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!

finding the right fit

Oomph!  Ummph!  Grrrrr! MOUSES!

Oh hello there.  Sorry about that.  You caught me trying to fit this squarish-shaped plastic thing-a-ma-gig into this triangular hole.  Long story short, it doesn't fit. MOUSES!

Remember those toys? Remember them from way back when?  The big plastic balls covered in holes of various shapes and sizes?  You were supposed to fit the plastic pieces into their correspondingly shaped holes.  Like um...  Well...  Well like you'd put the plastic triangle into the triangular hole and the plastic circle into the circular hole and so forth.  Remember those?

To be honest, I never played with those toys when I was young, being a cat and all.  I was more of a nip mouse kind of kitten, myself.  Still am.

I'm pretty sure Peep #1 had one of those shape toys, though, when she was little but do you know who clearly didn't?  The lady who was helping Peep #1 get the bags of potting soil into the car yesterday, at the store.  Or maybe she did have one of those toys but never got the knack of it. Never figured out the issues with the different shapes and sizes.  How to get them to fit and stuff. That kind of thing.  MOUSES!

Now I'm not going to bore you with the events leading up to the getting of the potting soil into the car trunk even though it did involve the peep waiting outside in the hot sun for fifteen or twenty minutes. I'll just get right to the part about stuff not fitting.

You should have seen her.  The lady from the store, I mean.  When she couldn't push the fifth bag of potting soil to the back of the car trunk, she gave it a boot.  Just kidding.  She gave it a thump. And when it still wouldn't fit, she thumped it again.  And then again.  On the fourth thump, the bag burst and with each subsequent thump of her fists, bits of potting soil spewed out into the air and all over the place.  Did that stop her?  NO.  She just kept thumping on that poor old bag of potting soil.

Finally the peep stopped her.  The peep stopped her by yelling, "Enough already!"

Clearly, this is what happens when one does not pass Toddler Identification of Shapes and Sizes 101.  MOUSES!

Peep #1 was livid.  She got that bag of potting soil to fit all by herself and then she put the sixth bag in the back seat of the car, not wanting the lady from the store to get anywhere near it.  One burst bag was one too many and she didn't need any more.  Didn't need any more burst bags, for sure.

And by the way, the peep now has a burst bag of potting soil in the garage and I have a rather grumpy peep on my paws.  MOUSES!

But enough of that.  You hear about the good news?

Remember my blog post, "they want do WHAT?" My blog post about the Psychoactive Substances Bill in the UK?  Remember how nip was inadvertently going to be made illegal? Remember that?

Well there's good news on the UK nip front.  I checked and changes have been made to the bill.  The bill now clearly states they're talking about substances made for "human consumption" so the country's nip mouse supply should be safe and sound.  Pet stores across the land will be able to stock nip mice and biff bags on their shelves and peeps will be able to sell them at church bazaars and car boot sales.

Whether or not they'll fit in those car boots without a thumping is another matter although truth be told, I think they will.  Nip mice are almost always smaller than bags of potting soil.

Oohhh...  But wouldn't it be wonderful to find a nip mouse the size of a big old bag of potting soil? MOUSES!

And for those kitties who rely upon their local health food store's array of herbal teas for their nip, their supply should be legal as well.  Although nip has not been specifically listed as an exempted substance, I'm most certain it will be exempted along with other foods, which now include, drink.

So don't worry, my feline friends.  The House of Lords has decreed that you'll be able to enjoy your nip in the comfort of your own home and not have to imbibe at the local cat house, using up all your lunch money.  Best to save your lunch money for more important things like, you know, lunch.  And maybe a few treats.  MOUSES!

Oh, did you hear?  We have an election coming up in Canada.  Yup, it was announced today. Going to be a long, hot summer if you ask me.  Longest campaign period since...  Since...  Since practically forever.  Third longest since Confederation.  Seventy-eight days.  Hasn't been a longer one since 1872 and if I'm not mistaken, that one took so long because it involved horses and buggies and staggered voting across the country and stuff.

You know, because the Canadian economy is doing so very wonderfully well, it makes sense that we'd want to have a super-duper long campaign period just to make sure that the election will rack up a monstrously huge bill.  Due to the length of this upcoming campaign, it might very well become the biggest election bill ever.  MOUSES!

I know what you're thinking.  You're wanting to ask me if I'm running in the upcoming election. Sadly, no.  In fact, I don't think there are any cats running in the next election.  Truth be told, I'm not sure cats are even allowed to run federal elections.  Specism.  MOUSES!

Actually, I'm batting about the idea of doing something a little more local.  Word on the street is that our municipal county council could do with a little poke in its side and I do believe there will be a municipal election next year.  What do you think?  Councillor Seville?  Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

Of course, there's always that Senate appointment Nissy was after...

But for the Senate, you have to live in Ottawa for part of the year and I'm not sure if I like the sound of that.  Not sure what the nip growing conditions are in Ottawa and the peep is finally learning how to grow the stuff here.

I think what it all comes down to is finding the right fit.  Some things just fit together naturally and other things, don't.  Luckily for me, I have some time to decide.  Time to ponder the situation.  Time to speculate on my own actions. That sort of thing.

Now if you'll all excuse me, I have a squarish-shaped plastic thing-a-ma-gig to fit into this triangular-shaped hole.  I'm thinking, laser saw.  I slice that square piece of plastic in two and it's gonna fit like a charm.

You see?  THIS is why cats should rule the world.  We know how to get things done.  MOUSES!

head in the sand

Feeling a little peckish, I sauntered into the kitchen only to find my sister, Mason, already snacking on a bowl of kibble. "That the best on offer today?" I asked.

"Looks like it.  Checked on the island but there was nothing save a vase of sweet peas."

"Why would you want to save a vase of sweet peas, Mason?"  I shook my head, trying to figure out what sweet peas had to do with savings accounts.  I then glanced in the direction of the refrigerator and a brilliant idea came to mind.  "Mason, help me with this door, would you?"

Mason stopped eating her kibble.  "Do you think we can get it open?  I tried earlier but with this new fridge, I can't reach the handle.  All I could open was the freezer part at the bottom and everything in there was frozen."

I braced myself on all fours.  "Hop on my back, Mason.  You should be able to open the door if I give you a boost."

Within five minutes, we had the fridge door open.  Standing on our hind legs, we stared inside.  The top shelves were out of reach but there, on the bottom shelf, was a box of Camembert.  With one swipe of a paw, I had that cheese onto the kitchen floor and out of its box.  Success.

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

Mason smacked her lips with pleasure.  "That was delicious!" she declared, "even if it was a tad on the cold side.  Ice cold Camembert isn't nearly as bad as I've heard it to be.  Pass me some of those broken crackers, would you Sivvers?"

I obliged by stomping on a few crackers and pushing the broken bits over to my sister before stating, "That was good.  I think I'll take a little nap.  Maybe I can score some tummy rubs or something from a peep," and off I went in the direction of the family room.  Minutes later, I was sound asleep.

"Psst...  PSST...  CAT!"

"Awww...  MOUSES!" I mumbled under my breath.  I let out a big yarn.  A HUGE yawn. My teeth gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the family room window.

The little grey mouse standing before me and clutching a mouse-sized clipboard, sniffed the air. "You have cheese breath," he declared.  "Camembert, to be exact.  No wonder I was sent to summon you tonight."

"Better cheese on my breath than mouse, I should think," and I slowly rose to my feet.  Getting in a good stretch, I asked, "What is it this time?  What has The Big Cheese done now?"

"He hasn't done a thing," explained the little grey mouse.  "That's the whole problem.  Please follow me as I'm on a tight schedule."

"You're always on a tight schedule," I muttered while following the little grey mouse out of the room. "Sometimes I think you just make that schedule stuff up.  Just once I'd like to actually see that schedule of yours."  We turned the corner and, as expected, the air in what should have been the kitchen turned thick and hazy.  Coloured lines swirled before my very eyes and flashes of light burst here and there.  We had arrived in the great hall of Mouseland.

I peered around but saw no sign of any mice anywhere.  As if reading my mind, the little grey mouse explained how it was summer break.  "Then why am I here?" I asked him.  "Surely I must deserve a summer break from Mouseland, too."

The mouse just stared at me as if I had said something ridiculous.  "Please..." he uttered in an exasperated tone.  "Come this way."

Obediently, I followed the mouse to the end of the hall and watched as he magically disappeared through a wall.  "MOUSES!"

"Mice." I heard emanating from beyond the wall.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Ah-hah!  The grammar mice aren't on holiday," I declared.  "Wonder if I can walk through that wall, too."  I closed my eyes and forged ahead.  "OUCH!"  I rubbed my nose where I had smacked it into the wall.  "Darn it.  Why didn't that trick work for me, too?"

I opened my eyes and the wall before me moved.  The little grey mouse stood on the other side, staring up at me.  "Mr. Cat, it's not a wall.  It's a door.  I walked though that little mouse hole at the bottom.  You, on the other paw, need to use the doorknob and open the door!"

"Oh, yeah.  Knew that," I said, still rubbing my nose and crossing my claws that it wouldn't leave a bruise.

"Hurry up, Cat.  We're running late.  I'll brief you along the way.  I need you to have a little chat with The Big Cheese."

"But I thought you said he didn't do anything."

"I did," explained the mouse, "and that's why we need you to talk to him."

Before long, I was standing in front of an office door. Not willing to fall for the same trick, twice, I reached for the doorknob and turned it.  The door opened and a blast of hot air hit me in the face.  I jumped back in shock and disbelief.

It wasn't just the temperature of the room I found to be disturbing.  It was its appearance, too.  The floor was covered in several inches of sand.  Wall-to-wall sand, everywhere.  And on those walls surrounding the sand, were pictures of ostriches.  I looked at the pictures and then at the little grey mouse. "The Big Cheese likes them," he explained, shrugging his shoulders.  "I don't know why. He just does."

The Big Cheese was in the office, too.  He was lying on his back next to a mouse-sized refrigerator that was chugging away as all get-out, trying to keep cool in the rising temperatures.  The door to the fridge was open and every now and then The Big Cheese would reach inside to extract a paw full of soft cheese.  I momentarily wondered if said cheese was Camembert which should be served at room temperature but not when the temperature in the room was this high.

I peered inside The Big Cheese's fridge and saw that it was stuffed to the brim with various types of soft cheese.  Then I looked outside the office window and saw truck after truck after truck, lined up on the street.  Each one clearly belonging to the Canadian Cheese Consortium and every one packed full of soft cheese.  Suddenly I realised exactly what was going on.

"You can't just ignore it," I said to The Big Cheese.  "Ignoring the facts won't make them go away."

The Big Cheese turned toward me and I saw gooey melted cheese dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"Just look at you, man!  I mean mouse!  I mean man!" I cried.  "LOOK AT YOU!!!  Lying here in this sweltering heat, pretending that everything is normal.  Pretending there aren't truckloads of soft cheese lining the streets due to a glut of soft cheese on the world market.  Bet that glut has lowered its price, and all.  Bet it's lowering Consortium profits, too.  Have you done anything to address this issue?"

I paused for a moment and fanned my face with a paw.  "Why it feels like it's a hundred degrees in your office, I couldn't tell you, although truth be told, as these temperatures are melting all the soft cheeses, it might be the reason no one wants to buy any of it.  You ever think about diversifying and trying to sell some different types of cheese?"

"I don't feel the heat at all," The Big Cheese sneered.  "This is normal for this time of year.  It's always warm in summer.  NOTHING to do with any kind of warming trend.  The globe is not warming at all.  In fact, I forbid you to even talk about such things!"

I rolled my eyes.  "You're in some kind of state of denial," I told him.  "If it wasn't so hot in here, you wouldn't be chilling your soft cheeses like that," and I pointed to the little refrigerator, still chugging away, trying its might to spew out cold air.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Cat," and The Big Cheese wiped a stream of melted cheese from his mouth.  "Like I said, there's nothing wrong with the temperature in this room.  Nothing wrong with Consortium profits, either.  In fact, I'm predicting we'll have a surplus of profits by year-end."

"A surplus of profits?" I questioned.  "That doesn't sound quite right, Mr. Cheese."

There was a commotion in the hall and I looked outside.  Several little mice wearing ragtag clothing wandered past, carrying slips of pink paper in their paws.

The Big Cheese motioned to the little grey mouse who had summoned me.  "Close that door," he ordered.

I glared at The Big Cheese.  "Who were those mice?" I demanded.  "Clearly, there are mice in Mouseland who can barely afford to clothe themselves.  And they looked so thin.  They work - or worked - for the Canadian Cheese Consortium but they look like they don't have even enough cheese to eat, themselves."

"Then let them eat cake.  CHEESECAKE!" The Big Cheese cried with a flourish, before stuffing another paw full of soft cheese into his mouth.

I stared at The Big Cheese in disbelief.  There was simply no way to reason with the mouse. Whether he was truly oblivious to the facts before him or simply refusing to admit things were not going as planned, he was determined to ignore the state of affairs the Canadian Cheese Consortium was in.  I turned to the little grey mouse who had summoned me.  "There's nothing I can do with him," I declared.

"But Mr. Cat, we need you to reason with him," the little mouse said in a low voice.  "Get him to address the issues at paw instead of pretending all is well in the Canadian Cheese Consortium.  The mice of Mouseland are counting on you."

"I'm sorry little guy, there's nothing I can..."

Then all of a sudden, I felt myself being lifted up.  The air around me cooled and the smell of melting cheese and mouse breath disappeared.  "I'm heading up to bed, Seville," I heard Peep #1 say. "And I'm turning off the fan down here so why don't you come upstairs, too."

I looked into the peep's eyes.  "Awww... MOUSES!" I cried.

"Were you dreaming about chasing cute little mice through fields?" the peep asked me with a smile.

"Not exactly, Peepers.  I was... Uh...  Never mind.  You probably wouldn't understand, anyway.  MOUSES!"

muzzled

"What to do, what to do..."  Lying on the floor of the sunroom, Seville busied himself by counting dust bunnies under a wicker chair. After running out of claws upon which to count them, he gazed about the room, looking for something else to occupy his time.  He watched a lone spider cross the floor in front of him and brought a heavy paw down on top of it, smiling with satisfaction.

"Oh great, Seville," commented Mason as she passed by the room.  "Now it's going to rain."

"Been raining since Sunday, Mason," Seville called after her.  "DON'T THINK KILLING ONE LITTLE SPIDER WILL MAKE A DIFFERENCE!"

Bored with dust bunny counting and spider hunting, Seville headed into the kitchen to see if there were any snacks lying about.  Finding nothing but dry kibble in the dishes, he jumped up onto the kitchen island.  "Maybe the peeps left something tasty up here," he thought aloud.

As luck would have it, Seville found a container of grated Parmesan cheese.  He flipped open the lid and knocked it on its side, causing its contents to spill out.  Licking a paw, he touched it to the cheese on the counter before drawing it up to his nose.  He breathed in heavily.  "Mmm...  reminds me a bit of Valerian Root," he whispered.

"Someone mention Valerian Root?" Mason called from the family room.

Seville ignored his sister.  Mason might have the hearing of a parabolic microphone but she also had the memory of a sieve.  She'd forget about the mention of Valerian Root soon enough.

Seville tasted the Parmesan cheese on his paw.  "Delicious," and with that, he licked up all that had spilt onto the island counter.

He then trotted into the family room and hopped up onto the kitty condo.  He would have liked to have taken a nap on the big chair but said chair was occupied by Anderson, who lay there, sound asleep and snoring like a bear.  Peep #1 was on the couch reading and the television droned on in the background.  Seville doubted he'd be able to nap with the noise of Andy's snores and the television but thought he'd give it a try, anyway.

"Er-hm."

Seville batted a paw at his ear.

"ER-HM."

He batted at his ear again and this time, opened one eye.  Before him stood a little grey mouse, clutching a clipboard to his chest.  Seville stared at the mouse.  The mouse stared back.

"Excuse me, Mr uh...  um...  Mr. Seville?  Is that your name?  You're Seville the Cat, brother of Nerissa?  Nerissa the Cat?  Is that correct?"

"I.  Don't.  Believe.  It."

The little grey mouse held out a paw.  "M1 is the name.  I'm here to brief you on the latest happenings in Mouseland.  Please follow me.  Your presence is required."

The mouse then turned on his heal, jumped down from the kitty condo and onto the arm of the big chair, walked right past Anderson who was still snoring, completely unaware of the presence of a mouse in the house, and then down to the floor, where he scampered across the room and into the kitchen.  Seville followed, obligingly.

"Whoa!" Seville cried, stopping dead in his tracks.  The air in what should have been the kitchen had turned thick with smoke and haze.  Coloured threads appeared before his eyes.  They swirled about his head, this way and that.  "Is this some sort of spacial-time distortion?  Like a wormhole?" he asked M1.

"Mouse hole, actually," answered M1.  "Please follow me.  I'm on a tight schedule."

"Mouse hole,  Makes sense," shrugged Seville.  "Then uh...  you must be from the Canadian Cheese Consortium, huh? Nissy told me all about the consortium and all the troubles you've been having with The Big Cheese and stuff." Seville paused for a moment before adding, "I never really believed in any of it before but now..."

"Oh, you can believe it, all right," said M1.  "We're here now.  Please take your muzzle and come this way."

"MUZZLE!" Seville cried with indignation.  "Muzzles are for dogs! MOUSES!"

"Mice," several mice cried, seemingly out of nowhere.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Grammar Mice.  Heard about them from Nissy, too.  MOUSES!" and he held up a paw before the Grammar Mice could reply.  "I know...  I know...  MICES!  No such word though, mice.  The word at paw is mouses.  MOUSES!"

The mice sitting in the great hall which Seville and M1 had entered looked at one another, obviously confused by the conversation.

"So what's with the muzzle?" Seville asked M1.

"The Big Cheese has informed us that all scientists, Consortium employees and um... Oh, I have the list somewhere here."  M1 glanced down at his clipboard and started flipping through papers. "All...  Well it doesn't really matter," explained M1.  "Bottom line is, you need to hold onto the muzzle."

"Scientists, huh?  Is this because of my research into Eggbeater-Whisk Time Travelling-Teleportation Physics?" Seville asked of M1.  "But Nissy worked on that, too, and Nissy never said NOTHIN' about wearing no muzzles."

Gasps could be heard from about the hall as Grammar Mice squeaked out cries of "Double negative!" and "He's using Fleaspeak!  HE'S USING FLEASPEAK!"  Seville rolled his eyes.

M1 looked sternly at Seville.  "There's no need for that kind of language here, Mr. Cat."

Seville looked down at his paws.  "FINE.  But I'm not wearing this muzzle and there's no way you can make me."

The little grey mouse nodded in agreement before adding, "The muzzle isn't required to be worn.  It's merely a symbol.  And it's not because of your teleportation physics thing.  It's because the last time Nerissa the Cat was here, he used the words..."

M1 scampered right over to Seville and climbed up on one of the big cat's paws.  Standing as high on his tippy-toes that a little mouse could stand, M1 beckoned for Seville to lower his head.

Seville eyed the mouse.  Was this some sort of trick?  Some sort of mousicidal entrapment?  An attempt to tempt him with a mousy snack?  He lowered his head while forcibly clamping his jaw firmly shut as to avoid temptation..

"Global Warming," M1 whispered under his breath.  "We are forbidden to use those words here or anywhere else within the Big Cheese's control."  M1's eyes darted back and forth, making sure no one had heard him but Seville.

Then all of a sudden, loud noises could be heard at the other end of the hall.  The Big Cheese was making an appearance.  Wearing a long golden robe, he glided down the centre of the hall, majestically.  Scurrying alongside him were two smaller mice, Masters Pomp and Circumstance, according to the name tags they wore.

Seville used his free front paw to lift M1 by the tail, up and off his other paw.  Setting him down on the floor he whispered, "What's going on?  What's with the...  the...  the whatever is going on over there?"

"Just watch and listen, Mr. Cat," said little M1.  "And remember.  Remember all that you see here today for sometime in the near future, you'll need to draw upon this information to solve the greatest unsolved mystery this land has ever known."

Seville's eyes grew wide in amazement.  "You mean, who let the dogs out?"

M1 slapped a paw to his forehead.  "Not that, cat.  I'm talking about the case your brother was working on.  The conspiracies at play in the Canadian Cheese Consortium.  Watch and listen, cat. One more piece of the puzzle lies before you."

The Big Cheese was less than a tail's length away from him now.  Seville could smell ripe cheese on his breath.  He wondered how Nissy had been able to resist the temptation to...

"THERE you are," and Peep #1 scooped Seville up and into her arms.  The kitchen lights shone brightly, causing him to squint his eyes.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this empty container of Parmesan cheese on the kitchen counter, would you?" the peep asked.

Seville blinked slowly and looked around.  The mice were all gone.  M1 and The Big Cheese were nowhere to be seen.  No sign of the Grammar Mice, either.

Pushing his head up against the peep's chin, Seville began to purr loudly.  He needed some time to think.  Think about all that he had seen in Mouseland and also to come up with an excuse for having eaten an entire container of Parmesan cheese.  An excuse or better yet, someone else to blame.  Hmmm... If he could track down just one of those mice...  Mice were known for their love of cheese.  Brilliant. "MOUSES!" he squealed with delight.

And as if coming from inside the walls of the house, Seville could hear cries of, "Mice.  The plural of mouse, is mice."

"Darned Grammar Mice," Seville muttered under his breath.  Luckily for him, the peep hadn't heard the mice over the loud noise of his purr.

the camembert affair

I was lying on the chesterfield in the family room, pondering some of life's great unanswered questions, with the television droning on in the background.

Right at the top of my questionable list was why I called the piece of furniture upon which I was lying a chesterfield and not a couch or a sofa. Who exactly was Chester and what did he grow in his fields?  If smart, he grew nip but truth be told, chesterfields aren't known for their intelligence.  I had no evidence at paw of this Chester fellow havin' grown nip in his fields, at all.  MOUSES!

Lyin' alongside me on said chesterfield was a piece of cheese.  I had spotted it earlier, while waitin' in the kitchen for Peep #1 to give me my meds, and snatched it before she knew it was missin'. Havin' hidden it safely away from any other cats, I now had my opportunity for an evenin' snack, in peace.  I gave it a sniff.  Cheddar.  Yum.  Mmm...

Down the hatch went the cheese and I curled up on the chesterfield and yawned the mightiest of yawns.  The television continued to drone on in the background.

I awoke with a start at the sound of a squeaky voice sayin', "Psst...  Cat!  Are you awake, Mr. Cat?"  Opening one eye, I spotted the intruder sitting next to me on the chesterfield.  He appeared to be the mouse I had previously met known as M1, although truth be told, the mice of Mouseland all look alike to me.

"There's more cheese in the kitchen," I said to the mouse before rolling over in an attempt to go back to sleep.

"I'm not looking for cheese, Mr. Cat.  I'm looking for you.  Your assistance is once again required."

"Awww...  MOUSES!" I cried before slowing standing up on my paws.  "If it isn't one thing, it's another..." I muttered as I followed M1 through the family room and into the kitchen that had mysteriously morphed into the Great Red Hall into which we had both travelled before.

There were rows upon rows of seats and in each seat sat a mouse, one looking just like the next. In futility, I shook my head to clear it.  Didn't work.  Dozens of mice still sat there, staring at me with mousy grins.  MOUSES!

Pursing my lips I asked little M1, "So what has the Big Cheese done this time?"

As if in answer to my question, I heard an approaching commotion.  Peering through the rows of mice and over to the back wall, I saw the Big Cheese, himself, being coaxed out of a cupboard where he had apparently been hiding.  "I'm coming!" the Big Cheese cried with indignation before snatching a piece of Gorgonzola from another mouse's paw.

I narrowed my eyes and looked coldly at the Big Cheese.  He faltered for just a moment before collecting himself.  "Don't look at me like that, Cat," he spat.  "Believe it or not, I was the one who called for your help."

My whiskers twitched suspiciously.  The Big Cheese asking for my help?  Somethin' smelled fishy, for sure.

"Don't look so surprised, Cat,"  said the Big Cheese. "Even I can see where your expertise in these matters might be warranted."

At that very moment the oddest thing happened.  A black limousine appeared right before my eyes, driving straight through the red hall at the greatest of speeds.  It screeched to a halt before the Big Cheese and me and out hopped several staffers carrying trays of crystal goblets filled with orange juice, I do believe.  One placed a goblet in my paw and I noticed that hanging from its stem was a tiny little tag.  Turning it over I saw a price of sixteen dollars. "Sixteen dollars for a glass of..."  I stopped myself short.  Sixteen dollars seemed like an awful lot for a glass of orange juice but then, I had no idea what the going rate of orange juice in Mouseland was.  Might actually be reasonable.  I didn't want to say anything more until I had all the facts.

Mesmerised, I watched the mice from the limo, walking down each of the rows, passing out glass after glass of orange juice to the mice of the great red hall.  My fascination was interrupted by the sound of the Big Cheese's voice.  Apparently he had been talking to me the entire time.  MOUSES!

"And I want you to investigate HER."  The Big Cheese pointed to a little female mouse in the back row.

I padded toward the little mouse who was trembling with fear.  Her whiskers were quivering and her paw shook uncontrollably as she held out some receipts.  "These are all I have," she sobbed.  "I didn't keep every one.  I was told I didn't have to.  Or was I not told that I did?"

But before I could reach said little mouse, my paws hit a wet patch and slid in opposite directions.  I found myself lying in a pool of sixteen-dollars-a-glass orange juice.  "Awww...  MOUSES!"

Several mice from the back row cried in unison, "Mice.  The plural of mouse, is mice, Mr. Cat."

Those darned grammar mice police.

I picked myself up and continued toward the back row but felt something soggy sticking to my now wet paws.  I lifted one only to find it covered in bits of broken cracker.  Looking around, I saw that there were broken crackers scattered all over the floor.  How had I not noticed them before?

There were broken crackers here and broken broken crackers there.  There were broken crackers just about everywhere.  And buckets of ice containing Camembert.  MOUSES!

Why was the Camembert on ice?  Why where the crackers broken?  And why-oh-why did no one else seem to care?

I could feel the Big Cheese pushing me forward towards the little mouse with the paw full of receipts.  I could feel his steely fingers prodding my spine.

Realising he wanted me to overlook the broken crackers and ice cold Camembert and knowing that I couldn't, I spun on my tail and pointed right back.

Before I could question the Big Cheese any further, the second strange sight of the evening occurred.  A pizza delivery car came hurtling through the red hall, driving right through the pool of orange juice and splashing mice in the front row.  "Free pizza!" cried the driver before doling out slices of pie.

"Do you have any with Parmesan and nip?" I asked, finding the aroma quite enticing.

"No nip pizza," he answered, "but all of our pies are partisan."

"No, Parmesan," I clarified.

"Yes, partisan," he replied.

"Never mind," I said, once more shaking my head.  "Thought we were talking 'bout cheeses and pies.  Sorry 'bout that.  MOUSES!"

And once more I heard the cries of those mice sittin' on benches way at the back.  "Mice!" They cried in unison.  "The plural of mouse is mice, Mr. Cat!"

I rolled my eyes, gettin' ready to give those grammar mice police a piece of my mind but decided instead to sit back on my haunches and enjoy a free piece of pie.  "Partisan pizza is actually quite tasty," I murmured, "but would be better with nip as everything would."

Then just as I was about to grab a second slice of pie, the lights in the family room turned on and Peep #1 stood before me.  "Time for bed," she informed me before scooping me up.  I looked around for the pizza man but alas, he was gone.

MOUSES!

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

Please remember that throughout the month of April, a portion of all sales of the book Rescued: The Stories of 12 Cats, Through Their Eyes will go to the wonderful Anjellicle Cats Rescue of New York, helpin' them to help save cats' lives.  You can purchase your very own copy at your local book store or on Amazon by clicking right HERE.  You'll wanna stock up for holiday gift-giving, for sure.  PURRS.

flyin' fryin' pans

So I was listenin' to the news the other day when all of a sudden, what was bein' reported sunk in and I said to myself - and anyone else in the room who happened to be listening - MOUSES!  I had best get crackin' on workin' on that.

Sometimes I just kinda listen to the news. Sometimes I don't really pay it a whole lot of attention but instead, just keep an ear out for anythin' related to the really important stuff. You know, like nip.  Not a lot of nip news though, I'm afraid.  MOUSES!

And of course I'm always listenin' for news regardin' the Senate, too.  I still intend on becoming Canada's first feline Senator so I've always got my other ear out, listenin' for Senate updates.

It's a good thing I have two ears, for sure.

But the other day, even though the newspeeps weren't talkin' about nip or the Senate, I listened in anyway.  Sometimes I do that.  Sometimes I'm truly interested in what they're reportin' and other times, I'm just lookin' for fodder for my blog.

Not quite sure why I was listenin' in on this particular report 'bout submarines but, knowin' how my mind sometimes works, I'm thinkin' that all the submarine talk reminded me of submarine sandwiches which would be good for snackin' if my peeps weren't veggies but nevertheless are still shaped like cigars which some peeps out there smoke just like some peeps - NOT mine - smoke marijuana that gives 'em a high like catnip does for me and so you see, the whole news report obviously reminded me 'bout nip so clearly, I had to listen in.

How's that for a run-on sentence, huh?  I'm thinkin' that might be a contender for the run-on sentence Olympics, for sure.

Anywho...  Turned out the newspeeps were talkin' about submarines and not nip.  MOUSES!

But I'm glad I paid attention anyway 'cause it was pretty important stuff.

Way back in 1998, the then Government of Canada bought four Victoria-class submarines for the bargain price of under a billion dollars from the United Kingdom.  Now for the first time in seventeen years, three of those four subs are in workin' order - all at the SAME time - and available for operations.  Makes you wonder if there should be lemon laws for subs, huh?  Again I must say, MOUSES!

But 'nough about that.  The important thing to remember in all this is that I have a fleet of flyin' fryin' pans to consider.

As you all know, my brother Seville and I are the world's leading experts in eggbeater-whisk time travellin'-teleportation technology.  The eggbeaters and whisks power the technology.  The actual vehicle is a fryin' pan.

Truth be told, eggbeater technology will power any vehicle but the bigger and heavier said vehicle is, the more eggbeaters that you require and eggbeaters don't come cheap.  Believe me, I know.

That's why Seville and I like to use our trusty ol' fryin' pan.  Only one eggbeater is required.

But all this talk on the news 'bout Canada havin' bought second-hand citrus fruit - sorry, I mean submarines - got me to thinkin'.   What would Seville and I do if somethin' bad happened to our fryin' pan?  What if it rusted or somethin'?  Gosh, we couldn't have that.  We needed to have a replacement on order, for sure.  MOUSES!

Actually, Seville and I really should have a whole fleet of fryin' pans at our disposal.  If not a fleet, at least one backup or maybe two.

So I began my on-line search for fryin' pans.  There were so many options.  Did I want to order 'em up for construction or buy somethin' already built.

I came across a couple slimy sales pitches but mosied right on by.  Fryin' pans only used by little old ladies to fry up Sunday brunches after church.  How stupid did they think I was?  I wasn't fallin' for that.

And the used fryin' pans bein' sold "as is."  As if is more like it.  I watch Judge Judy.  I know what that means.  MOUSES!

No, I knew I didn't want anythin' used.  There would be no second-hand fryin' pans for me.  Seville once bought refurbished eggbeaters from the Weasel Syndicate and they proved to be nothin' but trouble, for sure.  So I decided to avoid any fryin' pan sources affiliated with the Weasel Syndicate along with all those that made mention of bargain basements, lemonade stands and refurbishment. Seemed like a wise precaution considerin' all things submarine, if you know what I mean.  Of course you do.

There were definitely some deals that sounded way too good to be true.  You can't buy a fryin' pan for pennies.  Even I know that.  Gosh, we don't even have pennies here in Canada any more. MOUSES!

Finally, I decided upon a nice enamel version.  New technology but not so new it was untried. Scratch resistant which is very important considerin' Seville and I have claws.  Rust resistant and even leak proof, too.  Brand new.  Reasonably priced but not so cheap as to be suspicious. Everythin' in workin' order...  GUARANTEED.  Plus, the seller was the manufacturer and not some guys tryin' to pawn off somethin' they themselves no longer wanted 'cause, you know, it was broken or somethin' like that.

A few clicks later and I had my new fleet of flyin' fryin' pans on order.  Both of 'em should be arrivin' any day now.  Once Seville and I install the eggbeaters and whisks, they'll be up and runnin' in no time at all.  SWEET.

And speakin' of sweet things, remind me to tell Peep #1 she needs to buy some sugar this week.  When browsin' for fryin' pans, I found a source for lemons, really cheap.  I ordered her up a case or two.  As a cat, I don't care for lemons but I know that the peeps do.  I figured they might enjoy makin' some lemonade.

And I'm assumin' there are lemon laws for lemons.  But what if there aren't? Nah, that would be silly.  You buy lemons from a lemon salesman, you should definitely be guaranteed to get lemons but if they turn out to be grapefruit or limes, I'll be askin' for my money back, for sure.  MOUSES!

under the bus

"Pass me the remote there, would you Peepers?  I'm havin' a difficult time fallin' asleep. Need to watch some CPAC."

Settling in on the family room couch and muchin' on a piece of cheese, I slowly drifted off to sleep. CPAC...  Best sleepin' aid ever invented.

"Psst...  Cat.  You asleep?"

I raised one eyebrow.  "I was.  Thanks for wakin' me up, by the way," I answered.

"You're very welcome," replied the mouse, staring me in the eye.

"Actually, I was bein' sarcastic.  I..."

"No time for trivial chit-chat, I'm afraid," interrupted the mouse.  "Your assistance is required." Grabbin' me by my tail, the mouse attempted to haul me off the chesterfield, clearly ignorant of the laws of physics.  No way, no how, was a little ol' mouse gonna have the strength to pull me, Nerissa the Cat, off a piece of furniture.

"Hey!" I yelled at the mouse.  "You wanna watch it there?  I'm comin'.  Just give me a moment to straighten my whiskers."

Bein' familiar with the routine after havin' been visited by these Cheese Consortium mice before, I followed the mouse out of the family room.  I recognised him as M1.  At least I thought he was M1. Truth be told, they all kinda look alike.  We turned the corner and entered what should have been the kitchen but once again, the kitchen had been transformed into a great chamber with rows upon rows upon rows of seats, most of which stood empty.  "Where is everyone?" I asked the mouse.

"They missed the bus."

I looked at the M1, not really understandin' what he was talkin' about.  Did he want me to go lookin' for all the missing mice?  I asked him if that was the reason for calling me in.

"Oh no, there's no need for that.  Absenteeism is quite the norm around here.  One could say it's par for the course."

I nodded in agreement while tryin' to figure out why anyone would be golfin' in Mouseland in the middle of winter.  MOUSES!

"So why am I..."  I stopped dead in my tracks.  "That's new," I whispered under my breath.  I walked to the end of the chamber to inspect the new renovations.  A large revolving glass door had been installed where there had once been a solid brick wall.  On the other side of the rovolving door was the street and on that street were a number of buses, all lined up and with their engines running.  "Don't they have no-idle laws here in Mouseland?" I asked M1.

"Why on Earth would we have those?" was his reply.

"You know, on account of global warmin' and whatnot," I answered.

M1's eyes darted back and forth, looking to see if anyone was listenin'.  "We don't talk about that. The Big Cheese says it doesn't exist.  We've been forbidden to even utter the words."

"MOUSES!" I cried.

A pawful of mice exclaimed in unison, "Mice.  The plural of mouse is mice."

I decided to ignore the grammar mice coalition and, instead, get to the bottom of why I had been summoned.  "Are these the buses all those other mice missed?" I asked.

"No, no..  Don't be silly," chuckled M1. "These buses are waiting for.."

All of a sudden a mouse dressed in suit and tie came scurrin' down the chamber.  Dragging behind him was a briefcase that had been so clumsily shut that pieces of paper were sticking out here and there.  I grabbed one of the papers as he passed.

The mouse darted through the revolving door and out onto the street.  The lead bus began to move, slowly at first but then picking up speed.  For a moment I thought the bus was going to run over the mouse but before I could utter a cry of warning, the mouse instinctively jumped back onto the curve.  The bus sped past, seemingly out of control.  Suddenly a taxi miraculously appeared.  The mouse hopped inside, making his escape.  I strained my ears to hear where they were heading but the only thing I heard the mouse say was something about tires.  Either he was referencing the screeching tires of the bus that had just attempted to mow him down or he was commenting on bein' tired.  Either scenario seemed more than plausible.

I glanced down at the paper I still held in my paw.  It was from the desk of The Big Cheese, himself. Had his logo and everythin'.  Scrawled across it were the words, Top Secret and at the bottom was a reminder to not allow it to get into the paws of the Royal Canadian Mouseland Police.  Quickly scanning the page, I immediately realised it was a memo containing details of Le Grand Fromage Project.  The very same project about which The Big Cheese had previously denied havin' had any knowledge.  And yet this paper came from his office.  From his very own desk.  MOUSES!

I sat back on my haunches and thought for a mo.  Could The Big Cheese be truly unaware of what was goin' on in his very own office?  Could he be so oblivious to the comings and goings of the little mice around him?  Could someone else, smarter and more devious than he, have masterminded this entire affair?

And why were all those buses lined up outside this gigantic revolving glass door?  What were they doin' there and who had ordered 'em up?  And for goodness sake, why did no one have the sense to tell the drivers to turn off their engines while they waited?  Did no one at the Canadian Cheese Consortium understand about global warming?  MOUSES!

There were so many questions and all I had were suppositions and suspicions.  Nothin' that would hold up in court.  My paws were tied.  Tied up with somethin' a whole lot stronger than string cheese.  String cheese...   Mmmm...

"M1," I began, "Why am I here?  Why was I summoned?  Why now?  What is it that you need?"

"There's nothing for you to do at this very moment, Nerissa the Cat," M1 replied.  "But we needed you to bear witness.  We needed you to see what was happening for one day in the coming months, your assistance will most definitely be required."

I finally understood.  Tonight's visit to the Canadian Cheese Consortium was only one piece of the puzzle.  A puzzle being put together by the Royal Canadian Mouseland Police and investigative reportin' cats like me.  I folded over the piece of paper from the fleeing mouse's briefcase, thinking I would read it more thoroughly once back at home.  Perhaps it contained more pieces of the puzzle. Perhaps I could use it to track down that fleeing mouse.  Perhaps...

"Nerissa,"  I heard Peep #1 say. "Nissy, time for bed.  I'm turning off the television.  You can watch CPAC again tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes in disgust.  Did the peep not understand that I was usin' that show to help me fall asleep in the first place?  Why did she have to go and wake me up?  Why?  "MOUSES!" cried I.

I then heard the whispers of a multitude of mice.  "Mice," they all said.  "The plural of mouse, is mice."

Darned grammar mice, I thought to myself, before drifting off back to sleep.  I had a memo to read. Now where did I put that thing?  MOUSES!

the nissmobile!

Nerissa the Cat reportin' from Nova Scotia.  Let me remind you that you heard it here first, folks.... WE HAVE SNOW.

What's that Peepers? You say I can't tell my readers they heard 'bout Winter Storm Juno here first, 'cause Winter Storm Juno is pretty much over? But it's still snowin' out outside.  I can see the white stuff comin' down, right now.  All the schools are cancelled, too. Surely...  Really? Awww...  MOUSES!

FINE.  So peeps didn't hear 'bout Winter Storm Juno from me first and they probably all already knew that we had snow but I'm bettin' no one knew 'bout the other stuff I'm bloggin' about today and as luck would have it, it's storm-related, for sure.

First of all, let me tell you 'bout the new doggy catwalk.

All mornin' long, I've been watchin' the dogs of the neighbourhood struttin' their stuff down the catwalk, also known as the street in front of my house.  These doggies have been sportin' all sorts of winter garb.  The 2015 collection includes everythin' from dressy jackets for a night on the town to more practical, cold-weather apparel such as the lovely fleece-lined grey jacket worn by the friendly neighbourhood mutt.  A jacket that keeps the cold out while remainin' stylish is a fashion-must, this season, for sure.

Unfortunately, every fashion show has a gate-crasher or two.  A husky was seen streakin' down the catwalk in his birthday suit.  That's right, folks, we had a naked Husky wearin' nothin' but the fur God gave him.

Thankfully the peeps accompanying him were not naked, too.  MOUSES!

Also spotted on the road, this week, was a snowmobile.  That's right foks, yesterday afternoon I was witness to a snowmobile racin' down the road in front of my house.  The very same road that is also doublin' as a catwalk for the first doggy fashion show of the season.

Truth be told, I'm not sure if snowmobiles are allowed on the road.  I don't even know if they're licenced but there it was, drivin' in all its glory.  That snowmobile sped down my street not once but twice, yesterday afternoon.  Not sure what the hurry was.  Everythin' was closed.  Nothin' was goin' on.  After all, we were in the middle of blizzard 'round here.  MOUSES!

But seein' that ol' snowmobile gave me an idea...

The night before, I  had fallen asleep listenin' to the news.  I know, not a good idea for me to do.  Previously, doin' stuff like that has led to cheese-snackin' induced dreams involvin' the Royal Canadian Mouseland Police but when I fell asleep Monday night, I had not snacked upon any cheese.  There were no dreams of sugarplum mice for me.

Anywho...  as I drifted off to sleep, I was listenin' to a reporter drivin' around New York City, talkin' about how no one was allowed to be drivin' around the city.  You know, the traffic ban and whatnot.  I was a little confused on account of his drivin' around in a car durin' the traffic ban and... well..  bein' traffic.  I assumed some sort of exception had been made for the press or somethin'.  I was hopin' there had been an exception made for the press 'cause there's nothin' worse than endin' up on the wrong side of the news when you're supposed to be reportin' it.  Kind of embarrassin' to be pulled over for bein' in violation of a traffic ban while you're busy reporting 'bout there bein' a traffic ban in the first place, if you know what I mean.  MOUSES!

So the reporter drivin' around durin' the traffic ban was still weighin' heavily on my mind.  Weighin' heavily on my mind like a seventeen pound marmie brother lyin' on my favourite nip mouse and refusin' to get off it.  And then I saw the snowmobile and that's when I thought...

That's when I thought, I need one of those!

And always bein' full of good ideas, I had another thought.

And I'll call it...  the Nissmobile!!!

The Nissmobile will allow me to get out and about with my fellow cats, reportin' on the news of the day.  With a Nissmobile, I can be right there, askin' the man on the street for his opinions and thoughts on important stuff like science, education, politics and the availability and access of nip to all cats, everywhere.

And when there's a storm like this Juno character, with my Nissmobile, a little inclement weather won't stop me.  I'll be out there with all the other reporters, zippin' about the streets.  Zippin' about durin' the traffic bans while in my Nissmobile!

Once the snow and ice are all gone, I'll get the peep to attach some wheels to the Nissmobile, allowin' for four-season travel.

And the Nissmobile sure will come in handy durin' my publicity campaign to get the Prime Minister of Canada to appoint me to the Senate.  I, Nerissa the Cat, wanna be Canada's first feline Senator, for sure.

I'll be able to hop into my Nissmobile and travel to all four corners of Nova Scotia, askin' the peeps I wanna represent, what is most important to them because I, Nerissa the Cat, know and understand the importance of the Senate and the duties of Senators.  I understand that Canadian Senators represent the people from the provinces in which they reside and not the politicians who appoint them.  Oh my gosh, I even know in which province I reside.  Believe it or not, not every Senator has.  MOUSES!

So if you happen to be in Nova Scotia this year and you see a cute little sterling silver - some say platinum - tabby cat zippin' about on the streets, you can rest assured that that tabby cat is me.  Me, Nerissa the Cat. Nerissa the Cat in my Nissmobile.

Whether I'm reportin' the news or spreadin' the word 'bout my campaign for a Senate appointment, there will be one thing you can count on above all else.  I, Nerissa the Cat will be the cutest reporter/politician on the street. After all, only the cutest will be allowed to drive the Nissmobile,

And you'll hear me hollarin' far and wide...  #Niss4Senate - Tell the PM, today.  Please?

Peepers!

One of the best rooms in my house for nappin' is the family room.  Lots of prime-time nappin' real estate in that room. A couple of chairs, window sills and a cat bed, to name a few.  Sometimes even a box.  And I mustn't forget the shelf under the television although lately, Rushton has claimed that to be his and only his.  He thinks we're all succumbing to his demands and leavin' it for him but truth be told, we all simply found better spots.

My favourite spot of all is on the chesterfield.  That's where the peeps sit while watchin' television and if you can get in there while one is present, tummy rubs and chin scritches are bound to follow.

So there I was the other day, curled up next to Peep #1 and driftin' off to sleep with a Canadian news channel dronin' on in the background.  Some politician was bein' interviewed and the interview was lullin' me to sleep.  The peep was tickling me behind the ears.  All was well in my little part of the world.

But I awoke with a start when I heard noises comin' from the front door.  There was a crash and a boom and, I think, if I'm not mistaken, the splinterin' of wood.  I sat there, paralysed with fear. Someone was breakin' into my house!

I glanced over at the television thinkin' that maybe, just maybe, the noises were emanatin' from there but the television was off.  It was dark.  The peeps were gone.  It appeared to be the middle of the night.

Lookin' around the family room, I saw my brother Anderson on the coffee table, Auntie Primrose in the cat bed and my sister Mason on the back of a chair.  They had all been awakened by the noises, too, eyes wide and ears alert.  Even Rushton was lookin' out from his spot on the shelf under the television.

Primrose was up in a flash.  Bein' a bit of an enforcer, she was prepared to go meet the intruders head on and...  well...  enforce.  That's kind of what she does.

Anderson cried aloud, "No Auntie Prim!  Don't go out there!  It could be dangerous.  You're small and old.  Uh...  elderly.  It's too much of a risk."

Little does my new brother Andy know that Auntie Primrose has been known - more than once - to put the fear of God into a doctor and room full of nurses and vet techs but whatever.

There were still noises comin' from the front of the house.  Whatever was goin' on could not be good.  And we cats were sittin' ducks in the family room.  Short one or two quacks but still, sittin' ducks, nonetheless.  There was only one way out and that way led in the direction of the noises.

Rushton emerged from his shelf under the television, floofin' his tail like only a long-haired cat weighin' in at over seventeen pounds can do.  "Protect the women and kittens first!" he cried.

I glanced around.  No kittens in sight. As far as the women went, like I said before, Auntie Prim requires very little protectin'.  My sister, Mason, must have been thinkin' along the same lines 'cause she was flashin' her claws, one by one.  Like in a cartoon on television, they glistened in the moonlight.

Anderson was lookin' around the room, tryin' to find somethin' - anythin' - that could be fashioned into a weapon.  His gaze drifted over to the fireplace poker. Now there was a weapon. Unfortunately it proved far too heavy for a cat to manoeuvre.

Mason grabbed a wand toy and started issuing orders.  "Nissy, untie that mouse and string from this stick," she demanded.  She, herself, began to whittle away at the stick with her claws.  She was makin' a spear."

Watching my sister with her whittling and two of my marmalade brothers staggering under the weight of the fireplace poker, I saw the futility at paw.  I said it once before and I'll say it again, we were sittin' in ducks in that room.  Somethin' had to be done.

I immediately dove under the chesterfield and hid.

I would have hidden in a closet or somethin' but the family room has no closets.  Under the couch seemed like the next best thing.  No one would ever find me there.

Primrose lifted the skirt of the couch.  "Get out from under there right now," she spat.

"No can do," I replied.  "If anythin' were to happen to me, what would happen to my blog?  Who would take over?  Who would write Nerissa's Life?  I must save myself at all costs."

From the other side of the room I heard Mason muttering.  "Any one of us could write that blog if we were ever allowed in your office."

"Not so, my fur-fam, I whispered back.  "I'm the only cat in the house who knows how to turn on the computer.  One must master that before one blogs."

Next thing I knew, my brother Seville was pokin' his face under the chesterfield.  I squinted from the light streaming in.  Clearly the intruders had entered the family room and turned on the overhead lights.  I buried my head in my paws."

"Whatcha doing under there, Niss?  You hiding from someone?" Seville asked.

Then the rest of my fur-fam appeared.  They begged and pleaded for me to come out of hiding, claiming everything was now safe.  I let out a loud cry for the peep.  "Peepers!" I howled.

I awoke with a start. I opened one eye.  Then opened the other.  I was no longer under the chesterfield but rather, curled up on top of it.  It was late afternoon and not the middle of the night.  

Seville's nose was mere inches away from mine.  "Peep #1 has set up the Christmas tree in the living room.  I think they're going to start decorating it.  Come on Niss, there are boxes of rollable breakables all over the place!"

My ears perked up at the thought of rollable breakables, I must admit.

Stretchin' out a paw, I let out a big yawn.  I looked around.  Anderson was snoozing on the coffee table, Primrose was curled up in the cat bed and Rushy was on the shelf under the television. Mason was lying rather precariously on the back of a chair, snoring.  At any moment, she would most likely fall off it...  again.

Clearly, everythin' was okay.  Everything was as it should be.  No one had been breakin' into my house. It had all been a big ol' nasty dream.  A dream likely triggered by fallin' asleep while listening to the news. And the noises I heard had likely been made by the peep bringin' the Christmas tree downstairs and settin' it up.  It all seemed perfectly reasonable.

And of course it had been a dream.  I, Nerissa the Cat, would never behave in such a manner.  Hidin' under the chesterfield when others' lives were at stake...  NEVER.  I couldn't even fathom myself behavin' like that.

When it comes to my fur-fam, I'm a leader.  A true leader.  And true leaders think of others before thinkin' of themselves.  And they never ask of others what they, themselves, would not be willin' to do. That's how leaders behave.  I should know 'cause you know...  I'm a cat and cats are smart.  We cats know 'bout stuff like that.  MOUSES!

psst... CAT!

"Don't mind if I do!" I said, swipin' the piece of cheese out of Rushton's paw and gobbling it down, myself. "You're lactose intolerant, remember? Cheese contains lactose so you're not supposed to eat it.  I'm helpin' you out by takin' that cheese and before you say anything about my bein' lactose intolerant, too, remember that I'm not as intolerant as you."

I watched as my brother stomped away, angrily muttering about degrees of intolerance.  Then it was off' to the family room for me.  Time for a little nip mouse indulgence before bedtime.

"Psst....  CAT!"

"MOUSES!"  Yeah, seriously, right before my eyes there stood a mouse.  There was a mouse in my house.  He was looking at me in a weird kind of way but since he was a mouse, I assumed it to be his natural look.  Rollin' over, I went back to sleep.

"Psst...  CAT!" and I felt someone tugging on my whiskers.  "Wake up, cat.  Your assistance is required."

I opened one eye.  The mouse was still there.  I opened the other eye.  Yup, that mouse wasn't goin' anywhere.  Rising from my favourite napping spot de jour, I let out a big yawn.  The mouse cowered in fear.  Guess he thought I was gonna eat him or somethin'.  Instead, I just asked him what he wanted.

"Do you remember me, Sir?  Nerissa the Cat, Sir?  M1 is my name.  We met last year during all that nastiness regarding the great cheese conspiracy and those issues with the Canadian Cheese Consortium."

I nodded in recollection.  "Yup, I remember that.  You ever deal with that rat, The Big Cheese?"

"He's not a rat," answered M1.  He's really just a mouse like the rest of us although if you were to ask him, he'd probably disagree.  He does think rather highly of himself.  Thinks he's better than the rest of us, you see.  Doesn't realise he's just a mouse like you and me.  Well, like me," and I detected a slight flush of pink spreading across M1's cheeks.

M1 sat down and pulled out a ledger.  Pawing it over, I immediately saw the problem.  "MOUSES! That rat - I mean, mouse - is up to no good.  What's he playin' at now?" I questioned, although truth be told, I already had my answer.  "Take me to The Big Cheese, M1.  He's got some explainin' to do, for sure."

Just as before, M1 led me into my kitchen where space and time had morphed in weird and wonderful ways and the room that had once been the kitchen had turned into a great hall filled with tiny little mouse-sized chairs.  In each chair sat a mouse.  No, wait a minute.  Some of the chairs were empty.  I gazed around the room, counting the empty chairs.  Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen... "MOUSES!" I cried.  "It's true, you are missin' sixteen mice.  Now I just wanna point out that I had nothin' to do with that.  I filled up on cheese before visitin'."

M1 tapped me on the paw.  "Don't worry, Nerissa.  No one is blaming you.  We all know what really happened to the missing mice."

And I knew as well for I had carefully read the ledger M1 had previously shown me.  The missing mice had simply disappeared, one after another.  Some had retired.  Others, resigned.  They all had their reasons for leaving but after leaving, in order to keep the predestined balance of the Consortium...  well...  balanced, those mice should have been replaced.  Apparently, the great hall was experiencing a mouse shortage.  Who knew that was even possible?

I padded softly through the chamber, stopping where I could easily be seen by all.  I flicked my tail and accidentally took out one of the front row seats.  "Sorry 'bout that.  Room's a little small for a cat, if you know what I mean."  A number of mice snickered, nervously.

"Now bring me The Big Cheese," I demanded.

Several mice appeared before me, dragging a gigantic wheel of Gouda.

"Not that big cheese," I cried. "Although...  hold on a minute there.  I'll just have a little bite..."

The mice scattered.

"Not a bite of you.  Mouses you mice are a sensitive lot.  I'll just take a little bite of that cheese."

It was delicious.

Then before me appeared the mouse with the steely blue eyes and exceptionally long tail, otherwise known as The Big Cheese.  He narrowed his eyes and asked, "What do you want, cat?"

"That's Nerissa the Cat, to you, buddy.  We have to have a little talk about the sixteen missing members of the Cheese Consortium.  My question is, why are they missing?"

"You're asking me about missing mice?  Me?  A little ol' mouse?  REALLY?  Shouldn't you be asking your fellow cats where all the mice have gone?"

I lay down before The Big Cheese, striking my very best sphinx pose.  "Cats had nothing to do with those missing mice, my friend.  Don't try playin' cat and mouse games with me.  That's a game that never ends well for the mouse."  I let out a low growl and The Big Cheese looked furtively about the room, looking for somewhere to hide.  I grabbed him by the tail and held on.  The stink of Gorgonzola permeated the air about him.  He seriously needed to start eatin' more Cheddar.

"Now listen up, buddy.  I've seen the ledgers belonging to the Canadian Cheese Consortium and I know what you're doing.  Several of the cheese divisions are lackin' in representation.  I thought you liked appointing members to the Consortium.  Even goin' so far as to appoint mice who weren't even qualified to represent the divisions they were supposed to be representin'."

"That's true, I did.  But that was then and this is now.  Unfortunately, some of the mice I appointed caused some trouble.  So I thought to myself, why appoint any at all?  Things in the Consortium are going very nicely for me.  They're running quite smoothly.  Gorgonzola production is up.  Means of transporting the Gorgonzola are being worked out.  No one here has even tried to stop me.  The Consortium is working exactly as it should."

I narrowed my eyes and stared directly at the little mouse known as The Big Cheese.  "We talked about this the last time I visited, remember?  The Consortium doesn't serve you.  It serves the mice of Mouseland.  All of them.  Not just the Gorgonzola lovers.  Without equal representation, the Consortium cannot possibly work as it should.  It cannot and is not.  Somethin' needs to be done about that."

The Big Cheese narrowed his eyes and peered right at me.  Pompously puffing out his chest he said, "The Consortium is working exactly as I wish for it to work."

That's when I realised that what M1 had said earlier was true.  The Big Cheese had begun to think far too highly of himself.  He was nothin' more than a mouse and yet, for some reason, he thought he was the chosen one or somethin'.  Like he was better than the rest of the mice.  Clearly, The Big Cheese had gone squirrely.  I watched as he stuffed some more Gorgonzola into his mouth.

"Listen up, mouse," I began.  "I'm puttin' you on notice.  That's right, I, Nerissa the Cat, am puttin' you, The Big Cheese, on notice.  Either you make sure that all four divisions of the Canadian Cheese Consortium are represented equally or I will make it happen, myself."

"What are you going to do, cat?  Take over the Consortium?" and The Big Cheese grinned.

"It's a thought," I replied.  Our eyes met.  "If cats were to take over the Canadian Cheese Consortium..."

The Big Cheese tried to step back but I still had hold of his tail.  "Cats can't..." he sputtered.

"Cats can't what, Mr. Cheese?"

The Big Cheese cowered.

"Like I said, either you make sure all four divisions of the Consortium are fairly and equally represented or I will make it happen, for you."  Letting go of his tail, I turned to leave but not before adding, "And do somethin' about your breath, would you?  You're stinkin' of cheese.  MOUSES!"

"Mice," I heard, whispered in unison as those darned grammar mice of the great hall explained, "The plural of mouse, is mice."

MOUSES!