Sunday 16 August 2020

twenty-two weeks

Whatcha got there, Peepers?

*sniff sniff, sniff sniff sniff*

Hmmm...  That's not nip.

"I know they're not catnip, Seville, but aren't they pretty?"

Meh.  Like I said, they're not nip.

"Well I like carnations, Seville, so there."

You like a lotta stupid stuff, Peepers, so THERE!


Don't you roll your eyes at me like that, Peepers.  You and I both know darn well those flowers aren't as good as catnip.  They're not as good as nip mice, or nippy biff bags, or any other kinda catnip-related items, at all.

Not tuna-related, either.

Not that tuna is as good as the nip, but hey, it comes in at a strong, distant second.


So anyway, Peepers, speakin' of nip...  I mean, tuna, how 'bout gettin' me some lunch?  Some albacore flaked white tuna with a sprig of catnip on the side would be nice.

And while you're at it, COULD YOU BRING ME A SAUCER OF CREAM?

Scratch that.  My mouth loves cream but my tummy...  Not so much.


But speakin' of cream...

Peepers, you ever wonder how you ended up livin' with a kitty like me?  A kitty who is surely the CREAM of the crop?  Not that I'm a crop, or anythin' like that, but I certainly am the feline equivalent to cream.

Cream rises to the top.

In case you didn't know.


And speakin' of risin'...

Peepers, how come you slept in this mornin'?  I was waitin' for my brekkies 'bout seven-thirty in the am, and I didn't get those brekkies of mine 'til at least eight.


Gosh darn it, Peepers, my tummy pays no attention to the days of the week.  You know that.

Unless, of course, the calendar makers out there create a NEW day in order to celebrate the nip.  Like uh... Like Niptuneday.  I would pay attention to that.

Has a nice ring to it, I think.


And speakin' of rings...

Nope, I got NOTHIN' for rings.

'Cept of course, I CAN RUN RINGS 'ROUND YOU, Peepers.  I can run rings 'round you, for sure.


But back to this calendar and days of the week thing.  You know what day it is today, Peepers?  You have any idea?  Huh?  HUH?  HUH?

Of course you don't.


As you know absolutely nothin', Peepers, I shall explain.  Today marks twenty-two weeks of MY havin' been STUCK HERE in this house with YOU.  Yup, twenty-two weeks.  TWENTY-TWO.  That's one hundred and nineteen million, seven hundred and fifty thousand, four hundred seconds in cat time.

Did you hear what I said, Peepers?  I said, I'VE been STUCK HERE WITH YOU for ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN MILLION, SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED cat seconds.  That's a whole lotta seconds, you know.  A WHOLE LOTTA seconds, for sure.

I deserve a medal of some kind.

Or perhaps a monetary prize.

Oh, I know!  I deserve money to buy myself a new nip mouse.  Or a biff bag!  Or maybe both.  Anythin', really, other than those stupid carnations of yours.

Boy, do they EVER stink.

A rotting tuna would smell better.

A LOT better.

A WHOLE lot better.



And remember:



Continue to practice SOCIAL DISTANCIN' measures



Remember to mask up, too.


  1. 22 weeks is hard to believe Seville, we sure hope the virus leaves everyone alone soon.

  2. Twenty two weeks is a long time, Sivvers! And we love how you channeled your inner Faulkner in today's post. Stream of consciousness!

  3. I wonder if your human is ever going out again, Seville.

  4. Hmmm, rotting tuna is definitely not on our shopping list, like most, nay all fish. Now, cream mice chicken and nip, mixed if need be, definitely hit the spot! Hopefully your peep will see reason and put up a poly tunnel and start serious lockdown nip production asap! There is definitely need for some my way ;)

  5. That is a lot of days to be stuck with Peepers Seville and not even Nip? or Tuna? What is that Peeper doing?

  6. Seville, in high school, there were days when carnations were given to boys, by girls, and I'll never forget the, um...perfume of those carnations all over the school!

  7. Dad got Mom a bouquet of flowers that had carnations in it. They were pretty, but you're right -- they aren't anything as good as nip or nippy things.


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