the Santa Sack, part II

Previously on Nerissa's Life:  Seville leaned his head out of the phone booth.  "You three had better take my lantern and start lookin' for some more quarters.  This call might take a while.  Some stupid elf went and put me on hold.  MOUSES!"

Your call is important to us.  Please stay on the line to maintain your calling sequence priority.

"Oh for mousin' out loud," Seville groaned.  "This is ridiculous.  I wonder if...  Hmmm..." and he began to punch random numbers on the telephone keypad.

You have dialed an incorrect number.  Please try again.  You have dialed an incorrect number.  Please try again.  You have have dialed...

"Then how 'bout this?" and Seville dialed a seven.

"Can you hold on for a minute?" a high-pitched voice asked.  "Do you mind if I put you on hold?"

"NO!" Seville hollered, but the elf on the other end of the line had already gone.  He dialed seven again, and when the elf picked up the phone this time, Seville yelled, "DON'T PUT ME ON HOLD!"

Seville could hear a lot of noise in the background.  Basic background chatter.  Elves muttering about something being wrong.  Bells frantically ringing.  Elves scolding one another.  More bells ringing, more frantically than before.  Rudolf asking someone - probably an elf - if they could help him practise his pre-flight sequence.  EVEN MORE ringing bells, ringing EVEN MORE frantically than ever.  He could picture utter chaos up at the North Pole: parcels backing up on conveyor belts and bells indicating impending parcel backup disasters.  And then above all the noise and commotion; above all the accusatory elf voices and ringing bells; above all the chaos currently taking place at the North Pole, Seville heard...

"WELL YOU DON'T HAVE TO YELL.  Let me put you on hold."

Seville was sure he felt hot steam pouring out of his ears, and he punched in a zero followed by the star symbol, then the number sign, and then three nines.

"How did you get this number?" a deep voice half growled, half chuckled, on the other end of the line.

"Santa, is that you?"

"Seville, is that YOU?"

"YES!" Seville squealed, high-fiving the air.  "Oh thank goodness, I thought I'd never get through to you.  Your elves kept putting me on hold."

"Well they're mighty busy down in the workshop, right now.  To tell you a secret, we've hit a bit of a holiday snafu.  Nothing we can't clear up by Christmas Eve though, Seville.  Don't you worry, you'll definitely get those nip mice you asked for this year."

Seville paused, unsure how to broach the subject of not only his firstpaw knowledge of Santa's workshop problems, but also the fact he appeared to be in possession of Santa's magical sack, which was, he was sure, in fact Santa's workshop problem.

"Ummm...  Santa?  The problems you're havin' up at the North Pole..."  He pawed at the floor of the telephone booth.  "Those problems...  Do they have anythin' to do with your magical Santa sack bein' missin'?"

Santa didn't respond.

"It IS missin', isn't it," Seville continued.  He wasn't asking a question; just wanting confirmation.

"How do you know about my missing Santa sack, Seville?"

"Well uh...  Um...." and Seville proceeded to tell Santa all about the Santa suit he had ordered from some dude on e-Bay, and how it came with a sack - as expected - but that the sack was magic and now he and his three fur-sibs were trapped inside.

Seville could hear a clock ticking in the background.  Likely the clock Santa kept on his desk.  He remembered it from the picture he had taken of Santa in his office one year while visiting.

After what felt like an eternity, Santa spoke up.  "You've got yourself into a right pickle there, Seville, haven't you."  Again, not a question.  Santa was stating an obvious fact.

"I have," sighed Seville.  "My fur-sibs and I don't know how to get out of this here sack AND we don't know how to get the sack back to you in time for Christmas.  Have you got any ideas how to go 'bout doin' those things?"

Santa chuckled, "Luckily for you, little one, I do.  Now that I know where my sack is, resolving the issues..."

Seville heard a loud crash on the other end of the line.  The mountain of gifts that had been piling up at the end of the conveyor belt instead of being put into Santa's magical sack had collapsed under their own weight.  He knew the noise must have been extremely loud to be heard all the way into Santa's office.

"Er-hm...  Don't worry about that, Seville.  Nothing breakable," he chuckled, nervously.  "I hope.  But as I told you, now that I know where my sack is, getting it back here is really very simple."  Santa then explained exactly what he needed Seville and his fur-sibs to do."

"So that's it?" asked Mason.  "That's all we have to do?"

Seville nodded his head up and down.  "Yup, that's what Santa said."

"It sounds too good to be true," Mason scowled, "like your on-line ordering habits do."

Seville stuck his tongue out at his sister, then, remembering Christmas was almost upon them and that kitties who stuck their tongues out at their fur-sibs might land themselves on the Naughty List, he smiled, which only made him look like a grinning Cheshire Cat, or a kitty who might have swallowed a canary, or...  "Sorry, Mason," he muttered.

The four cats then held paws, closed their eyes, and as Santa had instructed Seville, they all thought as hard as they could about needing a map to the secret escape hatch.  Seville was the first to open his eyes.  There on the floor, in the middle of the circle the cats had formed, was a map, and on that map a large letter 'X' marked the spot.  "We've got it!" he squealed with delight, snatching it up with a paw.

"I'll take that," said Mason, grabbing the map from her brother.  "It looks like we need to head that way."

How Mason was able to navigate the map was beyond Seville.  To him, it had looked like nothing more than...  Than a blank piece of paper with two locations, but with nothing to show which way was up or down, or left or right, or...

"Are you boys coming or not?" Mason asked impatiently.

"Yes, Mason," they murmured in unison.

Before long, the four cats found what appeared to be a large trap door.  Mason grabbed hold of the handle and tried to pull.  "I could use a little help here, boys," she said, so Seville got hold of Mason's tail, and Rushy held onto his, with Andy holding onto Rushton's.  "One, two, three, PULL!" Mason cried, and this time, the trap door opened with ease.  The cats all looked down into the hole below, but saw nothing but darkness.

"I thought you said this was the way out," Rushy said to Seville.  "It looks like here, except it's...  There."  Mason and Andy nodded in agreement.

"Santa said this was the way out," Seville told his fur-sibs, "and if you can't trust Santa, who can you trust?  MOUSES!"  He took Rushton's paw in one of his, and Mason's in the other, and instructed Andy to hold paws with Rushy, and together, the four cats jumped into the abyss.

"Ooof!"

"Argh!"

"Watch where you're putting that tail."

"Was that your nose I whacked, Mason?"

"Oh for mousin' out loud..."

Moments later, the four cats tumbled out onto their living room floor with the Santa sack lying flat on the ground beside them.  Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer was waiting for them, just as Santa had told Seville he would be.  "Everyone out?" he asked the cats.

Seville looked about and seeing Mason, Rushy, and Andy all grooming themselves, attempting to make it look like they had INTENDED to come clumsily tumbling out of the sack as they had, all along, he nodded.  "All here."

"I'll be on my way then," said Rudolf, grabbing onto the sack.  "Need to get this back to the North Pole, ASAP.  Let me tell you, Little Jackson is going to be on the Naughty List for the next fifty years after selling you this sack."

"Little Jackson?" asked Seville.  "You mean Jack F. from E-Bay?"

Rudolf nodded, "Jack Frost's great, great grandson.  No...  Great, great, GREAT grandson.  He's a bit of a rascal, as they say.  Far worse than his great great great grandfather ever was."

Rudolf turned to leave but Seville had one more question.  "Rudolf, how come the sack even has a built-in escape hatch?"  Seville thought he saw a blush creep across Rudolf's face, although it IS hard to tell when a reindeer with a bright red nose is blushing.

"Way back when, when I was a very young reindeer, I managed to get myself stuck in that sack," Rudolf explained, pawing at the floor with a hoof.  "It was humiliating.  After that, Santa asked Mrs Claus to sew in a pocket on the sack to be used as an escape route if anyone else should get trapped inside."

Seville could tell Rudolf was embarrassed about having been caught in the Santa sack, so he slapped the reindeer on the back in a friendly manner and smiled.  "Well I, for one, am pretty darned happy that happened to you back then.  Had it not, Mrs Claus would never have sewn in that pocket and my fur-sibs and I would still be trapped in that there sack.  That escape hatch sure did save our furry tails today."

Rudolf smiled back.  "Merry Christmas, you four," he said, before heading out the front door.  "See you Christmas Eve!" and with that, he took flight.

"Merry Christmas!" Seville, Mason, Rushy, and Andy cried, waving to Rudolf as he flew higher and higher into the air, finally disappearing out of sight.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

the Santa Sack, part I

This particular adventure actually happened last year, in December of 2018.  I started writin' about it then, but never got the chance to publish it, and in January, my brother Anderson succumbed to cancer, and then my sister, Mason, soon after that.  But a couple weeks ago, I read what I had written last year, when Mason and Andy were still with us, and my heart filled with joy.  It brought back all the memories of the fun we had together, and how much I loved them both.  So I thought to myself;  maybe my pals might enjoy reading 'bout our last adventure together, too.  Enjoy!  PURRS.

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

"Jingle bells, Santa smells, jingle all the way..." Seville sang to himself while wrapping up presents.

"That's not very nice, you know," Mason said as she entered the room.  "Santa doesn't smell."

"Hmmm....  You might be right there, ol' sister of mine.  He probably doesn't.  Let's see...  Got it!" he squealed, snapping his claws.  "Jingle bells, Mason smells..."

"And THAT'S not very nice, either."

"Meh...  Perhaps not, but it most definitely IS factual."

"It is not!" cried Mason, her front paws now on her hips.

"Obviously you've never used the litter box after yourself.  MOUSES!"

Mason growled.  "Seville, I came to tell you there's someone at the door looking for you.  A delivery guy says he needs your pawnature."

"Oohhh...  I bet that's the parcel I've been expectin'.  Wait 'til you see what I ordered, Mason.  Be right back."

Seville returned moments later, dragging a large box behind him.  He used a claw to tear through the tape holding the box together, then pushed up the lid.  A wide grin grew across his face as he stared at the plush red fabric, within.

Andy and Rushton poked their heads into the living room.  "Did someone send you a prezzie, Sivvers?" Andy asked.

"Nope.  I ordered this myself," and he held up the red jacket to admire it.  "What a beaut!  I'm gonna be the best dressed cat in town this Christmas, for sure."

"You bought yourself a Santa Suit?" Rushy asked in awe.

"From whom?" asked Mason, a tone of suspicion evident in her voice.

Seville rolled his eyes.  "Some guy on e-Bay, of course.  Where else would I get something like this?"

"You have to be careful when buying things on-line, Seville," Mason said, her lips pursed together in  a know-it-all, sisterly smirk.  "There are all sorts of scammers out there.  That outfit will likely fall apart the first time you wear it.  It was probably made in China," she muttered.

"Don't be so negative, Mason.  I ordered this suit from a reputable dealer.  PLUS, I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who kinda knows this other guy; the one who was sellin' the suit."

"And I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a GAL who kinda knows a guy needing a smacky-paw behind his ears."

Seville looked up.  "Who?"  He paused.  "Oh.  Never mind.  MOUSES!"

As Seville was donning the jacket, Rushy reached into the box.  "There's more stuff in here, Seville.  More than just the suit."

"The jacket is supposed to come with a Santa hat and sack," Seville answered.  "I think that there is the sack."

Rushton pulled it out of the box.  "It feels like there might be something inside."

Seville's ears perked up.  "A gift with purchase, perhaps?  I didn't even know about that.  What fun!  See what's inside, would ya?  I'm still tryin' to...  ARGH!" he growled with frustration.  "I'm still tryin' to get my other front paw into the sleeve of this here jacket."

Mason shook her head and turned to leave the room, but the sight of Rushton's tail protruding from the Santa sack made her pause.  Something didn't look right.  "Rushy, that bag isn't big enough for you to fit inside it."

"Is too..." Rushton called back, his voice sounding eerily distant.

Andy approached and lifted up the edge of the Santa sack, causing Rushy's tail to disappear inside.  He poked his head in it, too, and then back out.  "Uh, Sivvers...  Mason?  Rushton isn't in there, but I know I saw his tail disappear into that sack."

"Oh for crying out loud," Mason snapped, grabbing the edge of the sack from Andy.  "He is too in there, he..."  She looked over at Seville.  "Seville, Andy is right."

Seville nearly fell backwards from shock.  (You know, on account of Andy being right.)  With the jacket now on, he padded over to the Santa sack and lifted it up.  It was as light as a feather.  "He's not in there, Sis.  I couldn't pick up the sack if there was a long-haired freak of a brother inside.  Rushy's not as heavy as Andy," and he looked skeptically at his brother, "but still..."

"But I saw him go inside it!" Andy exclaimed.

"I did, too," said Mason.

Seville rolled his eyes.  "For mousin' out loud.  I'll prove it to you," and with that, Seville crawled inside the sack himself.

"WHERE DID HE GO?" Mason and Andy cried in unison.  The sack was lying flat on the floor.  There were no bulges.  No bumps.  No trace of Seville, even though both cats saw their brother crawl inside it.

Mason lifted up the bag and peered in, but it still appeared to be empty.  She looked back out at Andy.  "He isn't in there.  Nor is Rushy."

"Let ME see!" Andy cried, but in his haste to take a peek, Andy tripped over his front paws and bumped into Mason, and before either cat knew it, they were both tumbling head over paws into the depths of a large, dark cavern.  Finally coming to a stop, they looked about but could see nothing but darkness all around them.

"FINALLY," exclaimed Seville.  "I thought you two would never get here."  He padded over to his fur-sibs, carrying a lantern.

"WHO did you say sold you that Santa outfit, Seville?" Mason asked, her voice very wary, now.

"I told you, some dude on-line.  He did say the outfit was special..."  Seville's voice trailed off.

"Stolen property is more like it," scowled Mason.  "Do you think this could actually be Santa's sack?  Santa must use magic like this to fit in it all the nip mice and feather wand toys he delivers every Christmas to all the kitties around the world."

"Not to mention treats," added Andy.  "Santa brings lots and lots of treats."

Seville sat back on his haunches to think.

"Look what I found!" cried out Rushton, suddenly appearing at Seville's side.  "Mason mentioned nip mice and I thought to myself, boy would I ever like a nip mouse right about now, and the next thing I knew, there was a nip mouse right there by my paws!"

Seville's jaw dropped.  "The sack IS magic, and I bet it's Santa's sack, for sure.  We need to get it back to him, pronto.  We need to get it back to him before Christmas Eve!  We should call him up, and..."

"And WHAT?" demanded Mason.  "How are you going to call Santa?  We're stuck inside this darned thing with no way out."

Andy tugged on Seville's tail.  "You could use that telephone over there," he suggested.  "To call Santa, I mean," and he pointed to a telephone booth standing a few feet away.

"Sounds like a plan," Seville agreed, never questioning the sudden appearance of a telephone booth inside the Santa sack.  He looked about, "Anyone have a quarter?"

"There's one over here."  Rushton pointed to a quarter lying on the ground, sparkling as the light from Seville's lantern bounced off it.

Seville headed to the phone booth to make the call to the North Pole, and Mason turned to Rushton.  "Where did Seville get that lantern?" she hissed in a low whisper.

"He found it when he arrived here, wherever this place is.  When I first got here, it was pitch black, but then Seville appeared.  Now I didn't actually see him appear, because it was so dark, but I could hear him, and I heard him say something about his needing some light, and the next thing we knew, there was a lantern just sitting there, all ready to use."

"ANYONE KNOW THE AREA CODE FOR THE NORTH POLE?" Seville hollered from the phone booth.

"Eight, six, seven," answered Andy.

Everyone looked at him.

"What?  I read," he shrugged, "and sometimes I read the phone book."

Seville leaned his head out of the phone booth.  "You three had better take my lantern and start lookin' for some more quarters.  This call might take a while.  Some stupid elf went and put me on hold.  MOUSES!"

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

Be sure to tune in on Christmas Day for the conclusion to my VERY SPECIAL Christmas adventure.  PURRS

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

   

the nerve

Oh. My. Mouses.

Of all the nerve.

I can't BELIEVE she did that.

Arrrggggghhhhhh!

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', what has the peep done now?


Well to be honest, on ANY OTHER given day, your question would be totally valid.

Any other day?  Heck, what am I sayin'?  Any other time of day is more like it, 'cause let me tell you somethin', the peep does moused-up stuff, multiple times, EVERY day of the week.  I know.  I live with her, you see.

MOUSES!

But in this particular case, it is not the peep with whom I am annoyed.

Did I say annoyed?  I MEANT to say, bothered.  And insulted.  And even a little...  Hmmm...  Angry, I do believe.

MOUSES!

So this is what happened to me this past week:

Those of you who follow me on Facebook might be aware of the thoughtless, hurtful, and nasty comment someone left on my fan page.  It was awful.  It made both the peep and me feel really, really horrible, so...

So I replied to said comment, tellin' this person how what she said was not helpful in the least.  How it could serve no purpose but to make my peeps feel sad.

And then, in a second comment...

I corrected her grammar.

Oh, I'm not apologising for that.  Oh no sirree.  It had to be done, you see, because her grammar was atrocious, to say the least.  Bad enough to get her a six by nine foot cell in Grammar Jail, for sure.

MOUSES!

But then I had second thoughts.  I wondered if maybe I should simply delete the comment and ban the woman from my fan page.  That way, neither I nor the peep would ever have to deal with her again, AND she wouldn't be embarrassed by havin' had her grammar corrected by a cat.  'Cause some peeps take offence to that.

MOUSES!

So I went back to the post, and do you know what I found?

NOTHIN'.  Nothin' at all.

MOUSES!

So of course, I figured she had seen the errors of her ways, and taken her comment down.

But then....

But then, I found out through a pal, the comment was still there for all to see.  All but ME.

Do you know what she had done?

SHE. HAD. BLOCKED. ME.

That's right, my friends.  She had blocked ME, Seville the Cat.  

MOUSES!

Of all the lousy, good-for-nothin', Poopy Panty PeePs.

MOUSES!

I had been robbed.  ROBBED, I tell you.  Robbed of the opportunity to block that cruel and heartless peep.  There I was, all set to block her, ONLY TO DISCOVER she had blocked ME!

MOUSES!

So...

So I dug in my claws, and...

Yeah, yeah...  Sorry 'bout that, Peepers.  I know I was sittin' on your lap at the time, but I had to dig my claws into SOMETHIN'.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, I have her name, rank, and serial...

Okay, so maybe I don't.  Maybe all I actually have is her name, but if she ever comes back, she had best watch out for a certain marmalade cat.

'Cause we marmies, we don't get mad.

OH NO...

We marmalade cats don't get mad at all.

Instead, we much prefer...

To get even.

MOUSES!

he did it

He did it.

SERIOUSLY, Peepers, HE did it.

Oh yeah.  Yup.  Definitely, and for sure.

MOUSES!

Proof?  You want PROOF?  Is my word not good enough for you now?

MOUSES!

It's a he said - he said kinda thing, you say?  What you MEAN it's a he said - he said kinda thing?  I SAY, he did it, and THAT'S all that matters, for sure.

MOUSES!

Oh.

And you're sayin' there are witnesses and everythin', huh?

Reliable witnesses?

Hmmm...

Now by witnesses, what are we talkin' about here?  Did these witnesses witness someone - we won't say whom - doin' the dirty deed?  OR are these witnesses merely alibiin' my brother?  Inquirin' minds wanna know.

MOUSES!

Oh.

Hmmm...

Well...

Well then it's actually a he said - he said - she said kinda thing, isn't it?  But I'M still sayin' it was Andy who knocked over the plant pot in the sunroom, and I don't care if Mason says she saw Andy outside at the time of the crime, thereby givin' him an alibi.  I'M SAYIN' it was Andy who did the dirty deed.

MOUSES!

Listen up, Peepers, THE ONLY REASON I even tolerate havin' fur-sibs, is on account of their bein' handy to blame when stuff like this happens.  THE ONLY REASON.  I mean, if you can't blame a fur-sib for your crimes, what's the purpose of having fur-sibs at all?

Wait a minute.

Perhaps that didn't come out quite right.

Did I just imply that the crime in question was mine?

'Cause if I did, that's not at all what I meant.

WHAT I MEANT TO SAY was, alleged crimes.

ACTUALLY, what I REALLY MEANT to say was, alleged crimes that somebody else committed, but for some inexplicable reason, I, Seville the Cat, am bein' blamed.

Yeah, that's what I meant to say, for sure.

MOUSES!

Oh, and by the way, Andy didn't just knock over one plant pot in the sunroom.  You must have missed that other one he knocked over on the far side of the chair.  Easy to miss, Peepers.  You have to actually be over on the far side of the chair to see that the plant pot has been tipped over, but once you're there, IT'S AS PLAIN AS DAY, for sure.  I know on account of my bein'...

Ummm...

Of my bein' over there when...

Ummm...

Of my bein' over there tryin' to help clean up the mess.  Yeah, that's it.  I was over there bein' helpful and stuff, tryin' to clean up the mess some OTHER cat made.  You know, some other cat named Andy.

AND I DON'T CARE WHAT MASON SAYS.  She wasn't there when the incident occurred.  I should know, on account of my...

UMMM...

Bottom line is, HE DID IT.

MOUSES!

that's gonna hurt

"Ooh-boy...  That's gonna hurt."

Andy looked at his paw.  "Nah, it didn't hurt at all.  See?" and he held up the paw in question.  "Didn't leave a mark or anything."

I wrinkled my nose and made a face.  "Not what I meant, Bro.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked perplexed.  "Then what did you mean?" he asked me.

"I meant, it's gonna hurt when Mason gets you back.  'Cause you KNOW she's gonna.  Oh yeah, she's gonna get you back for givin' her the smacky-paw, for sure.  MOUSES!"

I could see the beginnings of realisation dawn on Anderson's face.

"There's a REASON we boys don't smacky-paw our sister, Andy, and that reason is..."

"...'cause Mason is the Queen of the Smacky-Paws, herself," Andy cringed.

"Yup," I nodded.  "You smacky-paw Mason, she smacky-paws you back.  Usually adds a few extra smacks just for good measure, too."

Andy rubbed his jaw, already wincin' in anticipation of bein' smacky-pawed by his sister.  "Why do you suppose she didn't smack me right there and then?"

"Well..."  and I considered Andy's question, carefully.  "You might have taken her by surprise," I answered.  "It's been a long time since any one of us boys was so foolish as to smack our sister.  I can't even remember the last time I gave her a smack.  Probably years.  She might be so used to no one bein' that foolish that she momentarily forgot how to respond."

"Maybe she'll..." Andy began.

"On the other paw," I continued.  "She might also be waiting 'til you least expect her to smack you back.  Lettin' the suspense and worry build up in the meantime."  I nodded to myself.  "Yeah, that's just the kinda thing our sister would do."

"So you're sayin'..." Andy started.

"I'm sayin', one moment you're gonna be happily mindin' your own business doin' whatever business you do, and the next moment, Mason is gonna come up behind you and smacky-paw you from here to Timbuktu.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked worried.  "Where's Timbuktu?" he asked.

"Nobody really knows," I said in a very low voice.  "No one sent there has ever returned."

Andy's eyes grew wide with fear.

"Awww...  I'm just joshin' with you, Bro.  Timbuktu isn't a place anyone goes to these days.  Mason can't actually smacky-paw you there.  There are no direct flights, you see.  BUT SHE WILL SMACKY-PAW YOU, you can count on that.  And it's gonna hurt, too.  Believe me, I know."

"But I thought you said you hadn't smacky-pawed Mason in years.  How can you remember how it felt when she smacky-pawed you back?"

"Mason has smacky-pawed me for OTHER reasons, unfortunately," and I let out a loud sigh.  "Most recently, she smacked me for uh...  Hmmm...  HMMM...  You know somehin', Andy?  I think the last time she smacky-pawed me, it might have been just for fun.  MOUSES!"

"She can do that?" Andy asked.

"Oh sure.  Mason can do just about anythin' she likes.  And don't bother tellin' on her, either.  Even if you get the peeps to question her, she'll just give 'em that look of innocence of hers, denying doin' anythin' wrong, and the next thing you know, YOU're bein' told not to bother your sister.  Believe me, I know.  MOUSES!"

By this time, Anderson was lookin' super scared.  More scared than I had ever seen him look before.

"Trick is," I explained, "when you think Mason is in a smacky-paw mood - AND YOU KNOW SHE IS NOW -  now that you've gone and smacked her and everythin'.  When you see her comin', don't try to run away.  She's quick for a.,.  Uh...  Um...  For a CURVY gal, you know?"

"Come to think of it, I think callin' her a curvy gal might be why she last gave me a smacky-paw.  MOUSES!"

"Anyway," I continued, "like I was sayin', don't try to outrun her.  Best way to avoid Mason's paw is to outrun whoever else is in the room.  Either outrun 'em, or stand right behind 'em, givin' her someone else to smack."

Andy nodded with understanding.

I looked 'round the corner of the kitchen and into the family room.  There was Mason, sittin' on the chesterfield and holdin' up one of her front paws.  One by one, she extended a claw, breathed on it first, then polished it on her chest furs.  Once done, she hopped down from the couch and with determination, headed toward the kitchen.

"Andy, lesson one," I said, before makin' my way behind my brother, so as to place Andy between Mason and myself, when she entered the room.

Moments later, Mason turned the corner and spotted Andy.  Glaring at him, she crouched.  The next thing I knew, my sister was flyin' through the air with Anderson in her sights.  Andy stood there, his paws frozen to the ground.

SMACK!

"OUCH!"

SMACK!  SMACK!!  SMACK!!!

"OUCH!  OUCH!!  OUCH!!!"

When the dust settled, Mason was back on the chesterfield, and Andy was lickin' his wounds, smoothin' out his long fur where Mason had made it look all dishevelled and stuff.

"You hurt there, Andy?" I asked him.

"Not too bad.  She got me where my fur is extra thick."

"Yeah," I nodded.  "She's all into justice, that sister of ours, but she's not actually mean.  But best not to upset her again.  MOUSES!"

tummycentric

Anderson narrowed his eyes and scowled.

"What's up?" I asked.  "How come you're scowlin' there, Andy?  I have to ask, you see, on account of it usually bein' me who does the scowlin' in this here house.  MOUSES!"

"What's up with you?" my brother replied.

"With me?" I said, innocently.  "Nothin' is up with me except, OF COURSE, for my wonderin' how come you're scowlin'.  And not only are you scowlin', but you're scowlin' at ME.  MOUSES!."

"I'm scowling because you're staring, Seville.  You're staring right at me.  You've been staring at me for the last half hour."

"I HAVE NOT," I stated with indignation.  "Okay, so maybe I have," I reconsidered.  "But it's not without reason.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked confused.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

"Um..." Andy paused.  "UM..." he repeated.  "What reason is that?" he wondered aloud.  Then he started countin' on his paws, all the possible reasons.  MOUSES!

"I've been watching you, Brother Dear, and I've been noticin' just how tummycentric you are," I told him.

"Tummycentric?  That's not even a word," Andy said, stompin' a paw.

"Is too.  At least it is now.  MOUSES!"

"You can't make up words on a whim," Andy muttered.

"Can too.  MOUSES!"

"So uh...  What does it mean?" my brother asked.

"What does WHAT mean?  Tummycentric?  What does tummycentric mean, you ask?"

Andy nodded.

"Are you SURE?   'Cause seriously, Andy, a moment ago, you were sayin' the word tummycentric didn't even exist."

Andy thought 'bout that for a minute.  He did.  HONESTLY.  I saw the smoke comin' out of his ears and everythin'.  MOUSES!

"Fine, I'll tell you," I said.  "It means that you're always thinkin' about that tummy of yours.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked down at his stomach.

"See?  There you go again.  Tummy this, and tummy that, and tummy..."

"But I have a nice tummy," Andy explained.  "It's the nicest tummy I have."

I furrowed my brow.  "That doesn't even make sense, Andy.  That tummy is the ONLY tummy you have."

"Maybe...  But it's still the nicest."

I shook my head in dismay.  Only my brother, Anderson, could make sense of somethin' utterly and completely senseless.  MOUSES!

"And I don't think about it ALL the time," Andy continued.

"Oh yes you do," I said.  "Okay, so maybe not in the middle of the night when you're sound asleep, but...  Hmmm..."  I gnawed on a claw.  "On the other paw, I don't know what you dream about while sleepin', Andy.  Maybe you spend all night DREAMIN' about your tummy, too."

Andy looked dumbfounded.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

"So anyway..." I began.  "The thing is, you're extremely tummycentric, Andy.  If you're not askin' the peeps to rub that tummy of yours, you're askin' them to give you somethin' to put inside it.  MOUSES!"

Andy thought about that for a moment.

Then for a moment longer.

Twenty. Minutes. Later...

Twenty minutes later, he was still thinkin'.  FINALLY, Anderson spoke.  "But I like it when Peep #1 rubs my tummy.  I like it a lot."

"I know."

"You do?  How do you know that I like having my tummy rubbed?" my brother asked.

"Because you've asked the peep to rub it like ten times already this mornin'.  You've been lyin' there on the chesterfield, exposin' your tummy to the world, practically BEGGIN' the peep to rub it.  She touches that tummy of yours, and the next thing you do is spread your legs out in four opposite directions, so that she can rub its ENTIRE EXPANSE.  MOUSES!"

"But..."

"I haven't finished there yet, Bro.  I'm still explainin'."

"But I have a very big tummy!" Andy cut in.  "And big tummies need lots and LOTS of rubbing."

"OF COURSE IT'S A BIG TUMMY!" I cried.  "THAT'S 'CAUSE YOU KEEP PUTTIN' THINGS IN IT!  When that tummy of yours is not bein' rubbed, it's bein' fed, for sure.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked perplexed.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

Gettin' to his feet, Andy looked squarely at me.  "Well my tummy is telling me it needs feeding.  Now.  Right now, my tummy says.  And I believe in always listening to my tummy, so that's me off in search of snacks.  Coming?"

"Snacks, huh?" I murmured.  "Hmmm...  Actually, Anderson, maybe bein' tummycentric isn't such a bag thing after all."

And together, we both marched into the kitchen in search of some snacks.

MOUSES!

a bull in a china shop

"You know what your problem is, Andy?" I asked my brother.  "Don't bother answerin'.  I know you don't."

Andy, bein' Andy, furrowed his brow.  "Wha?"

"Luckily for you Anderson, I, Seville the Cat, know exactly what your problem is."

"WHA?"

"No need to ask.  No need to thank me, either.  I'm more than willin' to tell you what your problem is."

"WHA???"

"You havin' a seizure or somethin' there, Andy?  You keep repeatin' the same word which, by the way, isn't actually a word at all."

Andy looked dumbfounded.  As usual.  Then he said, "But Seville, I've heard you say wha before."

"It's different for me.  I make up words all the time.  It's part of my charm, you see.  But IT'S NOT PART OF YOURS.  MOUSES!"

"Why?"

"Because there's only one wordsmith in this here family, and that would be me," I explained.  "Now let's get back to that problem of yours.  MOUSES!"

Andy sighed a loud sigh before acquiescing.   "Whatever you say."

"So the thing is, Andy, you're like a bull in a china shop, you see."

"This ain't no china shop," Andy replied.

"Andy, Andy, Andy...  First of all, there ain't no such word as ain't.  MOUSES!  And secondly, I see you're not denying you're like a bull.  Again I must say, MOUSES!"

"But you just used it yourself.  The word ain't, I mean."

"Yeah, yeah..." and I waved off Andy's complaint.  "I used ain't for effect, you see.  That's different.  It's TOTALLY different, for sure.  But let's get back to your problem.  You know, your problem of your bein' like a bull in a china shop.  MOUSES!"

"Actually Seville, the peeps say I'm more like a..."

"A lumbering ox?" I interjected.

Andy growled.  "No, the peeps say I'm like a lion.  Peep #1 says I walk exactly how a lion walks."  He scowled.  "And lions don't lumber."

"Are you SURE?" I asked.

"Yes I'm sure.  I've never ever EVER seen a lion working as a lumberjack.  Not once!"

"A what?  A lumberjack?  What?  Oh," and I shook my head and sighed, "I see."

"I've never seen a lion working in a sawmill, either."

I sighed again, this time, stampin' a paw.  "STOP TALKIN' ABOUT LUMBER, ANDY.  MOUSES!"

"You're the one who brought it up," Andy said, lookin' down at his paws.

"Hmmm...  I guess I kinda did," I agreed.

Although truth be told, I was ONLY agreein' so that my brother would stop talkin' about wood.

"Anyway...  Thing is, Andy, like I said before, you're like a bull in a china shop."  I held up a paw.  "I shall explain."

"This ought to be good," Andy said, sittin' back on his haunches.  "How exactly is our house like a china shop?"

"Oh for the love of mouses," I said.  "I'm not talkin' about our house.  I'm talking 'bout you, and how you're..  You're...  You're...  How you're..."

"How I'm what?" asked Andy.

"How you're...  Oh!  It's so frustratin' tryin' to explain stuff to you, Andy.  Now how should I do this?  Hmmm...  Okay, you know how you're clumsy, right?"

"I am not!" my brother said indignantly.  "You take that back."

"If the peep could take back all the stuff you've broken..."

Andy's mouth gaped wide.  "You take THAT back, too!  I am not clumsy, and I don't go around breaking things..."  He paused.  "I mean, I don't break things all of the time."

I raised a brow.

"I just..  Sometimes...  I..."  It was clear that Andy was gettin' flustered.

"Andy, you leap before you look, and quite frankly, with paws the size of yours, when you're goin' around leapin' haphazardly all over the place without lookin', you land on stuff..."

Andy looked at his paws.

"AND STUFF GETS BROKEN," I finished.

"I'm just strong, Sivvers," Andy pouted.  "I'm stronger than I realise at times.  Peep #1 says I don't know my own strength."

I narrowed my eyes and rubbed my jaw with a paw.  "You sure 'bout that, Andy?  'Cause all I've ever heard her say is that you have really big paws."

"Well I do have big paws," Andy nodded.  "I'm a pretty big cat, Seville."

"Andy, my man," and I rested a paw upon my brother's shoulder.  "You're huge."

"It's 'cause I'm part Coon, they say," he explained.  "Maine Coons are supposed to be big."

"Whatever.  Thing is, Andy, when a cat weighs like twenty pounds, a cat can uh..."

"Yes?"

"Well..."  I wavered.  "Andy, you remember when Peep #1 was making pretty little meringues that day, and you came up to her and started rubbin' up against the backs of her legs?"

Andy thought for a minute before shaking his head.

"Okay, you remember when Peep #1 was TRYING to make pretty little meringues that day, and you came up to her and started rubbin' up against the backs of her legs?"

"Oh yes, I remember that," Andy nodded.  "The peep was making meringues, but they were anythin' but pretty."

"And do you know WHY the meringues weren't pretty?" I asked.

"Because the peep is a lousy baker," Andy replied.

"Well yeah, that kinda goes without sayin'.  I mean, does she ever make nip cookies or nip cake or nip strudel?  OF COURSE NOT.  The peep NEVER makes good stuff like that.  But the day I'm talkin' about was more your fault than hers, except, of course, for her forgettin' to add nip to the meringues in the first place, but..."

"Seville, how is it my fault the peep forgot to add.."

"THAT ISN'T MY POINT!  My point," I began again," is that when she was tryin' to make the nipless meringues she was makin', you came up to her and started throwin' yourself onto the backs of her legs, and you practically knocked her right over!  That, brother dear," and I again stamped a paw for emphasis," is why you're like a bull in a china shop.  See?"


"What does my saying hello to the peep have to do with the price of tea in China?" Andy asked.

"Because...  WAIT A MINUTE.  I never said anythin' about tea bein' sold in China.  China shop.  Bulls.  THAT'S what I'm talkin' about.  NOW do you see?"

"Not really," Andy confessed.  "Perhaps you should start over again from the beginning."

"I would if I could, Andy, but seriously, I think goin' over this once more might very well drive me crazy.  MOUSES!"

atten... SHUN!

"Mason?"

"Here."

"Rushton?"

"Here."

"Andy?"

"ANDY?"

"ANDY?"

"Sorry," he yawned.  "Yeah, I'm here."

I gave Andy the ol' stink eye on account of his takin' so long to answer me, then went back to the business at paw.

"Okay, so now that I have everyone's attention - FINALLY - I'm lookin' for a volunteer."

*silence*

"Anyone?"

"ANYONE?"

"ANYONE?"

*silence, once more*

"Oh for mousin' out loud, will NO ONE volunteer?"

"Uh..."  Andy drew a circle in the dirt with his paw.  "A volunteer for what, Seville?  Treats?  Are you wanting a volunteer treat taste tester or something similar?  Because if you do, I'll definitely volunteer for that," and my long-haired freak of a brother smiled from ear to ear.

"For the love of mouses.  No, Andy, I'm not lookin' for volunteer treat taste testers.  Unless...  Hmmm...  Unless you want to taste...."

"I'LL VOLUNTEER FOR THAT!" and my other long-haired freaky brother, Rushton, raised a paw.

"It's not a treat taste-testin' mission, I informed the freaks.  It's a mission requiring speed and stealth and..."

"OUT WITH IT!" Mason cried.  "Seville, I haven't got all day here, you know.  The Crow Show is starting in less than an hour.

"FINE."  I crossed my front paws and scowled at my fur-sibs.  "Okay, I need a volunteer to go into the garage and catch the enemy within."

My fur-sibs just stared at me, clearly not comprehendin' the task at paw.

"THERE'S A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!" I yelled.  "I mean, there's a mouse in the garage.  Peep #1 spotted it this morning."

Mason pulled a pen and notebook out from underneath her...  butt.  "Describe this mouse, please.  Any identifying markings or characteristics?"

I stared at my sister, tryin' to figure out just where she had been hidin' that notebook and pen.  "It's a mouse, Sis.  A mouse.  Looks like a mouse, squeaks like a mouse, drops you-know-whats like a mouse.  It's a mouse."

"A mouse," my sister wrote down in her notebook.  "A run of the mill, ordinary mouse, with no identifying markings or characteristics."

"Like I said," I scowled.  "IT'S A MOUSE."

"And it's in the garage?" Mason asked.

I narrowed my eyes.  "LIKE I SAID BEFORE, yes, it's in the garage.  Spotted there 'bout eight o'clock this mornin', I believe."

Mason looked up from the notebook in which she was writing.  "Spotted by the peep?" she asked.

"YES.  YES!  Spotted in the garage by Peep #1.  JUST LIKE I SAID.  MOUSES!"

My sister wrote, "One witness: Peep #1," in her notebook, before slowly returnin' it, and her pencil, back under her...  butt.

"So...  Anyone wantin' to volunteer?"

"To do what?" asked Andy.  "To taste-test the mouse?"

I buried my head in my paws and took a moment to pull myself together before answerin'.  "NO TASTE-TESTIN' IS REQUIRED!" I hollered.  Calming down, I continued.  "I need a volunteer to go into the garage and catch that ol' mouse."

"So the mouse is old," Mason said, pullin' out her notebook and pencil once more.  "Exactly how old is the mouse?"

I bit my lower lip and growled, "I have no idea how old the mouse is.  The peep did not ask him."

"It's a male mouse, then," and Mason added that to her notes.

"OR HER.  The peep didn't specify," I told my sister.

"And how, exactly, are we to find this mouse, when given such a poor description?" Mason asked.

"BECAUSE IT'S THE ONLY MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!" I yelled.  "I mean, garage.  IT'S THE ONLY MOUSE IN THE GARAGE.  Male, female.  Big, little.  Old, young.  I DON'T CARE!  There's only one mouse hidin' in there, and that mouse is the one I need someone to find.  And catch!  And take out of the garage."

Rushy raised a paw.  "Yes, Rushton?  You have a question?" I asked.

"How did the mouse get inside the garage?"

"That I can answer," I replied.  "The peep, bein' a peep, went and left the garage door open all day yesterday."

"Ahhh..." my three fur-sibs said in unison, noddin' their heads, knowingly.

"Why?" asked Andy.

"Why what?" I asked him.

"Why did she do that?" he answered.

"Because she's a peep," I replied.

"AHHH..." and my three fur-sibs nodded their heads knowingly, once more.

"So..." I began.  "So which one of you is gonna volunteer?"

Everyone looked at each other.

No one volunteered.

"SO WHICH ONE OF YOU IS GONNA VOLUNTEER?" I asked once more.

*silence*

Finally, Mason spoke up.  "Might I make a suggestion?" she mewed.  "I suggest that Peep #1 should go into the garage and catch that mouse, herself.  After all, she IS the one who left the door open in the first place.  She, and only she, is responsible for that mouse."

My long-haired freaky brothers both nodded in agreement.

I thought about what my sister was suggestin'.  I thought about it long and hard.  For at least a full forty-two seconds.  "WORKS WELL FOR ME!" I cried aloud, smackin' my front paws together.  "Peep #1 shall be responsible for catchin' the perpetratin' mouse and puttin' him - or her - back outside."

My fur-sibs smiled with satisfaction.

"You think the peep is a good mouser?" Anderson asked.

"Probably not," I sighed.  "After all, she is MERELY a peep.  MOUSES!"

the ear

Who did it?

Who?

WHO?

All I can say is, it sure wasn't me.

MOUSES!

I bet you're all wonderin' who did whatever they did.  Oh yeah, I bet you're all wonderin' that, for sure.

Perhaps I should start at the beginnin'.

So Thursday mornin', Peep #1 was servin' everybody breakkies, when...

Scratch that.  Thursday mornin', Peep #1 was ATTEMPTIN" to serve everyone breakkies, but Andy didn't come when he was called.

Now Andy not comin' for breakkies when called is highly unusual, as Andy doesn't normally need to be called when there's any kinda food involved.  No sirree.  You open a packet of...  Of ANYTHIN'!  And Andy's right there, front and centre.  Even if what you're openin' isn't actually food.  All it has to do is sound like food to get Andy's attention.

Seriously, Andy will come runnin' when Peep #1 opens a bag of frozen broccoli.

What?  What's that?  What's that you're sayin' now?

FROZEN BROCCOLI IS MOST CERTAINLY NOT FOOD.  Have you ever eaten that stuff?  It's totally inedible, for sure.

Broccoli bein' food...

Bwahahahahahahaha....

MOUSES!

So anyway, like I was sayin', Peep #1 was servin' breakkies, and there was no Anderson anywhere to be found.

So as you might imagine, the peep went lookin' for Andy.  'Bout five minutes later, Peep #1 found him in the front hall closet.  He wasn't sleepin' in there or anythin'.  He was just lyin' about.

MOUSES!

Well the peep brought Andy out of the closet, and what did she find?

She found that one of Andy's ears was all swollen.  It was like TWICE its normal size!

Actually, from what I've heard, it was kinda disgustin'.

Less than an hour later, Peep #1 and Andy were off to see the Wizard...

I mean, DOCTOR.  Yeah, they were off to see the doctor at our local hospital.

Turned out, Andy's ear was all infected, and filled with uh...

Like I said, it was kinda disgustin'.

MOUSES!

So while the doctor was examinin' Andy's ear, Andy reached up with a paw, and...

Now I bet you're thinkin' he clawed the doctor, aren't ya?  Yup, I bet you're thinkin' that, for sure.  And it would be a safe bet to make with any other cat. but you see, we're talking 'bout Andy here.

So while the doctor was examinin' Andy's ear, Andy reached up with a paw and managed to lance his own abscess.

LIKE I SAID BEFORE, IT WAS KINDA DISGUSTIN'.

MOUSES!

Well after the peep and the doctor cleaned themselves up, the doctor went back to work on Andy's ear.

Long story short, antibiotics and pain meds were on board, and Andy and the peep were headin' back home, readying themselves for a couple of FUN-FILLED WEEKS of twice-daily warm compresses and such.

But our little story is not yet over for you see, there's still a mystery left to be solved.  There is still an unsolved mystery, for sure.

Fact is, Andy didn't bite his own ear.

No sirree.  He's a strange lad, that brother of mine, but as strange as Andy might be, his mouth cannot reach his ears.

No...  No, someone else bit Andy on the ear.

And NO ONE is takin' the blame.

The peeps are both adamantly denyin' any involvement, whatsoever.  Mason and Rushton are claimin' they didn't bite their brother, either.  And as for me?

Seriously, do you think that I, Seville the Cat, would ever do a thing like that?

No, seriously.  I mean...  SERIOUSLY.  Goodness knows where Andy's ear has been.  I'm not puttin' that ear in my mouth and that, my friends, is for sure.

MOUSES!

So the mystery, it appears, remains unsolved.

Hmmm....

MOUSES!

the enforcer

He thinks he's the enforcer.

He thinks HE'S the enforcer.

HA!

Everyone who knows ANYTHIN', knows I'M the enforcer 'round here.

MOUSES!

I'm tellin' ya, that long-haired marmie freak of a brother of mine, Andy, had best be rethinkin' what he has been thinkin', and he had best start rethinkin' his thinkin', RIGHT NOW.

MOUSES!

So this mornin', Peep #1 put her stupid little lettuce plants and stuff outside, to get some sun.

And DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED 'bout the fact she's growin' stupid lettuce plants in the first place, and not nip.  Of course, she CAN'T grow the nip.  This, my friends, is a known fact, so I guess she has to settle for stupid plants like lettuce and stuff.  Well it's HER loss, not mine, as I'm currently growin' MY VERY OWN NIP PLANTS all by MY VERY OWN SELF, but further details 'bout that endeavour will have to wait to be reported in another blog post, another day.  MOUSES!

Anyway, before I digress even further, bottom line is, the peep put her plants outside.

You know, the stupid ones.

To get some sun.

MOUSES!

Well the next thing she knew, Andy was out there, sniffin' around those plants.

Now had Andy been out there sniffin' around MY NIP PLANTS, it would have been cause for concern, but Andy, bein' Andy, was sniffin' around the lettuces.

Like a cat wants anythin' to do with lettuce.

MOUSES!

Well the peep was out there in a shot, tellin' Andy off for sniffing 'round her plants.  Why she was so concerned, I have no idea.  Like I said before, it's not like he was sniffing 'round plants of importance.  Important plants like my nip.  Now THAT would have been a travesty, for sure.

Andy, BEIN' ANDY, just looked up at her and said, "Wha?"

MOUSES!

Now before anyone twists their knickers into knots, lettuce is perfectly harmless to cats.

But back to my story.

I mean, REPORTIN'.

MOUSES!

So Andy grumbled, and he mumbled, then headed back into the house.

So anyway...

So anyway, a little while later, Peep #1 spotted Rushy outside, nosin' around those stupid ol' lettuce plants.  Up like a flash she was, headin' out to save her precious little stupidy dupidy plants.

Again, I have no idea why she was even botherin'.  I mean, IT'S NOT LIKE they were important.  It's not like they were nip, or somethin' wonderful like that.

What am I sayin'?  NOTHIN' is wonderful like nip.

MOUSES!

But before the peep could even get to Rushy, Andy was right there.  Like he had lurkin' about in hiding, somewhere.

Yeah, that's right.  Andy.  Andy, the very same cat who half an hour earlier, had been nosin' around those very same plants.

MOUSES!

"Take that!" Andy cried.  "TAKE THAT!"  And he swung at Rushy with his right, then his left - missin' the target, BOTH times - but nevertheless...

Then Rushy was down on his side, gettin' ready to bunnykick his long-haired freak of a brother.

Which, of course, made Andy think he had won.

But just at that moment, the peep arrived on the scene.  She scooped Rushy up into her arms and scolded Andy for bein' so mean.

"But I was...  But...  BUT..."

"He said BUTT!" I laughed from inside.  "THE LONG-HAIRED MARMIE BUTT-HEAD SAID BUTT!  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

"ENOUGH!" the peep cried.  "Andy, don't be so mean to your brother.  Rushy, you come inside.  AND SEVILLE...."

"What?  What did I do?" I asked, truly perplexed.

The peep scowled.

"WHAT?"

And the peep scowled even more.

"You keep scowlin' like that, Peepers, and that face is gonna stick," I warned.  "And if you don't believe me, have you SEEN the guy at the end of the street?  Yeah, I know.  Not a pretty sight.  Not pretty at all.  That thing on his face?  That's a Permascowl.  It's just like permafreeze.  Or frost.  You know...  Whatever.  Anyway, thing is, he scowled one time too many, and it stuck.  MOUSES!"

Then the peep's scowl turned into a questioning look as she asked, "What are you talking about, Seville?"

"Stuff."

"But lookie here," I continued, "that brother of mine - ANDY - is thinkin' he's the enforcer, in this here house.  He's thinkin' that HE'S the one layin' down the law.  That HE'S the one who should be punishin' Rushy for doin' the same thing you had scolded him for doin', just moments before.  And that, dear peep, must come to a stop.  MOUSES!"

The peep's face went blank.

"Yeah, that blank stare is a good one for you.  You won't get wrinkles like that, UNLIKE when you scowl.  But anyway, the thing is, I need you to explain to Andy how I'M the enforcer in this here house."

No response from the peep.

"Did you hear what I said, Peepers?  DID YOU HEAR WHAT I SAID?"

Again, no response.

And just at that moment - that VERY moment, my friends - my sister, Mason, arrived on the scene.  "Someone call for The Enforcer?" she asked.  "I.  AM.  HERE."

MOUSES!

exposin' himself

Oh my mouses, Andy.  You can't go 'round exposin' yourself like that.  It isn't proper.  It isn't decent.  It isn't natural, for sure.

MOUSES!

Okay, point taken.  You actually can go 'round exposin' yourself like that.  I mean, you do have the ability to do so.  But bein' able to do somethin', doesn't mean that you should.

MOUSES!

Why?

WHY?

'Cause like I told you, Andy, it isn't decent, among other things.  Other things like the fact that you're likely to get Peep #1 into trouble, and we wouldn't want that.  I mean, she gets into enough trouble all on her own.  She doesn't need you helpin' her to get into even more.

MOUSES!

What?

Uh...  No.  No, she wouldn't be gettin' into trouble with the police.

I don't think
.
Actually, I was thinkin' your exposin' yourself like that might get her into trouble with Mason.

MOUSES!

Because...

Okay, let me put it this way:  There you are Andy, lyin' on the chesterfield next to the peep.  You roll over and expose your tummy, for all the world to see, just like you've been doin'.  Next thing you know, Peep #1 is reachin' over and givin' you tummy rubs.

Well of course I KNOW that's the whole point of your exposin' your tummy in the first place.  Let me finish, would you?

Okay, so all appears to be fine, as the peep gives your tummy a rub for a few minutes.  Everythin' seems hunky-dory, for sure.  But then...

But then, you decide you've had enough of the ol' tummy rubs, and jump down onto the floor.

Well the peep, bein' a peep, doesn't notice you've jumped down from the chesterfield, and that that ol' sister of ours, Mason, has jumped up onto the chesterfield, and taken your place.  Then Mason lies down on her side, and the peep, I REPEAT, BEIN' A PEEP, reaches over to rub what she thinks is your tummy, but is now, in fact, the tummy of Mason, and...

And BUNNY-KICKIN' MANIA ENSUES.

MOUSES!

Now are you gettin' the picture, mon frere?

Yeah, I  knew you would.

And do you know how we can prevent this perfectly predictable chaos and bloodshed?

That's right.  That's right Andy, my man.  Now you're thinkin'!  That's the answer, for sure.

We can prevent the bunny-kickin' mania of our sister, Mason, by your not lyin' there on the chesterfield, EXPOSIN' YOURSELF, FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE.

Got it?

Good.

MOUSES!

So Andy, this is what I think you should do.  I think you should jump down from that ol' chesterfield, right about now.  Yup, you wanna jump down from there, real quick.  Before anythin' untoward happens to our dear ol' peep.

That's the ticket, brother dear.  Good stuff!

What?  What's that?  What's that you're goin' on about now?

Oh.

Well...

Well the thing is, I wanted a turn at the tummy rubs, too.  I'd been sittin' there long enough, waitin' for my turn to appear.  Had to think of somethin' to get you off the chesterfield, so that I could get my fair share, too.

Now if you'll excuse me, Andy, I need to roll over and expose MY tummy, for all the world to see, and get the peep to rub the tummy BELONGIN' TO ME.

MOUSES!

right in the keister

So there I was sittin' in the kitchen, waitin' for some treats, when...

When I happened to see my brother, Rushton, walkin' past my other brother, Andy.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', what's the big deal about that?

Well...

Well for starters, when Rushton walked past Andy, Andy gave him a smacky paw, right in the keister.

MOUSES!

Now seriously folks, I wouldn't be puttin' my paws anywhere near that long-haired marmie freak of a brother of mine's keister, for one never really knows where his keister may have recently been.

MOUSES!

But Andy, bein' Andy, can't resist smacky-pawin' anyone as they walk past.  Sometimes he gets you in the leg.  Sometimes the side.  And SOMETIMES, the keister.

MOUSES!

Well the next thing was, Rushy was rushin' over to me, complainin' about Andy.  "Did you see that?  Did you see what he did?  Did you see..."

I held up a paw in protest.  In protest of my havin' to listen to his complaints, that is.  "I, Seville the Cat, saw exactly what Anderson did," I told him.  "But to tell you the truth, Rushy, what one long-haired marmie freak of a brother does to another long-haired marmie freak of a brother, is of no interest to me.  MOUSES!"

"But, but, but..." Rushy began.

"But he got you in the BUTT, for sure," and I rolled on the floor, laughin'.

Seein' a pout beginnin' to form on my brother Rushton's face, I added, "But seriously, Rushy, it's not like you don't have protective paddin'.  Andy couldn't have hurt you.  I'm surprised you felt it at all.  MOUSES!"

'Is that some kind of fat joke?" Rushton asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Not at all, mon frere.  I am simply statin' the truth.  You have...  Well...  Well you have ample paddin', to be sure.  MOUSES!"

"Peep #1 says I'm just big boned," said Rushy, stampin' a paw.  "Plus, I do have a whole lot of floof."

I shook my head in dismay.  "Rushy, Rushy, Rushy...  You weigh in at twenty pounds.  There's no way that can all be accounted for by floof.  MOUSES!"

Rushton sat on his butt - or should I say, keister - and gave me the look a two-year-old child gives his mother immediately prior to startin' a tantrum.  "Don't complain to me," I told my long-haired marmie freak of a brother.  "Not my fault Andy can't keep his paws to himself.  Had I walked past him, he woulda smacky-pawed me in the keister, too.  MOUSES!"





Rushton looked slightly cheered up by my little pep talk, so I continued.

"Of course, I woulda felt it more, for my keister isn't as well padded as yours.  MOUSES!"

Well that did it.  No sooner had I uttered that last statement, Rushy was up and about, threatenin' to smacky-paw ME!"

"Don't you get any ideas, you long-haired marmie freak of a brother of mine.  I'm not the one who smacked you in the butt.  You wanna get back at someone for that, you need to get back at the smacky-pawer himself, and that, mon bizarre confiture frere, would be Andy.   MOUSES!"

Rushton sat back down for a moment, and mulled over what I had said.

Twenty. Minutes. Later...

Twenty minutes later, he had figured it out.  "You're absolutely right, Seville.  If I wanna get back at Andy for smackin' me, I need to deal with Andy himself."

"You got that right."

"I most certainly do!  And do you know what I'm gonna do about it?" my brother asked.

Takin' a wild guess, I said, "Uh...  Go talk to Andy, perhaps?"

"That's an even BETTER idea than what I was thinkin'," and Rushton squealed with delight.

Goodness knows what Rushy's original idea had been.  MOUSES!

I looked at my brother, just sittin' there, not makin' a move.  "Well uh...  If you're gonna go talk to Andy, you're gonna have to get up off that butt of yours, and approach him."


"Good plan there, Sivvers," and Rushy was up and crossin' the room.

Now what happened next was not unexpected.  Certainly not surprisin', in the least.

Rushton decided it would be best for him to talk to Andy, face to face, I suppose.  And as Andy had his back to Rushy, Rushy walked past him, plannin' to spin 'round in order to talk, but...

But just as Rushy walked past...

Andy smacky-pawed him right in the keister.

MOUSES!

don't touch that

No, Peepers.  NO!  DON'T TOUCH THAT.  Don't throw that out.  I'm savin' it for later.

What?

Oh.

Well actually...

Actually, I don't really know.

Hmmm...  Now that I think about it, I have absolutely no idea.  I have no idea what it is, at all.

But I'm STILL savin' it for later.  MOUSES!

'Cause.

'CAUSE.

'Cause uh...

Well...

Well I don't know.  Don't ask such silly questions, Peepers, 'cause I'm tellin' you right here, right now:  You keep askin' silly questions, and you're gonna get silly answers, for sure.  MOUSES!

Because.

Because.

BECAUSE SILLY QUESTIONS BEGET SILLY ANSWERS.  Always have, always will.  That's the way of the world, my peep.  That's the way of the world, and..

Oh.  So you weren't askin' me why you shouldn't ask silly questions, you say.  You were askin' me why I was savin' my uh...  My uh thing I was savin', for later.

Well like I already told you, I'm savin' it for later.

Yes Peepers, that is a proper answer.  I'm savin' it for later, 'cause I wanna save it.  For later.  It makes perfect sense to me.  Not my fault you can't understand how an intricate and highly intelligent mind like mine works.  MOUSES!

No, Peepers.  Like I said before, I don't know what it is.

Well do YOU know what it is?

Then why, pray tell, would you expect ME to know?  Huh?  HUH?  Answer me that, why don't ya.

'Cause I'm the one savin' it, I should be the one who knows what it is, you say?

NAH...  That's nothin' but fiddle-faddle, goobily-goop-da-nincompoop.  I've never heard such stupid ol' moused-up nonsense in my life.  Not even from you.  You make that up all on your own, Peepers?

Never mind answerin' that.  It was what one calls a rhetorical question.

Rhetorical?  Why, it means...

Awww...  Mouses!  Why don't you splurge and treat yourself to a dictionary, Peepers, and stop askin' me stupid questions.  Stop askin' me to define words you don't understand.

So you do understand what rhetorical means.  Then why the mouses were you askin' ME?

That makes no sense, whatsoever, Peepers.  I'm tellin' ya, you're gettin' weirder and weirder by the minute.  You are so not ageing well.

But JUST SO YOU KNOW - 'cause we appear to be gettin' off track, here - you're STILL not to touch that.  Okay?  'Cause I'm still plannin' on savin' it for later, and...

Wait a minute.

Wait a mousie mousin' mouses minute.

IT'S GONE.

MOUSES!

Peepers, did you...

No, you couldn't have.  You were right here, talkin' to me, and...

And...

And...

AND...

And while we were talkin', Andy walked past.

And...

And he walked suspiciously close to my uh...  You know.  That thing I was savin', and...

ANDY!  Give that back right now.

'CAUSE I'M SAVIN' IT FOR LATER.

MOUSES!