmunk or skunk, I can get along with either one.  But peeps...

Well peeps are a TOTALLY different matter.  I think it's because peeps, like some dogs, don't know when to keep their noses out of other peeps' business.

Or in this case, skunks.

Their business, I mean.  The SKUNKS' business.

In other words...

In other words, peeps, like some dogs, have a tendency to get a little too close for skunks' comfort, and get themselves SKUNKED.

We cats never do that.

MOUSES!

So you can kinda see why Peep #2 might have concerns 'bout their bein' a skunk on the front step.  A skunk hangin' about, out on the veranda.  A skunk rather close to home, shall we say.

On the other paw, maybe Peep #2 should be MORE concerned 'bout goin' to an ear doctor or a hearin' specialist or maybe a get-the-wax-outta-the-ears practioner, or somethin' like that, 'cause SERIOUSLY, the words chipmunk and skunk do NOT sound alike.

MOUSES!

you don't move the cat

So the other day...

So the other day, I was lyin' on the family room chesterfield when Peep #1 entered the room, looked over at where I was lyin', and let out a big sigh.  I opened one eye and gave her a look.  Surely she wasn't thinking of disturbing me.

MOUSES!

The peep walked over to the couch and pushed one of my front paws toward me - the paw I had stretched right across the cushion - and then proceeded to sit down on the cushion's edge.  Realising it probably had to be pretty uncomfortable sittin' perched on the edge like that, I...

I closed my eyes before goin' back to sleep.

MOUSES!

I mean, I closed my eyes and ATTEMPTED to go back to sleep.  Sleepin' is kinda difficult to do when your peeps are babbling on about nonsense and stuff within earshot, you see.

"Stretched out like that, he takes up two full cushions," I heard the first peep say.

"Two cushions, less a quarter," said Peep #2.

"How kind of him to leave me this little tiny spot," Peepers murmured as she squirmed about, tryin' to make herself comfy on the cushion's edge, all the while giggling the cushion and disturbing my sleep.

"SEVILLE..."

And there it was:

The whine.

MOUSES!


You ever have to deal with peeps like that, my friends?  You ever have to deal with whiny ol' peeps?  Peeps who whine as often as a...  Uh...  Um...  As often as a cat twitches his whiskers?

I opened one eye, then opened the other.  SURELY she wasn't thinkin' I should get myself up.

Noticing a strange look cross her face, I briefly entertained the thought of gettin' to my paws and movin' so that I was occupying only the centre cushion, leaving a FULL couch cushion for the peep, which would probably be more comfortable.

Then I thought better of it.  For although my repositioning myself so that I occupied only the one cushion might be more comfortable for Peepers...

It most certainly would NOT be more comfortable for me.

MOUSES!

And that's when it happened.

That's when ol' Peepers got up from the couch.  I thought she was gonna go find somethin' to do in some other room, but no.  Instead, she sat herself down, right there on the floor.

You know, on account of sittin' on the floor bein' more comfortable than bein' half perched upon the edge of a cushion with the frame of the chesterfield diggin' into your butt.

Or so I guess.

MOUSES!

I stretched out my front paw - the one the peep had so rudely moved before sitting down, earlier - and smiled to myself.  All was right with the world, once again.  I, Seville the Cat, was resting comfortably on the couch, and the peep was where she belonged.

On the floor.

MOUSES! 

"Isn't it thoughtful of him to leave me the floor?" I heard the first peep say.

"Until he decides HE wants to lie down there, and demands that you move," said Peep #2.

The peep shook her head, knowin' in her heart, the second peep was right.  For in MY house, a cat gets to sit wherever he likes.  And the peeps...

And the peeps....

AND THE PEEPS NEED TO LEARN TO ADJUST.

MOUSES!

Oohhh boy.

"Oohhh boy."  I scratched behind an ear with a hind leg before repeatin', a little more loudly this time, "Oohhh boy."

Peepers gave me that narrow lookin' stare of hers.  You know the one.  The one where she narrows her eyes while starin', lettin' me know she's not about to believe whatever it is I'm gonna say.

But a cat has got to defend himself, so I flung my front paws in the air and said, "Don't look at me.  I didn't make that mess.  MOUSES!"

I then joined in in the staring contest with the peep.  Fearing she might out stare me - which would, of course, be embarrassing - I decided to cut the contest short and concede.  "Have you asked that long-haired freak of a brother of mine about that mess?  Have you asked Rushton Tapio?  Have you?"

And with that, ol' Peepers spun on her paws...  I mean, feet, and walked out of the room.

MOUSES!

"YOU'RE HEADIN' IN THE WRONG DIRECTION!" I called after her, for I knew for a fact that Rushy was currently in the family room watchin' television, but the peep was makin' for upstairs.

Silly peep.

MOUSES!

Takin' matters into my own paws, I decided to ask Rushy 'bout the mess, myself.  "Hey Rushy!" I called, entering the family room.  "You know anything 'bout the mess in the litter boxes?"

Rushy looked up at me, all innocent like.

Innocent.  Yeah.  Right.

MOUSES!

"I said, you know anything 'bout that mess in the litter box?" I asked once again.  "Peepers is all hot under the collar 'bout one of us cats goin' to town to with the litter."

"I may have used one of the boxes earlier this morning," Rushton replied.  "Why do you ask?"

"Did you not hear me the first time?  I said, Peepers is all hot under the collar 'bout one of us cats goin' to town with the litter."

Rushton held up a claw.  "Firstly, the peep doesn't wear a collar."

I was about to explain to my long-haired freak of a brother that hot under the collar is merely an expression, and doesn't mean Peepers actually wears tags with her name and address or flea repellents 'round her neck, when Rushton held up a second claw.

"And secondly, a cat cannot go to town in a litter box.  Litter boxes have no wheels.  They cannot be used as a carriage."

I stared at my brother in disbelief.  Obviously, with the cooler weather encouraging him to stay indoors more, Rushton had been watchin' way too much so-called educational TV.

"Mouses, Rushy," I began.  "The peep wasn't talkin' about one of us hittin' the road in a litter box.  SHE WAS TALKIN' about one of us dumping at least half the kitty litter out of a litter box, onto the floor."

"She was exhAHHgerrrting, I am sure," was Rushy's response, which made me laugh, 'cause exaggerating is a pretty big - unknown prior to educational TV - word for that brother of mine, and when he pronounced it, it sounded kinda funny.  MOUSES!

Swallowing a chuckle I said, "Nope, not exaggerating at all.  I saw the mess myself.  There was kitty litter ALL OVER the floor.  It was behind the box, in front of the box, on both sides of the box...  My gosh, I didn't actually look, but I wouldn't be surprised if there was kitty litter underneath the box, too!  And the peep, by the way, was not pleased."

"But was she amused?"

I rolled my eyes.  "Have you been watchin' that show 'bout Queen Victoria again?  Never mind," and I waved him off.  "Don't bother answerin'.  I know for a fact you have."

Rushy let out a loud sigh.  "Sometimes a cat must kick up a little litter when..."

"DID YOU HAVE TO EVEN USE THE BOX?" I yelled at my brother.

"Why do you ask?"

"I ask on account of my seein' that mess you left back there, and even though there was litter all over the place, none of it had actually been used.   It all looked like clean litter.  It looked like some cat went into the box, kicked up litter all over the place just for fun or somethin', then immediately left the room."

"I didn't immediately leave the room," Rushy answered.  "I went into the box thinking I needed to pee, but when I realised I didn't, I dug around for a bit to see if digging might make me pee, which it didn't, so I dug around a bit more, but I still didn't need to pee, so..."

"So what?" and I glared at my brother.

"It's a lot harder to get the litter back into the box than it is to kick it all out."

I shook my head in disgust.

"Excuse me," said Rushton, jumping down from the chesterfield onto the floor.  Tail held high, he walked right past me.  "I believe I require the lavatory."

"The what?" I asked, screwing up my face as I tried to figure out what that darned, moused-up brother of mine was goin' on about now.

Hearing the distinctive sound of kitty litter bein' tossed about in the hallway outside the bathroom, I grumbled, "Oh for mousin' out loud.  He's makin' another mess with that litter and I'll probably get blamed for THIS ONE by the peep, too."

I scrambled after my brother and turning the corner, heard the sound of... Uh...  Well...  You know, the sound of what we kitties do when in the litter box.  Or lavatory.  Or whatever Rushy was callin' it now.


I looked at the floor.  Once again there was litter all over the place, but this time, no more so than usual.  I breathed a sigh of relief, realising ol' Peepers would take THIS mess in stride.

And speakin' of strides...

That was about when Rushy brushed past me, again with his tail held high.  After havin' used the ol' litter box, he was obviously on his way to watch more of his supposedly educational TV.

MOUSES!

pass it along

Psst...  Rushy, let me tell you a secret.  The moon sets at dawn and the sun rises at its feet.

Okay Rushy, now you go tell the dog livin' down the street the same thing.  Pass it along.

"I thought you said it was a secret, Sivvers.  I don't think I should be telling that dog anything."

Never mind that, Rushy.  Just go tell him the secret, then tell him to tell someone else.  You know, tell him to pass it along.

"Okay...  Psst...  Hey Doggy, let me tell you a secret.  The man sits at dawn and wants off his feet.  Now go tell the secret to the lady living in the white house on Main Street.  And don't forget to tell her to pass it along."

"Ruff ruff!  Okey dokey, Rushton.  Psst...  HEY LADY!  Ruff ruff!  Let me tell you a secret.  The man sits at dawn and has really stinky feet.  Now go tell the guy who feeds the birds one street over, and tell him to pass it along."

"Nice doggy.  I'll do exactly that.  Psst...  Mister Bird Man...  Let me tell you a secret.  The man's fists are drawn and never mind his stinky feet.  Now please pass it along."

The man's fists have gone and so have his stinky feet.

The man's farts aren't gone and smell worse than his stinky feet.

The man farts every time he smells his horribly stinky feet.

The man farts...

"MR. ROBERTS!"  *SMACK!*  "I. Am. Shocked.   How DARE you speak to me like that.  WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?  Never in my life has anyone...   Ever...  UGH!  You get away from me right now.  Get away from me before I call the police."

Calm down there, Peepers.  I can explain.

Hehe...  Mr. Roberts, you'd best go home now, I think, and uh...  Well sorry 'bout that smack.  Maybe a little ice will keep the swelling down?  Yeah, I know.  Ol' Peepers here does have a real mean right hook.  But seriously, YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN not to speak to her like that.  MOUSES!

"But I was only..."

Yeah, yeah, you were only repeatin' what you thought you heard, but SERIOUSLY, some things just don't make sense.  And things that don't make sense SHOULDN'T BE REPEATED AT ALL.  You need to use your noggin, Roberts, and exercise a little common sense.  Now off home with you.  MOUSES!

As I was sayin', Peepers, I can explain.  I was doing a little social experiment, you see.

"On our neighbours, Seville?  You were experimenting on our neighbours?  REALLY?"

Yeah, you have a problem with that?  Don't bother answering, Peepers.  It was a rhetorical question.

Anyhow...

Anyhow, I was trying to prove how rumours and conspiracy theories on social media get spread around, and how they get crazier and crazier each time they're passed along.  You know, passed along from cat to dog to person, etc...

FYI, the rumour I started had nothin' at all to do with farts and stinky feet.  MOUSES!

Don't look at me like that, Peepers.  This was necessary research.  Research I had to do.

"Research?  Like in...  Were you doing research for your book, Seville?  Your upcoming book, Seville the Cat and the Russian Blues?"

Ummm...  Okay...  Okay, if that sounds better, we could say that.

"If it sounds better than what?"

Well better than uh...  Ummm...  Uhhh...  The truth?  Hehehehee...

You keep that look up there, Peepers, and it'll stick.  You'll end up with a permascowl, you know.  You'll look like you've been permanently uh... Ummm...  Scowled.  MOUSES!

Hey Peepers!  Where are you goin'?  Why are you calling for Rushy?

"Psst...  Rushton, let me tell you a secret.  Seville likes to smell farts and stinky feet.  Pass it along."

Well I...

Well I NEVER.

Peepers, you take that back.  You take that back right now.  You take that back or I'll...

Gosh darn it.

MOUSES!

It's time, methinks, to fire up the ol' computer.  Time for me to start up an on-line rumour about the peep.

MOUSES!

tail wind

Let us talk, my friends.  Let us talk about...

About tail winds.  Yup, let's talk 'bout tail winds, right here on my blog.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' I'm talkin' about lactose intolerant kitties gettin' into the cheese, and passin' some wind from the ol' tail area back there, aren't ya?

Well you know what?  You'd be wrong about that.

MOUSES!

Although truth be told, that might very well be a topic for another blog post on another day.  But I'd have to call that post, STINKY Tail Winds, I do believe.

MOUSES!

So anyway....

So anyway, the other day I was out in the garden with the peep, and the wind was blowin' somethin' awful.  It was blowin' and blowin' and blowin', my friends.

It was blowin' so hard...

How hard was it blowin', you ask?

It was blowin' so hard, my tail got caught up in that ol' wind and my gosh, I slapped myself in the face with my very own tail.

Talk about TAIL winds.

MOUSES!

Yes, it's true, although I'm tryin' to spread the rumour that I didn't so much whack myself in the face with my own tail as I uh...  Um...  Well as I CAUGHT my own tail, a feat very few cats can do.

Yeah, that's the ticket.

MOUSES!

And speakin' of tickets...

Speakin' of tickets, I bet I could have sold tickets to that show, for sure.

MOUSES!

And speakin' of tickets, AGAIN...

Speakin' of tickets again, you ever get a speedin' ticket on account of a tail wind pushing you so hard across the backyard that you were travellin' so fast you exceeded the speed limit?

Yeah, well neither have I, but that's probably on account of the fact that in my own backyard, there is no speed limit posted, and NOT on account of my not goin' too fast, 'CAUSE IF THERE WERE a posted speed limit, I would have exceeded it, for sure.

MOUSES!

Yup, that's how strong the wind here was.

The wind was so strong...

The wind was so strong, it blew all the remaining leaves off the trees.  The wind was so strong, it blew shingles off the roofs.  (Not our roof, thank goodness, but the peep did find a stray shingle from someone's roof out back.  It was the wrong colour to be ours.)  The wind was so strong, the neighbours' gazebo tent kinda thingy they had set up for Hallowe'en blew down and got a little ripped up or somethin' in the process.  The wind was so strong...

Well let's just say, the wind was so strong, when I was out in the garden that day, that ol' wind almost picked me right up and blew me away.

Now THAT, my friends, is a TAIL WIND, for sure.
 
MOUSES!

And in other news...

In other news, Rushy's long fur got ruffled up like no cat's fur has ever been ruffled up, before.  And as for the peep's ponytail...

Well the description of that tail wind will have to wait for another day.

Once I stop laughing myself silly at the thought of it, that is.

MOUSES!

And in some other, other news...

The peep appears to be missing one black tarp, used, an odd hole here and there, last seen November 1st, in our garden, insufficiently anchored to the ground.

MOUSES!

I was robbed!

It was mine, I tell you.  Mine.  MINE!  It was most definitely all MINE.

I WAS ROBBED!

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' that long-haired freak of a brother of mine, Rushton, has been into my stuff, but you know what?  Well you'd be wrong about that.

MOUSES!

I KNOW, I KNOW...  I KNOW what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' that long-haired freak of a PEEP of mine, namely Peepers, has been into my stuff.

And about that, my friends, you'd be RIGHT.

MOUSES!

No, the peep has not been into my stash.  You know, my stash of the nip.  Thankfully, Peepers isn't into the nip like me.  THANKFULLY, Peepers never gets high on my nip.

I know!  It IS weird, isn't it?  Very weird, indeed.  But we cats never question our peeps' lack of interest in our catnip.  We simply sigh a breath of a relief.

MOUSES!

Of course, their lack of interest COULD be due to the fact that we tend to slobber all over our nip mice and stuff.  Generally speakin', cat slobber puts peeps off.  And THANK GOODNESS for that.

MOUSES!

But back to what I was talkin' about earlier.  You know, about what was all mine:

So the other evenin', just before dark, the peep came outside lookin' for me, wantin' to bring me inside.


I wasn't actually difficult to find, or anythin' like that.  I wasn't givin' the peep a hard time by hiding or running out of her reach.  Nope, I wasn't doin' anythin' like that, at all.

Then why did the peep have to come outside to get me, you ask?

Well that was on account of my ignoring her when she called me.  I was super busy, you see.  I was busy on account of my havin' found a little mousie with whom to play.

AND HE WAS MINE.

Yeah, I found him, I caught him, and I was holdin' him by his tail.

CLEARLY, he was MINE.

MOUSES!

Now I ask you: do I play with the peep's toys?  Do I go 'round playin' with her knittin' needles, and balls of yarn, and...

Okay, bad example.

Well I ask you this, then: do I play with the peep's uh...

Um...

Hmmm....

Okay, so I do tend to play with the peep's stuff, now that I think about it.  Stuff she hasn't had the sense to keep out of my reach, that is.

BUT STILL...

But still, that mousie was MINE.

I mean, what the mouses was the peep gonna do with a mouse?  What, I ask you.  WHAT?

Invite him over for tea?

MOUSES!


Next time I find a mouse, I'm gonna slobber all over him from the tips of his ears to the tip of his tail.  That'll keep the peep from takin' the next mousie I find away from me.  That'll teach her, for sure.

'Cause like I mentioned before, peeps have an aversion to slobber.

I have no idea why.

MOUSES!