By gosh and by golly, I got it.
What? What's that, Peepers? What's that you're babblin' on about now?
Well let me ask you this then, Peepers. Did you, or did you not, wanna be bitten by that skeeter?
Now take your time there, ol' peep of mine. You're old and decrepit, and it's perfectly reasonable for things to take longer now in your old age, and...
YOU ARE TOO. You're old and decrepit, for sure.
WELL YOU'RE A HECK OF A LOT OLDER THAN ME.
Okay, so maybe you're not actually decrepit. YET. But give it time, Peepers. Give it time. One day you surely will be.
What? What's that, Peepers? What's that you're babblin' on about NOW?
You're back to asking 'bout that, huh? You're back to askin' why I gave you that swat? You're back to askin' why...
Wait a minute. ARE YOU SAYIN' YOU WANTED THAT SKEETER TO BITE YOU?
Mouses woman, you must be insane.
'Cause no one - not cat nor peep - actually likes bein' bitten by skeeters. Those mosquitoes are the peskiest things. They go 'bout their lives, flitting 'round your face and buzzin' in your ears. 'Nough to drive a kitty mad, they are. AND I WOULD THINK they're enough to drive a peep mad, too.
Unless she already is.
So yes, I, bein' the most thoughtful of kitties that I am, DID TAKE one good swat at that skeeter flittin' around and about; as it was clearly botherin' you, without a doubt! That skeeter was askin' for trouble, he was. He was ASKIN' to be swatted, for sure. HE WAS ASKIN' for me to give him a swat and squish him under my paw, and...
Well yes, Peepers, my claws were out. Whatever is your point?
Well yeah, sure, but...
But you know, it's not really my fault. Your arm was right there right under that skeeter when that skeeter ended up under my paw.
Not to mention my claw.
They do that, you know, those skeeters. That's just the kinda thing that they do.