tailgate

"Come on Mason.  Get with with the program, would you?  Get over here, NOW!"

"Don't give me that ol' you-can't-get-past-the-long-haired-marmies routine.  We all know you growl at 'em daily, just for fun."

"Plus, Andy doesn't even have long hair any more.  Not since he got that ol' lion cut.  Peep says it'll grow back eventually. It hasn't yet but..."

"...But what am I talking about?  I don't care if Andy's fur grows back quickly or slowly or even at all.  All I care about right now are those new treats the peep is about to give out.  But she's not giving anyone anything until we're all here in the kitchen. Mason...  COME ON!"

"Well just give 'em the smacky paws like you usually do."

"What's that, Mason?  You say it's not that you can't get past those two brothers of ours because you're scared of 'em but rather, because they're blocking your path?  You say that the doorway between the family room and the kitchen is only so wide and Anderson and Rushton are taking up the entire space?"

"Mason, I know those two long-haired -  I mean, one long-haired and one formerly long-haired on account of his lion cut - boys are big on account of their both being part Coon, but they're not that big.  There's enough room for you to pass between 'em, for sure.  Stop playing games and get in here so the peep will give us our treats."

"Oh, I see..."

"So let me get this straight.  Every time you move to the right to pass, they move to the right, too? And every time you move to the left to pass, they move to the left, too?  And every time you try to pass between 'em, they get up close and personal with one another and you can't get through? MOUSES!"

"Well try jumpin' over them, then.  I've seen you jump over other cats before."

"They did what?  You tried to jump over them and they jumped, too?  To tell you the truth, I didn't know those two boys had it in 'em to jump like that.  MOUSES!"

"Ooohhhh....  Ooohhhh....  OOOHHHH...  The treat bag is being shaken but there are no treats coming out.  Not until we're all here in the kitchen.   Come on, Mason.  Come on in here and sit down."

"For mousin' out loud.  I've had enough of this ol' moused-up tomfoolery and mischief.  Enough is enough and I've had enough of it up to my ears.  The very tips of my ears, for sure. MOUSES!"

And with that, I stomped over to the family room door, walked between Rushton and Andy and grabbed Mason by a paw.  Pulling her forward, I spun on my hind legs and accidentally swiped Tess with my tail.  "Sorry Tess, didn't mean to..." I began.

"Seville assaulted me with his tail!" I heard Tess cry to the peep before she staggered backwards, flopping down on her back like that Lebron guy after takin' an elbow to the face.

"But it was an accident!" I wailed.  "An accident, pure and simple.  I didn't mean to swipe Tess with my tail and I certainly didn't mean to hurt her and truth be told, I don't really think I did.  I mean, my tail just kind of brushed against her and she's one to talk about tails.  She's constantly tripping you peeps up with hers and..."

"What's that, Peepers?  You say I shouldn't have gone off in a rage and grabbed hold of Mason by the paw?"

"BUT SHE NEEDED MY HELP!"

"Peepers, did you not see how those part-Coon marmies were blocking her path?"

"You say that none of this would have happened had I not done what I did?  Well, yeah, but Mason would still be stuck in the family room and we'd still have no treats and come to think of it, we still don't have any treats so what's up with that, Peepers?  We're all here now.  How 'bout dishing out the treats?"

"But I already did apologize.  You heard me.  I said I was sorry to Tess right away."

"And I'm not apologizing to those other two 'cause I know that you know, they were up to no good," and I winked at the peep, knowing she would know exactly what I meant 'cause those two long-haired marmie boys are always wreaking havoc like only long-haired marmie boys can do.  Strange how even with his lion cut, Andy still has the knack for doing such things.

At that very moment, Tess came up to me and gave me a hug.

Okay, maybe there was no hug.  Perhaps that was a tad of an exaggeration on my part but she was within a paw's reach and she didn't growl at me or anything and that, my friends, is saying a lot.

"It's okay, Seville," I heard Tess say.  "I know you didn't mean to hurt me.  I know your swiping me with your tail was purely accidental.  I FORGIVE YOU, not that there was really anything done needing forgiveness in the first place.  And Seville?  I love you because you're my brother and so very intelligent and helpful and kind and..."

Okay, perhaps she stopped right after saying she forgave me.  I might have added the last little bit myself.

"So Peepers, now that that's all settled, you think you can dish out those treats?  Getting the treats was the whole point of this here little exercise, was it not?"

The peep then acquiesced and we all chowed down on some treats which were super yummy and delicious and, I believe, flavoured with cheese. MOUSES!

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

Disclaimer:  The incident now and forever known around the world as 'Tailgate' may or may not have happened exactly as described above.  Literary license may or may not have been taken but if taken, it was done purely by accident, with no harm intended.  MOUSES!

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

And remember to leave a comment on my blog post "out of the batter bowl" by May 29th, for your chance to win an autographed copy of Linda Reilly's book, Out of the Dying Pan.  It's a great book. You'll wanna read it, for sure.  Purrs.

sometimes I wonder...

Sometimes I wonder...

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking I'm gonna say, sometimes I wonder 'bout my peeps.  Well truth be told, I do.  In fact, I wonder about them more than just sometimes.  If we're gonna be honest here, I wonder about them ALL the time.  It's kind of like a full-time job or something!  Those peeps of mine do have a tendency to do an awful lot of crazy stuff that all needs to be wondered about, for sure.  MOUSES!

But this time - this ONE time - I was wondering about someone else.  This time I was wondering about...

Perhaps I should go back to the beginning.

Sometimes I wonder about peeps.  Not my peeps but peeps in general.  MOUSES!

So I was watching a little television this morning, with the peeps, when an advertisement came on.  It was an advertisement for a silver coin.  Apparently the Royal Canadian Mint is selling twenty dollar coins with Superman on 'em or something like that.

Now you might be thinking, so what?  To tell you the truth, the first time I saw this aforementioned advertisement, I thought, so what, too.

But that was the first time.

Today when I saw the ad, I realized that I have seen this particular ad many times before.  Clearly, they're having some trouble selling those coins.

So I did a little kitty math and twenty minutes later, I realized that these coins are basically free. FREE.  FREE!  And they still can't sell 'em.  Can't sell 'em for free!  MOUSES!

Oh, I'm sure they they've sold some.  Well at least I hope they've sold some but they haven't sold 'em all because, like I said, they're still advertising them on TV.  MOUSES!

But let's get back to this business about these coins being free.

These silver - yup, that's right, they're made of silver - coins cost twenty dollars each but they're worth twenty dollars, too.  So if you went to the bank and wanted to deposit one or something, you'd be depositing twenty dollars just as if you were depositing a twenty dollar bill because the twenty dollar coin is worth twenty dollars which is exactly what you paid for it so in other words, it's kind of like it's free.

It's not all that different from taking four five dollar bills to the bank and asking them to give you one twenty dollar bill in their place, when you think about it, except for the fact that in that case you're going from four bills to one instead of one coin to one bill but still, really, you're just switching it up a bit without spending a cent.  Or a dollar.  Or even twenty.

Now you're probably wondering how much it actually costs to get this free twenty dollar coin. Nothing.  Hard to believe but it's true.  There's free shipping and everything.  MOUSES!

But here comes the catch.  You know there always is one.  There's always a catch, especially when we're talking tuna but even when we're not, there's always a catch to be caught.  MOUSES!

These twenty dollar coins might be free to the buyers - who, as explained above, are technically simply exchangers or traders - but they're not exactly free to the Canadian taxpayers and stuff.  Let me explain...

If a peep trades - yeah, trades - a twenty dollar bill for a twenty dollar coin that's worth twenty dollars, the peep still ends up with twenty dollars.  Sure, it's now a silver coin instead of paper but bottom line is, it's still twenty dollars.  Now if that peep is trading rather than buying, the Mint must be trading, too, which means they can't be selling.  They're simply trading the silver for paper.  So even though they're calling it a sale, it's really a trade of two things of equal value which means there's no profit to be made in that there sale, that's really a trade, at all.  MOUSES!

But if you have two happy traders, what's the harm in that?

Well like I said earlier, today was the not the first time I have seen this ad for this twenty dollar coin, worth twenty dollars.  I've seen this ad many times before.  Apparently, the Royal Canadian Mint has been advertising these coins over and over and over again.

This means that the Royal Canadian Mint has been paying money to advertise their selling (which remember, is really trading) of these twenty dollar coins for twenty dollars.  In other words, they've been paying money to make zero profit.

Now I will admit that I, myself, have only seen the ads on CBC Television which is funded by the Canadian government so really, I suppose, money from one arm of the government is simply going to another arm of the government so one could argue that no real money is being spent on these ads unless, of course, you take into account that those advertising slots could have been sold to some other business, independent of the government, that would have PAID good money for them. Perhaps they would have paid using twenty dollar coins or perhaps they would have used twenty dollar bills but it doesn't really matter because as we all know, twenty dollars is still twenty dollars. And if you take that into account, then yeah, advertising revenue has been lost - LOST - assuming, of course, that someone wanted to buy advertising in the first place.  MOUSES!

You know, when you think about it, this buying and selling of advertising slots by different arms of the government is a whole lot like trading, too.  Trading numbers in columns on one arm to columns on another arm which we'll call trading for lack of a better word - because it's not like I'm an accountant or anything who would know such things - as the various columns are all on arms belonging to the same entity...  the government.

And it doesn't end there.  Nope, it sure doesn't.

Remember how I said there was free shipping on all these trades?  Guess the Mint must be paying for not only advertising but for shipping, too, although I suppose this is really simply more trading because I'm assuming they'll be shipping via Canada Post which is another appendage of the Canadian government.  MOUSES!

To tell you the truth, I've confused myself with all this talk of buying and selling that's really trading.  Trading and counting up the various Canadian appendages upon which we can tally said trades.

But if we look really hard - really, REALLY hard - I do believe that somewhere in all this confusion, is the answer as to why Canada can no longer afford to make one cent coins, otherwise known as pennies.

I'll make 'em a trade.  I'll trade the Canadian government one twenty dollar coin for some of my thoughts.  MOUSES!

state of disrepair

"Hum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum...  Hum-de-dum-de-do..." I sang softly, sidling up to Peep #1. "Oh Peepers, have you been in the front hall lately?  I think Mason pooped in your shoe."

"Mason did what?" the peep cried before dropping what she was doing and running into the hall.  In a flash, I was up on the kitchen island and had snagged a brick of cheese.  Heading into the family room, I heard the peep behind me saying, "No one pooped in my shoe, Seville."

"Did I say shoe?" I called back to her.  "I meant litter box.  Sorry," and I waved her off with a paw.

"You told the peep I pooped in her shoe?" Mason cried, paws placed firmly on her hips and looking rather indignant.

"Never mind that, Mason," Anderson told his sister before looking at me to ask, "Seville, did you get the cheese?"

"I got the cheese."

Hearing my answer, Rushton appeared in the room.  "Did someone say cheese?"

The four cats stared down at the brick of cheese before them and began to purr, loudly.

"Gosh that was good," I said, wiping my mouth with a paw.  "Time for a nap, I do believe." Anderson, Rushton and Mason nodded in agreement before heading off to their various favourite sleeping spots.  I, myself, jumped up onto the chesterfield and settled in for a snooze.

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

"Psst...  cat.  Psst...  CAT!  CAT!!!"

I opened one eye to see a little grey mouse before me, holding a clipboard.  "Awww...   MOUSES!" I cried.

"Your assistance is required," I was informed.

"My assistance is required.  My assistance is required?  Of course my assistance is required!" and I flung my front paws up in the air.  "What is it this time?  Someone lose their cheese?" I asked the mouse.

The little grey mouse stared back at me.  "Lose their cheese?" he asked.

"Never mind.  It's just an expression," I explained, rising to my paws.  "Lead the way oh royal mousiness.  Your desire is my command."

Again the little grey mouse stared blankly at me.  "Another expression!" I cried.  "Boy-oh-boy-oh-boy...  MOUSES!"

I watched as the little grey mouse surveyed the family room.  He quickly scribbled some notes on his clipboard and although I tried to get a glimpse of what he was writing, he held that board close to his chest.  Besides, the little I did see told me he was using cursive writing.  Might as well have been in secret code as cursive writing is no longer taught in Nova Scotian schools.  Clearly the Mouseland schools have recognized the shortsightedness of this.

Stopping in my tracks, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was different.  Was it the mouse? No, he looked like all the other Mouseland mice.  Was it the cheese?  Had the cheese I had recently snacked upon been off in some way?  I glanced around the room and saw Mason snoozing peacefully over on a chair.  Nothing had upset her tummy and she had eaten as much cheese as I. Maybe even more.  Clearly, the cheese had been okay.  So why did everything feel different in some way?

"Are you coming?" the mouse asked impatiently and I picked up my pace.  As we rounded the corner, ribbons of light swirled before my eyes as time and space morphed into what I had come to know as the great halls of Mouseland.

I could hear the sounds of construction going on in the back corner of the hall.  Several mice were wielding saws and hammers and goodness knows what else.  The commotion was both annoying and interesting at the same time and I made a mental note to investigate the first chance I got.

A second little grey mouse came running to the side of the mouse who had summoned me and was now whispering in his ear.  Together, they conferred over the notes the first mouse had taken at my house.  The second mouse nodded enthusiastically in agreement.  "Oh yes, yes...  Most definitely yes," I heard the second mouse say.  "That should do nicely."

I stuck my nose between the two mice before asking, "Anyone want to enlighten me as to what's going on?"

The second mouse coughed nervously before saying, "Er-hem...  We're going to need your condominium, Mr. Cat.  It is required."

"IT'S WHAT?" I cried.  "Wait a minute, I don't have a condominium.  I live in a house."  Then it came to me and I knew exactly what the mice were on about.  "You want my kitty condo.  Well no can do, my friends.  That condo belongs not just to me but to my fur-sibs as well.  Besides, moving it requires peep assistance.  No way for cats and mice to move it on their own.  It's too heavy, you see."

I sat back on my haunches, remembering the time Constance had taken a running leap, almost knocking the kitty condo down, thereby moving it without the aid of peeps but quickly decided not to mention that incident to the mice.  That condo was staying in my family room no matter what.

I stared at the mice and they stared right back.  "How come you guys need a condo, anyway?  No condos here in Mouseland?" I asked.

"Our main residence requires repairs," a third mouse answered as he approached.  "It is currently unfit for mouse occupancy."

"That's awful!" I cried.  "Look, I can certainly commiserate with you.  Every mouse needs a house but tell me, how did it get so far gone?  Hurricane?  Tornado?  Flood?  Some other unexpected disaster like a newly purchased high-powered vacuum with cyclonic speed?"

"None of the above," the first mouse sadly shook his head.  "Nothing so unforeseen.  It was simply neglect.  Years upon years of neglect.  Warnings were given.  Warnings were ignored.  Now the residence is practically falling apart.  We're making repairs as fast as we can but," and the mouse pointed to the far corner of the hall where I had noticed construction being done earlier, "as you can see, they won't be completed any time in the near future."

"WOW.  I feel for you, guys.  Really, I do.  Looks like you have a big old mess on our paws but," and I narrowed my eyes, "you're not getting my kitty condo and that's just how it is.  MOUSES!"

The great halls of Mouseland suddenly became deathly quiet and I'd swear you could hear a kitten's whisker fall on a deeply piled rug.

"What can I say, mice?  The condo belongs to us cats.  Besides, I'm not sure if you noticed or anything but it's not in all that great shape, either.  Needs some new carpeting in spots.  Got my paws crossed Santa will take care of that in a couple of months."

"Anyway," and I strode across the hall with an air of determination, "exactly who is to blame for your residence falling apart?  Someone must be.  Someone must be responsible for the neglect.  Make him fix it up.  After all, it's kind of HIS FAULT!"

At that, all the mice began to talk in unison but I couldn't make heads nor tails about what they were saying.  The mice who had been working in the construction area began constructing once more and I crept up behind them.  Suddenly, one turned toward me and put down the hammer he was using.

I peered at this new mouse and licked my lips with a grin.  I even made a sudden move towards him but alas, I couldn't spook him at all.  He stood his ground and smiled back at me, almost knowingly.

This mouse was different from the rest and that was for sure.  He had an air of authority about him and confidence, too, and yet not so overly confident as to be annoying if you know what I mean. He was clearly in charge but not bossing everyone around.

I approached closer, giving the air a good sniff.  "Excuse me, Sir, but you don't smell quite right for a mouse in charge of this place..  I don't smell any of that stinky ol' Gorgonzola cheese at all."  I inhaled even more deeply.  There was a cheesy smell all right but not...  "Cheddar!" I cried.  "You've been snacking on Canadian Cheddar.  Ten...  No...  Twelve-years-old.  Am I right?"

We were nose to nose now, this new mouse and I.  I gazed into his eyes and wondered, could this be The Big Cheese in disguise?

"Of course!" and I slapped a paw to my head.  "You changed your hair.  I should of known.  NICE. Yup, yup...  Very nice hair, indeed."

I turned to the little grey mouse who had summoned me earlier and whispered in his ear, "Get the name of his groomer for me, would you?  I could do with a groomer like that.  He's good."

"So why AM I here?" I asked.  "Anyone know?  Taking my kitty condo is a non-starter but I'll tell you what I will do.  I'll lend a paw with helping to fix up this residence of yours.  What needs to be done first?  Might I suggest you get rid of these Gorgonzola cheese crumbs lying about?"  I picked up a couple crumbs and tossed them out of my way.  "Crumbs like that are gonna stink up the place, for sure."

Grabbing a broom, I started sweeping the area and noticed the mouse with the nice hair heading back to his work, hammering supports together for what I assumed was part of a foundation.  "Seriously, mouse," I cried over to him.  "You really ought to make whoever refused to take care of this mess earlier, fix it up now.  After all, if the place hadn't been neglected for so long, it wouldn't have fallen into this state of disrepair."

And then all of a sudden, just for good measure and kind of on a whim, I cried out at the top of my lungs, the cry of my people.  "MOUSES!" I yelled.  I yelled as loudly as I could.

"Mice," I heard echoing from all four corners of the Mouseland hall.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Nice to hear the Grammar Mice Police are still with us," I smirked to myself.  "I was wondering when they'd make their presence known.  Was even kind of missing them, there, for a moment at least. Thought they might all have gone home."

Then back to work I went, sweeping Gorgonzola cheese crumbs off the Mouseland residence floor, surrounded by mice who were busily repairing damaged floors, walls and ceilings along with goodness knows what else.

respect

At my house, the peeps have learned to respect the cat with the sharpest claws.

Okay, maybe that's not quite right.  Truth is, they respect the cat who has the sharpest wit and isn't afraid to use his claws.

And that would be me. MOUSES!

Now that we have that out of the way, let's talk some more about this thing called respect, shall we?

The other day, I heard someone say, "He don't respect me."  Now lack of respect for the English language and grammar aside, there most definitely is something to be said about the lack of respect in today's society.  As a cat and a blogger, I am faced with this lack of respect on an almost daily basis and I have to say, it's beginning to get on my nerves.  MOUSES!

Are you aware that some peeps out there don't consider me to be their equal?  It's true.

Part of that lack of respect is, I do believe, the fact that I'm a cat.  Can you believe it?  The fact that I walk on four paws instead of two, and happen to have a tail, is no reason to disrespect me. Again I must say, MOUSES!

You know, when one walks on four paws instead of two, one is far less likely to fall down. MOUSES!

For example, when I write a particularly engaging post on my blog, everyone and all their uncles assume the peep has written it.  Same thing if I happen to win an award.  Used to happen with Nissy, too.

You might find it hard to believe but it's a fact.  I've heard these people with my very own ears. "Oh, but it's really you writing," they say to the peep, winking uncontrollably like they have a whole beach full of sand in their eyes.  And although the peep always answers with, "No, it's Seville's blog," they just keep on winking.  Yup, winking up a storm.  A sandstorm, in fact.   The sandstorm of all sandstorms, to be sure.

They're trying to trip up the peep, I do believe, and it makes me worry.  Makes me worry that one day, they will trip up Peep #1 on account of her walking on only two feet.  As I mentioned earlier, walking on four paws is a far more stable way to walk.  MOUSES!

Why does everyone assume Peep #1, simply by virtue of her being a peep, is a better writer than I, Seville the Cat?  It makes no sense.  Have they actually read any of her stuff?  MOUSES!

Truth be told, the peep and I both have blogs.  At least I assume the peep still has hers.  Hasn't been updated in I don't know how long.  No, seriously, I don't know.  I'm not sure anyone does. Yes, my friends, it has been that long.  She's an incredibly inconsistent blogger.  The only thing consistent about her blogging is her inconsistency.  MOUSES!

What's more, nobody reads the peep's blog and when I say nobody, I really do mean nobody.  I could make some silly joke about a guy named Nobody being the only reader she has but honestly, even he doesn't read The Peep's Cheeps any more.  It's because she never updates it, you see.

So who's the better writer, huh?  The peep or me? Clearly, it's me.  Oh should that be I?  Hmmm... Yup, clearly it is I.  You see?  Peep probably doesn't even know that.  MOUSES!

But as a blogging kitty, I get the double-whammy lack of respect.  Not only are there those who don't respect us kitties, but there are those who don't respect us bloggers, either.  Let me tell you what happened just last week.

As you know, here in Canada, we have an election coming up.  Tomorrow, in fact.  In fact, by the time some of you read this here blog post, the election might already have been past.  What you might also already know is that in this election, peeps have to prove they are who they say they are, before they can vote.

Ignoring the whole issue that as a cat I don't get to vote which clearly indicates a great lack of respect towards the feline species...

Okay, moving on.

The other day, our weekly local paper reported that in order to vote, peeps needed to show photo ID. Something like a driver's licence.  Yup, that's what they said.  They said, well, rather they wrote, that photo ID was required.  Not helpful or useful but rather, required.

Now here's the thing.  That's not true.  It's not true at all.  Not even in the least.  And had that reporter read the blog post I had written the week before, "get out and vote," he would have known that.  MOUSES!

Some might say I'm making mountains out of molehills but to those people I would answer, molehills are mountains.  No self-respecting cat ever ignores a molehill because as cats, we like to keep track of all resident moles.

But mole counting aside, this is really serious stuff.  The fact is that in order to vote in tomorrow's election, you can use photo ID such as a driver's licence but there are all sorts of other forms of ID you can use, too.  And they don't have to have your picture on them, either.  There are well over three dozen non-photo forms of identification Elections Canada will accept, as long as one of those pieces of ID has your current address on it.  Plus, there's even a third option where you can have another voter attest to your identity.

So what happens when someone reads in the paper that they don't get to vote unless they show photo ID?  What happens to the person who reads that and doesn't have any photo ID?  I can tell you what might happen.  They just might read that and decide, since they won't be allowed to vote anyway, they won't bother going to the polling station.

Now do you see why this is such an important error?  One moment of carelessness and...   MOUSES!

For my blog post, I got my information straight from the horse's mouth.  Okay, maybe there weren't any actual horses involved.  No ponies either.  But my facts were absolutely factual.  I took them straight from the literature mailed out by Elections Canada and double-checked them on their on-line site.  The peep even spoke with an Elections Canada official although truth be told, she did that after my post had already been published.  But the bottom line is, my facts were fact and to this day, remain factual.

But back to the issue of respect or lack thereof.

Peeps naturally respect newspapers.  Read it in a paper and it's like it's written in stone. Newsflash...  Newspapers haven't been printed in stone since Bedrock's The Daily Granite went on-line.  MOUSES!

But does the public show the same respect they have for newspapers, to bloggers and more importantly, blogging kitties, too?  Sadly, no.

You see, if a blogging kitty, such as myself, publishes something contradictory to what a real newspaper publishes, it will always be assumed that the newspaper is correct and that I, as a kitty and a blogger, am not.  Obviously, this shows a lack of respect.  A lack of respect directed towards the blogging kitties of the world.  MOUSES!

When you're publishing something important, you've gotta check your facts. Check 'em once, twice and even thrice.

What do you think would happen if a Toronto paper accidentally published misinformation about the score at a Blue Jays' game?  A riot, most likely. Good thing that didn't happen. MOUSES!

And for anyone reading this blog post before tomorrow's election...  You do NOT need photo ID in order to vote! You do need identification, yes. It does not need to be of the photographic kind.  And if you have any questions at all, check with Elections Canada at elections.ca or call 'em up at 1-800-463-6868,  They'll tell you what you really do need and exactly what you don't.

And most importantly of all, show respect for your country and respect for democracy by voting tomorrow.   October 19th is the big day!  Canadian citizens, 18-years-old and older, each have one vote so VOTE TOMORROW or forever hold your peace.  Or at least until the next election.  MOUSES!

get out and vote

Give me a V.  V!

Give me an O.  O!

Give me a T.  T!

Give me an E.  E!

What does it spell?  It spells, uhhh...  Oh yeah,  VOTE!!!

BREAKING NEWS...  In less than two weeks, Canadian cats and peeps, alike, will be heading out to the polls to vote in our upcoming federal election.  That's right, my friends, voting day is Monday October 19th.  It's only twelve days away.

What's that Peepers?  What?  Are you sure?  Really?  MOUSES!

I have been informed, my friends, that as a cat, I do not get to vote.  Again I must say, MOUSES!

Humph!  Smacks of specism, that does.  SMACKS OF SPECISM, FOR SURE.

To tell you the truth, I had been wondering why I hadn't yet received my voter registration card in the mail.

Peepers, let me see that pamphlet thing from Elections Canada.  Paw it over, would you?  Hmmm... Uh-huh...  Yup, just as I thought...  HMMM....

But Peepers, I meet all the necessary qualifications to vote.  It says right here that in order to vote in this election I must be a Canadian citizen, be at least eighteen-years-old and be able to prove my identity and my address.  I'm all three of those things.

No, Peepers, that's not right.  I can't be stopped from voting just because I'm a cat.  This here pamphlet says absolutely NOTHING about having to be a peep.  MOUSES!

But back to those voting qualifications.  Peepers, I was born right here in Canada so that makes me Canadian.  In cat years, I'm way more than eighteen.  I arrived on your doorstep in 2008 and was already fully grown so that means I'm at least nine-years-old TIMES SEVEN.  Do the math, Peepers  I'm at least sixty-three.  Mouses I'm old.  Sixty-three is way older than eighteen even if I don't feel a day over twenty-five.  Plus, I can prove my identity and address.  As a blogging kitty, I get mail all the time.  Sometimes even by courier.  And I have prescriptions and stuff from my doctor.  Remember when I had the crystals?  Do you happen to have those old prescription bottles on paw, Peepers?  Oohhh...  and I have my vaccination records too.  I have a rabies tag around here somewhere...  Let me go look.

Okay, I'm back.  Couldn't find the old prescription bottles from when I had the crystals but I've got proof of having had my rabies shots.  That should prove I am who I am, for sure.  Bet most peeps don't have proof of having had their rabies shots.  MOUSES!

What do you mean I still can't vote, Peepers? Someone strip me of my Canadian citizenship or something?  MOUSES!

Okay, so maybe I don't get to vote.  I don't agree with it at all.  Who ever heard of not allowing cats to vote? I find this situation to be completely unfair but it is was it is.  Looks like I'm just gonna have to live with it...  this time.  Next election?  We'll see.

But at least my peeps get to vote.  Yup, they've got their voter registration cards and everything.  They have proof of their identity and address, too.  They're good to go.

In case you hadn't heard, you need to take more than just your voter registration card when you go to vote. That's right, those registration cards are useful to take.  They might even speed up the process a bit but they can't be used to prove your identity or address.  No sirree, you need to take more than just that card with you, when you go to vote.  Did you all know about that?

In order to vote this time around, you need to show one piece of ID with your name, address and picture like a driver's license.  If you don't have that, you need to show two pieces of ID with your name and one must have your current address.  A bank statement will work.  Or a utility bill.  Or a student ID.  Or a health card or a label on a prescription container or a debit card or even a library card.  There's quite a list of acceptable forms of identification and the full list can be obtained from Elections Canada.  And if none of your ID shows your current address, you can take an oath.  You still need two pieces of ID with your name and you'll need someone in the same polling division, as you, to attest to your address.

Sounds a little complicated but really, it's worth it, for sure.  We all...  I mean, you peeps all have one vote and each and every one of you should use it.

I heard my peeps say they're not waiting until the 19th to vote.  That's right, you don't have to wait! Advance polls will be open from Friday October 9th to Monday October 12th, inclusive, right across the land.  Your voter registration cards will tell you exactly where those advance polls are.  Voting in an advance poll will help you avoid any last-minute surprises, if you know what I mean.

And speaking of those registration cards, CHECK 'EM NOW.  Some were mailed out with mistakes, I have heard.  Is your name spelled correctly?  Is the address right?  Is your polling station within a reasonable distance and not several hundred miles away?  If there are any mistakes at all, contact Elections Canada immediately.  And if you're having trouble navigating the site, call up one of the local candidates.  They'll help guide you through the process to ensure you're correctly registered, for sure.

You know, there are peeps in this world who would die to have the right to vote.  Peeps have died for the right to vote.  Literally died.  Voting is such an important thing to do.

What's that?  You don't know for whom you should vote?  WHAT?  That's not an excuse to not vote.  That's not an excuse at all.  That's a reason to get out there and educate yourself so that you do know for whom to vote.  As Canadians, it's our responsibility to educate ourselves for voting, you see.

What did you say?  You don't think your vote will count?  You don't think your vote matters?  NONSENSE.  Every vote matters and every vote counts. And in this election, with the three major political parties in such a tight race, each and every vote is absolutely essential.

Have you ever heard that saying?  The one about an ocean being made up of tiny drops of water.  Think of your vote as a drop of water.  Your drop is equally as important as the next drop and the next drop and the next one after that. And without all of those drops, there is no ocean.  Each drop is equally important.  Every drop counts.  Every one matters.

As Canadians, peeps each have one vote.  Each vote matters.  EVERY VOTE COUNTS. Canadians don't just have a right to vote; they have a responsibility.  DEMOCRACY IS A TERRIBLE THING TO WASTE.  MOUSES!

dropping like flies

OH.  MY.  MOUSES.

Where are they finding these peeps? MOUSES!

And another one bites the dust.  And another.  AND ANOTHER!  They're dropping like flies, my friends.  DROPPING LIKE FLIES!

Um no, I'm not actually talking about flies. Not talking about fleas, either.  I'm talking about political candidates in Canada's upcoming Federal election although, when you think about it, there very well might be a comparison to be made...

MOUSES!

So this one said this and that one said that and then there was the guy who thought it appropriate to be peeing in someone else's coffee mug in someone else's kitchen before giving it a little swish of water to kind of rinse it out and then putting it back in the sink.

Need I say it again?  Of course I do.  MOUSES!

Makes a kitty wonder what has become of this world.  When I was a kitten, stuff like this never used to happen.  Or at least, we never heard about it.  And we certainly didn't have to watch it on TV.  MOUSES!

But it does make for pretty good entertainment.

You know what part I liked the best?  I liked listening to the political commentator who tried to defend the guy who peed in someone else's coffee mug.  That gave me a chuckle, for sure.

Who here can say they've never relieved themselves...

Uh, ME.  I can most certainly say I have never relieved myself in someone else's coffee mug, in someone else's kitchen.  My gosh, I've never even relieved myself in my coffee mug, in my very own kitchen and I'm betting my peeps can say the same.  Who here can't?  MOUSES!

Oh my, I'm killing myself here.  I'm laughing so hard, I can barely type.  MOUSES!

Oops!  I need to watch my words.  I probably shouldn't have used the word barely because the next thing I know, one of these candidates is gonna be showing up in a tweet or a post or something, bare naked.  MOUSES!

My oh my oh my...  Hehehehee...

But there is a serious side to all of this, my friends.  A very serious side, indeed.

Word on the street is that if you want to have any kind of political career here in Canada, you need to watch what you do and say on social media.  That stuff can come back to haunt you, for sure. Tweets from way back when can be dredged up by your political foes.  Dredged up like the slime and ooze they find when dredging a river.  It's stinky stuff, for sure.  Stinky enough to make your allies run for the hills.  After all, they don't want to have your stink all over them.  MOUSES!

And that's what has been happening up here in Canada, the last little while.  Potential candidates made the mistake of saying stuff they shouldn't have said on various social media platforms.  Now, years later, those tweets and posts have been dug up and put on display and an awful lot of them, have caused said candidates to be dropped like hot potatoes by the political parties with which they were affiliated.

I'm telling you, it has been happening so much, it's hard to keep track.  Every week...  MOUSES!

I am told there are lessons to learn from this here political nest of snakes.

Lesson number one is for the candidates.  Potential political candidates need to watch what they say on social media.  Remember, these platforms are public so if you don't want the public reading about stuff they shouldn't be reading, don't post it!

Lesson number two is for the parties.  Political parities need to do a much better job of vetting their candidates.  As one journalist so aptly asked, if opponents can find this stuff, why can't the people vetting the candidates in the first place, find it, too? It's a good question, for sure.

Of course, the more social media savvy one is, the more stuff one has put out there for all the world to see.  Being a rather social media active kitty myself, I have to say it would be pretty darned tooting hard for me to go back to my very first tweets and posts and check them all out.  To be honest, I'm not sure I could do it.  THERE ARE SO MANY!  But if someone else is able to go back through them all...  Well if they can, I must, too.

But as I'm not running for political office, that is neither here nor there.  Someone goes back through all my social media stuff and all they'll find is a slight overuse of the word slash expression, MOUSES!, more than a few run-on sentences and an aversion to weasels.

Oh and my nip addiction, I suppose.  But as nip is perfectly legal across the land, I'm not worried about my imbibing in a nip mouse or two - or three - at all.  MOUSES!

But are these the only lessons to be learned?  Are these, two, the only ones?  Are the lessons at paw for only those who want to represent us in our capital and those who want to help them get there?

THEY SURE AS MOUSIN' AREN'T!!!

It seems to me, my friends, that there's a much bigger lesson to be learned from all of this.  A much more important lesson.  And this bigger, more important lesson, is a lesson we all must learn.  Yes, it is a lesson for society, for sure.

The question we must ask ourselves is this.  How in the world have we ended up with so many political candidates who thought they were doing nothing wrong by tweeting and posting disparaging remarks about women, other religions, other races and the police?  People who think nothing about using offensive language and publicly posting about drugs and sex?  I mean, when did stuff like this become the norm?   WHEN???

Okay, maybe it kind of is the norm for some but should it be the norm for those who are supposed to be of good enough character to represent us in our nation's capital?  MOUSES!

Is it normal to go around peeing in other people's coffee mugs in other people's kitchens?  OF COURSE IT ISN'T!

My gosh, I'm embarrassed if I accidentally pee outside of the litter box.  And that time I peed on the peep?  I've NEVER heard the end of that.  And I only did it the once and only because I had just had a bout with the crystals so really, it was due to medical reasons and not poor judgement on my part.  MOUSES!

Now to be perfectly honest, we would never have known about the peeing in the coffee mug incident had said fellow not had the misfortune to have it all caught on tape but....

BUT HE SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN DOING IT IN THE FIRST PLACE!  Someone could have used that mug after he peed in it.  Used it for coffee!  Believe you me, that someone would not have been wanting to do that, for sure.  No one would.  What a complete lack of respect for his fellow human... MOUSES!

Maybe the most important lesson of all is this.  If we, as a society, want people who are of good character and judgement to represent us in our nation's capital, we need to be of equally good character and judgement, ourselves. After all, these politicians will not only represent us but will be representative of us, too.

If we don't want peeps representing us who are disrespectful to others, we need to stop associating with those who are.  Stop associating with them and not nominating them as candidates.  If we don't want peeps representing us to use a lot of explicitly sexual or violent language, we need to walk away.  Walk away and not nominate them as a candidate.  We need to make it clear that such behaviour is unacceptable in any and all forums and not just on social media.

So much blame for this gigantic fiasco has been placed on social media but in my opinion, that's simply not fair.  Although social media platforms do provide a certain amount of anonymity and there is certainly a case to be made that peeps will say some things there they normally wouldn't say in like...  School.  Or church.  Or at the dinner table;  I'm betting these peeps have said equally repugnant things before.  After all, they didn't learn to speak on social media.  No, they learned how to speak long before that and there are always patterns to be found.  Patterns of indiscretions and such.  MOUSES!

If we want peeps of good character and judgement to represent us as a society we, as a society, need to surround ourselves with such peeps in everyday life.  That, my friends, is the REAL lesson to be learned from all of this.  The real lesson, for sure.

And if that's not possible, I suggest you all let cats rule the country.  We're always of the best of character.  We have the very best judgement.  We never lie.  We may sometimes growl a little or cry MOUSES! - a lot - but never use any really offensive language.  We don't pick fights on social media although many do say, cats do RULE the Internet.  But as Internet rulers, we use it for good and not evil.  Almost every Internet savvy cat I know has at some point used social media to help save the lives of their fellow cats, not to mention many other creatures and the planet, itself.  Basically speaking, we're already what political peeps should aspire to be.  So if you can't find any peeps to fill the job, I know more than a few cats who are willing and able.  MOUSES!

kiss it goodbye

"Seville, wake up.  Wake up, Sivvers!"

I awoke with a start and found two long-haired marmies pawing at me, shaking me by my shoulders.  "WHAT THE MOUSES?" I cried. "What is it with you two? I just got to sleep and here you are, waking me up."

Anderson was the first to speak.  "You can kiss that Senate appointment goodbye, dude.  Not gonna happen."

And as if that wasn't enough, Rushton added, "No way you'll ever lead any kind of political life now, Seville."

"WHAT THE MOUSES?" I cried again, louder and more furiously, this time but then I realized, I was never after a Senate appointment in the first place.  "Nissy was the one wanting a Senate appointment, boys, so no fur off my nose.  Now let me get back to sleep.  MOUSES!"

But long-haired marmies being long-haired marmies, they just wouldn't let up.

"Hey Seville," Andy began, "Reporters are at the front door, wanting to ask you some questions."

With the mention of reporters, I was fully awake.  No going back to sleep now.  After all, it's not every day a marmalade cat such as myself has reporters banging down his door.

"They tell you what they want?" I asked my brothers.  I gave myself a good shake, licked a paw and used it to wipe my whiskers in place.  "There, how do I look?  I assume there'll be some picture taking."  Hopping down from the family room chesterfield, I padded towards the kitchen, making my way to the front door.

"Hang on there, Seville!" Rushton cried.  "Don't you want to know why they want to talk to you?"

"I already asked you two that and neither of you answered," was my reply.  "I'm guessing they have questions about...  Hmmm...  About...  Why do they want to talk to me?  Either of you know?"

Anderson coughed into a paw.  "They want to know about the video."

"Video?"  I sat back on my haunches.  "What video is that?"  I make it a point not to allow the peep to take pictures of me of any kind.  Sometimes, she succeeds, but never ever in a million years have I ever allowed her to take video.  Just not in my nature.  "You sure it's me they want to talk to after all?  I haven't made any movies, lately.  Haven't made any at all."

"They say they have you on tape," Rushton explained.  "They've got a tape of you...   Uh... Ummm...  How can I put this nicely...?"

"They've got a tape of you peeing in the water bowl, dude," Anderson interjected.  He turned to Rushton to add, "Sorry for interrupting but let's face it, there is no nice way to describe that. MOUSES!"

"They have a tape of me doing what?  MOUSES!"  I cried.  "When?  How?  When?  I NEVER DID THAT!"

"We don't know exactly when it happened, Seville, but I saw the evidence for myself.  There you are, lifting your tail, squatting and the rest is history.  Right there in your own kitchen, too.  In our own kitchen."  Rushton continued, "And by the way, Seville, let me just add...  I drink out of that water bowl.  What you did was very uncool."

"But I didn't..." I sputtered.

"The evidence doesn't lie," Anderson said.  "Your peeing in the water bowl?  It's a fact."

"Well...  WELL...  WELL I DON'T ACCEPT THAT PARTICULAR RENDITION OF THE FACTS!" I spat.

"Tsk, tsk..." and Rushton looked down at one paw, inspecting his claws.  "Beg to differ."

"Facts are facts, dude," Anderson added.  "Can't dispute them when they're right there, staring you in the face."

"MOUSES!"  I sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, debating my next move.  What to do...  What to do...  "And you've both seen this tape?" I asked my brothers.  They nodded in affirmation.  "And it looks legit?  You sure it's legit?  Could it have been faked or something 'cause seriously, I don't remember doing that."

"Yeah, like peeps go around making fake videos of cats peeing in water bowls," Andy scoffed.

"Peeps.  PEEPS!"  That was my answer.  Peep #1 must have had something to do with this.  "Oh my mouses, what has Peep #1 done to me now?"

Anderson replied, "Word on the street is that Peep #1 set up hidden cameras in the kitchen.  She wanted to catch us on film, doing cute things."

"I think she wanted to post the videos on the Internet or something," Rushton murmured.

"Looks like she got more than she bargained for though," Anderson stated rather matter-of-factly. "What she wanted to post as a cute home-made video turned out to be material for an episode of Cat Shaming Season Three."

I was flabbergasted and not in a good way.  My first big movie and it was of me peeing in a coffee mug.  I mean, water bowl.  MOUSES!

"But how did the reporters get hold of it?" I asked my brothers.  "Peep put it on social media or something?"

"Ummm..." and Rushton pawed at the ground.

"Uhhh..." and Anderson looked up at the ceiling.

"Spit it out, boys." I demanded.  "What exactly did Peep #1 do?"

"Well..." Andy began.

"Peep #1 didn't do anything," Rushton cried, seemingly bursting at the seams.  "It was Andy.  Andy found the video and uploaded it or downloaded it or unloaded it upside down into or onto the computer or something and the next thing we knew, IT WAS ALL OVER THE NEWS!"

Anderson smirked the smirkiest smirk I have ever seen a cat smirk.  "Oh yeah...  every major network in the western world is running it non-stop.  You're a star, bro.  A STAR!  This is going to be the best reality TV show ever and I, Anderson, own all the rights.  You're going to be famous, dude. And I'm going to be rich."

"BUT I ALREADY WAS FAMOUS!  I'M A WORLD FAMOUS BLOGGER, YOU... YOU...  YOU MARMITE!"

"Hey, no need to start calling cats names," Anderson complained, indignantly.  "Don't you see? Today, it's peeing in a water bowl.  Tomorrow, you'll be appearing on late-night TV.  And the next night....  Well, I haven't figured that part out, yet."

"But you probably won't be being appointed to the Senate," Rushton said quietly.  "You'll have to give up on any political aspirations you might have had."

"Yeah, Andy agreed.  "Stuff like this?  All over social media?  Never goes over well with the public."

I stared hard at my two long-haired marmalade brothers, glaring first at one and then the other. Then I closed my eyes and wailed, "I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER PEEING IN THE WATER BOWL!"

"Seville, are you okay?" I heard Peep #1 ask, concern evident in her voice, and felt the soft touch of her hand on the back of my neck.  "Are you having a bad dream, Sivvers?"

I sat up on the family room couch.  On the other side of the room, I saw Rushton and Anderson lying on the floor, sound asleep.  Andy was purring loudly and Rushton, of course, snoring as he so often does.

The peep tickled me under the chin before scooping me up into her arms.  "Come on, sweetie. Want some treats?"  She carried me into the kitchen and I looked all around.  Not a hidden camera in sight.  Of course, hidden cameras wouldn't actually be in sight as they'd be hidden but I was positive that if I knew to be looking for them, I'd be able to see some evidence of their existence.

It had all been a dream.  A very, very bad dream complete with reporters, unexplained bad behaviour on tape and two marmalade brothers.  No wonder I didn't remember peeing in the water bowl.  One can't remember what one has never done.

Still up in Peep #1's arms, I glanced down at the floor.  There, our water bowls lay, innocently.  Leaping from the peep's arms and onto the kitchen island, I nosed the bag of treats that was my favourite.  As she tore it open for me I suggested, "You might want to run our water bowls over there through the dishwasher, Peepers.  Just a suggestion...   One never knows what might get in them. MOUSES!"

stay the course!

"Psst...  CAT!"

I opened one eye. Standing before me was a little grey mouse. "Awww...  Not again. MOUSES!"

"So you're awake, Mr. Cat?"

I opened my other eye. "Well I am now.  Again I say, MOUSES!"

"Good.  Please follow me, Mr. Cat.  You assistance is required."

I stood on all four paws, stretching first my front legs and then my hind ones.  Letting out a big yawn, I glared at the little mouse standing before me, clutching his mouse-sized clipboard. "Seriously mouse, I was having a good dream involving cheesy nip pizzas before you woke me up. You need to stop doing that.  MOUSES!"

The little mouse whom I assumed to be M1 although, truth be told, looked identical to all the other mice of Mouseland, save one, raised an eyebrow.

"Every time I snack on cheese..."  I studied the mouse before me.  "Hmmm...  Maybe I should start snacking on mice instead."

Narrowing his eyes, M1 leaned forward to whisper, "We're not nearly as tasty as you might think. Stick with the cheese, Cat.  MOUSES!"  The little mouse's eyes grew wide as he covered his gaping mouth with both paws.  His mouse-sized clipboard clattered to the ground and off in the distance I heard the whispers of the Grammar Mice correcting him, "Mice.  The plural of mouse, is mice."

"Hah!  Even the mice are using MOUSES! now," I said with a smirk.  "Worth being awakened to hear that.  Lead the way, M1.  What's up?  What's going on in Mouseland now?  Cat got your cheese?  The Big Cheese doing cheesy stuff?  Is he still eating that cheese with the stink?"  M1 ignored my questions as I followed him out of the room.

Turning the corner, the air grew thick and hazy.  Neon-coloured swirls swirled before my eyes and there were flashes of blinding light.  All of a sudden, a wave of icy cold water splashed in my face. "What the mouses?"  I wiped the water away from my face with a paw but it left an odd taste in my mouth.  A taste akin to salt water and Gorgonzola cheese.  "That's new," I sputtered.  "What's up with the cheesy water, mouse?  And -  And are we on some kind of boat or something?  Where's the great hall of Mouseland?"

"We've entered the Gorgonzola Stream!" yelled the mouse, trying to be heard over the sound of waves crashing against a rocky shore.  "Hang on!  We're in for a rough ride."

My paws were slipping and sliding on what appeared to be the oily deck of a trawler of some sort. At the helm, I could see a larger mouse with a suspiciously long tail whom I immediately recognised as The Big Cheese.  "Where are we headed?" I yelled.

M1 was clinging for dear life to the guard rail of the trawler, his clipboard long gone.  "JUST HANG ON!" he cried back to me.  "We're caught in the stream.  If The Big Cheese can't steer us clear, we'll hit the shore!"

I could hear bells ringing in the distance and a deafening fog horn that sounded as if it was getting closer and closer by the minute but even louder than the foghorn was the sound of The Big Cheese's voice yelling, "STAY THE COURSE!  WE HAVE TO STAY THE COURSE!"

"Why did you bring me here, M1?" I yelled at the little grey mouse.  "We're headed towards those rocks.  You couldn't have chosen a worse time for a cruise."

"STAY THE COURSE!" The Big Cheese continued to yell.  I could see the ship's wheel spinning out of control beneath his paws.  M1 was right.  We were caught up in this Gorgonzola Stream - whatever that was - being taken to places unknown.

The foghorn was still blasting its warnings of the rocky shores ahead and bells were incessantly ringing off in the distance.  I desperately wanted to cover my ears with my paws but didn't dare release my grip of the trawler's guard rails.

I looked over my left shoulder.  Off in the distance there appeared to be a series of locks and further beyond that, a peaceful cove where the sun was shining and there was not a storm cloud in sight.  I briefly questioned the logistics of what I was seeing before realising that the laws of physics and whatnot in Mouseland differed from those in the rest of universe.

"Big Cheese!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.  "Steer to the left or the port side or whatever you want to call it.  There are peaceful waters over there."

"He can't hear you," little M1 yelled over to me.  "He hears nothing but the cries of the Gorgonzola Stream."

"Cries of the stream?  What are you talking about M1?  Is the stream alive or something?"

"No, it's just a stream.  A current, actually.  A powerful current of melted Gorgonzola cheese."

I shook my head in dismay and looked longingly over the port side of the ship.  If I could just make it to those locks.  "Are those locks Canadian Cheese Consortium infrastructure?" I asked M1.

"They're not what you think," the little mouse cried back.

"STAY THE COURSE!" the Big Cheese continued to cry.

"It's not water in those locks," little M1 explained.  "They're holding areas for various other cheese streams.  From when the Canadian Cheese Consortium was more diversified.  The Big Cheese has ignored them for ages."

There was no doubt in my mind that we needed out of this stream of Gorgonzola Cheese as its course was clearly unclear.  Dangerous and unacceptable and as The Big Cheese appeared to be either unwilling or incapable to steer us away, I knew I would have to take on the job, myself. Bravely letting go of the trawler's guard rail with one paw, I dug my claws into the oily deck. "It's going take me weeks to clean this mess off my paws," I growled to myself.  I managed to make my way a few feet across the deck before experiencing the sensation of being lifted into the air. Had the trawler collided with the shore?  Was I being tossed overboard?  "CAT OVERBOARD!" I cried, trying to be heard over the ringing of those stupid bells in the distance, the foghorn that was now proving to be quite annoying and the cries of The Big Cheese to stay the course.

"There you are, Seville. Time for bed.  Did you have a bedtime snack?" Peep #1 asked me.

"As a matter of fact, I helped myself to a little cheese earlier in the evening," I explained to the peep.  "Maybe I should have gone for the Temptations."

I glanced over the peep's shoulder and into the kitchen.  All evidence of Mouseland, the raging waters and the ship that was clearly off-course had disappeared but I knew with certainty that not only would the sun rise in the morning but that Mouseland would appear, once more, too.  Probably the next time I snacked on some cheese. MOUSES!

the blame game

Have you heard?  Have you heard about the latest new reality slash television game show?  It's called The Blame Game and it's coming, this fall, to an election near you. MOUSES!

Let's face it, folks, stuff happens and when it does, somebody is gonna be blamed. And if you're going to be blaming peeps, someone needs to take the blame, too. C'est la vie.

You know what they say.  They say, "When in doubt, blame the peep."  Well that's what Nissy used to say, anyway. Truth be told, I've said it, too.  Works like a charm, every time.

As least it works like a charm for us cats but that's because cats, being cats, are natural charmers, for sure.

There's also the fact that peeps really are to blame for most things that go wrong in this world so blaming a peep is kind of like making a sure bet of sorts.  Know what I mean?  MOUSES!

But peeps know how to play this game of blaming, too.  From an early age, peeps learn to blame others for their own mistakes as well as just about anything and everything that doesn't go their way.

Ever had homework?  Ever not finished your homework so you couldn't hand it in?  Ever blame the dog for eating said homework?  Ever blame the dog when you didn't actually have a dog to blame? MOUSES!

But blaming the possibly non-existent family dog is only the start of the peep blaming that is to come.  Peeps will blame anyone or anything if it means they don't have to accept the blame, themselves.

Ever listen to a peep who arrives somewhere late?  They blame the kids, the spouse and even rush-hour traffic.  Like there isn't always a lot of traffic during rush-hour.  They don't call it rush-hour for nothing.  MOUSES!

They might even blame that poor old possibly non-existent family dog.  Sorry I'm late but the dog ate my car keys.  Sound familiar?

Thing is, you can only use the dog-eaten car keys excuse once and get away with it because the more often you use it, the more unbelievable it becomes.

But you can always blame your spouse or your kids.  Kids have been known to eat a key or two, I am sure.  They say some kids will eat just about anything.  MOUSES!

Bottom line is, when things go wrong, peeps really like blaming just about everything and everyone but themselves.  They blame global warming on the planet or other countries or the peeps down the street.  They blame the state of the economy on the price of oil or other countries or the peeps down the street.  They blame the mess in the Senate on the Senate itself or...  Need I go on? MOUSES!

But speaking of politicians, they play The Blame Game better than anyone else.  Have you ever heard a politician blame themselves?  Have you ever heard a politician say, "It's my fault."  Ever? Never?  MOUSES!

Oh sure, sometimes they'll accept responsibility in a roundabout way but the words,"It's my fault," have you ever heard them say those words?  Just like that?

And more often than not, they'll try to convince you there isn't really a problem at all.  It's all in your imagination.  All in your head.  By gosh, according to some politicians, my head must be a very crowded place.  MOUSES!

I remember way back when, when I peed on the peep.  As you can imagine, it didn't go over very well.  Let's just say, there were complaints.  But did I try to blame the peep for my having peed upon her?  Did I...

Uh actually...  That might not be the best of examples because truth be told, I did blame the peep for that.  Wouldn't have peed on her had she not been standing in my way.

And let me tell you something.  You pee on a peep - once - and they never let you forget it. MOUSES!

Well the peep wasn't accepting any of the blame for that little incident.  Never has and probably never will.  Not even an ounce.  Not even for a minute.

What I should have done was find some other peep to blame and in fact, if I were to pee on the peep today, that's exactly what I would do.

That's just how it is, you know?  When stuff goes wrong, somebody needs to take the blame.  You can accept blame yourself or you can find a patsy to accept it for you.  Delegate the blame, so to speak.  It's the way of the world, my friends.  The way of the world.

Take today, for instance.  This here blog post is going up late.  I was late in writing it because I hadn't finished the pictures for what I had originally intended to post but it's not my fault.  It's all the weather's fault for being stormy and preventing me from working on-line, yesterday, during the thunderstorms.  Yup, I'm blaming the weather.  Blaming some guy named Nigel, too.  Yup, I'm blaming them both, for sure.

What's that, Peepers?  Something wrong? You didn't get what done?

Don't fret, Peepers.  Do you know what you should do?  You should come on dawn and play THE BLAME GAME!

Peepers, you should blame Nigel. Everyone's doing it and word on the street is, this dude is willing to accept the blame for pretty much EVERYTHING.  Even stuff he couldn't possibly have done and wasn't really his fault.  Even has his own hashtag, BlameNigel, now.  Blaming him appears to be the True North Canadian thing to do and after all, Peepers, you are a Canadian peep.  You should blame him, for sure. MOUSES!

the price of nip

"Peepers...  I need a calculator.  You have a calculator on paw?"

"What's that you say? Ask my sister, Mason? Ask her what?  Ask her if she has a calculator? When did Mason get a calculator?  Where did mason get a calculator? Did she borrow yours?"

"Oh...  You mean I should ask her for help with this math stuff.  Okay, that makes sense.  Thanks Peepers!  Forgot about those thumbs of hers."

Yeah, Mason is a polydactyl cat and has thumbs on both her front paws which she puts to use, counting and stuff.

Knitting, you ask?  No, she hasn't attempted knitting, as of yet.  Don't know why because with those thumbs, I bet she could knit if she tried.  MOUSES!

And speaking of knitting, knitting up a few nip mice would be an excellent thing for Mason to do but first things first.  Before there is any knitting done, I have some calculating to do.

"Oh Mason...  Wanna come here and calculate some stuff for me?  Here are the numbers I need you to crunch."

I handed Mason the numbers and watched her crunch them.  She handed the crunched up paper back to me and I examined her figures.

MOUSES!  Just as I thought.  I had a problem of monumental proportions.  A problem that could not be solved with any amount of crunching but just to be on the safe side, I asked Mason to crunch the numbers once more.

"Mason, those figures don't work for me.  Wanna try that again? Try adding them up differently.  Maybe you'll get a better result this time."

Mason scowled at me like only a Mason can do.  She pawed at the numbers, rolling up the paper they were on into a ball and crunching that ball really well.  She sat on it.  She spat on it.  She even gave it a lick or two before performing a few figure eights and batting the paper ball back to me.

Same figures as before.  "Mason," I said, "try a few more figure eights.  See if that makes a difference," but Mason simply threw up her paws before leaving the room in disgust.  MOUSES!

What to do?  What to do?  I examined the numbers once more.  Nope, these calculations weren't working for me at all.

I had discovered, you see, a problem with my latest endeavour.  The whole nip farm thing wasn't working quite the way I wanted it to work.  MOUSES!

I had such hopes.  Such dreams.  I, Seville the Cat, had planned on becoming a gentleman nip farmer, you see.

But yesterday, I discovered the most horrible of horrible things.  The price of nip has gone down.  MOUSES!

I'm not sure how this all came about although I suspect it has something to do with weasels.  Bad things usually do.

This is a catastrophe of catastrophic proportions, for sure.  MOUSES!

I wouldn't put it past that old Weasel Syndicate to be messing around with nip futures and manipulating stock prices and whatever else weasels might do.  On the other paw, maybe they've just flooded the market with the stuff.  That would lower prices, too.

I know what you're thinking.  Lower nip prices are good for cats who consume.   Well of course nipheads are going to like lower nip prices for then they can get nipped for far less.

But what future is there in nip farming if the price of nip is too low?  MOUSES!

If my numbers are correct, it'll cost more for me to get the nip out of the ground than what I can sell it for.  This is not good.  This is not good at all.  Negative profit isn't really profit at all.  MOUSES!

"Mason, come crunch these numbers once more.  See if you can make the numbers acceptable. Please?"

Darn, she says the numbers will remain the same no matter how much crunching we do.

Looks like every dollar of nip sold will cost two dollars to grow and harvest.  MOUSES!

As I see it, I have two options.  I can leave the nip in the ground and come up with some other product to sell or I can grow and harvest it at a loss.

On the other paw...

On the other paw, I can easily convince the peeps to pay for the growing and harvesting of the nip. Peep #1 has to look after the garden anyway, right?  Well while she's looking after the garden, she can look after my nip, too.  If she's watering the garden, she can water my nip as well.  If she's weeding - which, believe me, she very rarely does - she can head on over to my nip plants and do a little weeding there as necessary.  If she's buying manure for her flowers, she can buy a little extra for my nip.  And as for harvesting, why pay for peeps to harvest nip when I can get my peeps to harvest it for free?  I'll call it an internship or something like that.  MOUSES!

So if the peeps pay for the growing costs and I get them to harvest the nip for free, I'll have zero operating costs.  That means I can sell the nip with a hundred percent profit.  Hundred percent profit works for me!

Way better than that negative profit thingy, for sure.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking I'm fudging the books.  Well I'm not.  When you think about it, I'm actually doing the peeps a favour.  I'm uh...  Ummm...  I'm...

Awww....  MOUSES!

Okay, look at it this way.  What's wrong with a little fudge on some books?  Peep #1 loves books and she kind of likes fudge, too, so I'm thinking fudging the books isn't such a bad thing to do and I'll challenge anyone to tell me differently.  MOUSES!

a car and some coupons

It began like any typical day at my house.  Peep #1 started up the coffee pot before dishing out some breakfast for us cats.  Then she refilled our water dishes and topped up the bowls of dry food.  Grabbing a cup of freshly brewed coffee, she headed into my office to turn on the computer for me, allowing me to work on my blog.  I followed behind.

I was busy clickin' the keys with my claws when I heard her.  "Who did this?" she cried.  "Who got into this?"  I continued to work on the computer.  I had just started writing 'bout my next adventure and I didn't want to lose focus.  If I ignored the peep's questions, perhaps she would stop askin' them.  I had work to do and I didn't need a pestering peep slowin' me down.

"Nissy," demanded the first peep, "do you know anything about this?"

I briefly looked up from the keyboard.  There was Peep #1, holdin' the bag of nip from our dear nip-growin' friend a couple of communities away.  This particular friend grows the best nip in the world.  She grows it organically in her special nip-growin' soil and then harvests only the best parts of the nip plants before drying 'em ever so carefully.  Every fall this friend gives us cats a bag of her extra-special, super-duper, especially strong nip.  "Nope, never saw it before in my life," I replied.

"Nissy..."

"Never saw that baggy before, Peepers.  Now stop pesterin' me woman.  I have work to do."  I went back to typing, ignoring the noises emanating from Ol' Peepers.  I concentrated on the computer screen, afraid to look back at the peep in case she made eye contact with my rather guilty lookin' eyes.

Shortly afterwards, my sister Mason came trottin' into my office.  She sat down next to me and whispered in my ear.

MOUSES!  According to Mason, a cat-sized cell phone had been found next to the bag of nip in question.  She didn't know if there were any pictures of the nipped-up cat chewin' and clawing through the bag on that phone but the possibility existed.  Talk around the house was that one of my brothers or sisters had that phone.  Mason swore it wasn't her.  She was just actin' as a go-between.  What would I pay for the phone?

Now, I don't have a lot of money.  I have the money in my froggy bank.  Don't ask.  Long story short, Ol' Peepers doesn't know the difference between a pig and a frog.  Apparently, they don't teach that at peep school.  A kitty sends their peep out to buy 'em a piggy bank and they come back with a frog.  MOUSES!  But that is another story for another day.

But the money in my froggy was ear-marked for an investment in nip futures.  I couldn't use that.  What to do...  What to do...

I knew in an instant what must be done.  I dashed outside into the cold, icy snow.  In the garage, I found what I needed.  I knew it was there.  I found the little toy car I had discovered buried in the ground while helpin' the peep with her gardening last summer.  Every now and then we find stuff buried in the soil.  Usually it's just rocks and whatnot but quite often it's some broken glass, sometimes a not-so-broken glass bottle and once in a blue moon, we find a real treasure like this car.  The peep had tucked it away on a shelf in the garage but I had watched her puttin' it there so I knew exactly where to look.

Okay...  I had a car.  I knew from watchin' the news that when you wanna buy back a possibly incriminatin' phone, you offer the cat with the phone a car and some money but like I said, I didn't want to use the money in my froggy bank.  Hmmm...  COUPONS!  Aren't coupons the next best thing to money?  They have entire television shows 'bout how peeps use 'em in place of money. 

That's when I remembered how that ol' spammy spam-face spammer, Mr. Anonymous Spam had been tryin' to get me to put up a link up on my blog for his site about couponing.  I could go to his site and get some...  Nope.  That's wouldn't work.  I deleted that site address before it ever hit the presses.  MOUSES!

Then I had it.  Sometimes Ol' Peepers cuts out coupons from things and puts 'em up on the shelf in the kitchen.  A jump onto the counter and a swipe of the paw later, I had 'em.  Coupons for cat treats and a bag of oatmeal.  Oatmeal?  Whatever...

I immediately put out the word.  I told Mason I would buy back the phone left beside the half-chewed through bag of extra-special nip.  I had a car and some coupons.  I could offer a car and some coupons in exchange for the phone.  Who would accept my offer?

Mason left the office to tell the other cats.  She never returned.  She never again mentioned the phone.  I have this nagging feelin' that that phone is gonna come back to haunt me one day.  MOUSES!  A cat has just gotta be more careful with his phones.