stinkin' of cute

So she came home, yesterday...

STINKIN' OF CUTE.

MOUSES!

For the love of mouses, Peepers, what is it that I smell?

NO, I, SEVILLE THE CAT, DO NOT SMELL.

I mean...

Well...

Hmmm...

Okay, I mean, I do smell.  I mean, I CAN smell.  My nose is in perfect workin' order, for sure, which is why...

Which is why...

Which is why, when I fire up the ol' sniffer, the ol' sniffer is tellin' me that YOU, ol' peep of mine, smell.

Stink is more like it.

STINKIN' OF CUTE.

MOUSES!

Not that YOU'RE cute, or anythin' like that.  As you know, Peepers, we've had this discussion before.  It's really not your fault.  The thing is, when you live in a house with Saffy and me, for cuteness, you simply cannot compare.  On a scale of one to ten, if Saffy and I are ten...

Scratch that.

Okay,on a scale of one to ten, if I, Seville the Cat, am a ten, Saffy would be 'bout an eight.  Maybe nine.  Yeah, I'll give him a nine, for sure.  But you?

You?

YOU?

I've taken a poll, Peepers, and you're 'bout a good minus sixty-one.

Maybe a bit less.

MOUSES!

But it's really...  Well, it's just that cuteness is a relative thing.

MOUSES!

But yesterday, Peepers.  YESTERDAY!  Well, yesterday, you came home STINKIN' OF CUTE.

Which is so very unlike you.

Which is why, of course, I was bound to notice.

MOUSES!

That's right, Peepers.  That's right!  I was out on the deck when I saw you climbin' the stairs, and immediately my sniffer started sniffin'.  My sniffer - which like I said earlier, is in PERFECT workin' order - detected the aroma of cuteness permeating the air.  Yup, undeniable cuteness, for sure.  And the thing is...

The thing is...

The thing is, said cuteness had not rubbed off on you, from me.  Not from Saffron, either.  The cuteness was neither of Seville nor Saffy origin; AND I, FOR ONE, AM TOTALLY DISGUSTED BY THAT.

MOUSES!

PEEPERS, WHO THE MOUSIE MOUSIN' MOUSES WERE YOU HANGIN' OUT WITH THAT COULD POSSIBLY HAVE BEEN SO DARNED IRRESISTABLY CUTE AS TO LEAVE YOU SURROUNDED BY THICK CLOUDS OF PERTETUAL CUTENESS?

WHO?

WHO?

WHO?

MOUSES!

Peanut and Tia, you say?

Peanut and Tia, two cutie-pie cuties of the feline persuasion?  

Two cutie-pie cuties who are still young kittenish kittens?

BUT I'M SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR KITTEN, PEEPERS.  IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE ME.

Senior kitten, but still...

PEEPERS, WHO TOLD YOU IT WAS OKAY TO CHEAT ON SAFFY AND ME BY SPENDIN' TIME WITH OTHER CUTIE-PIE KITTENS?

I know it wasn't me.

MOUSES!

Gosh darn it, that cuteness those kitties were exudin' was so strong, even I, Seville the Cat, am gonna wanna meet 'em.

AND THEN I'D COME HOME STINKIN' OF CUTE.

Cuteness that was not of my makin'.

A cat can't win for tryin'.

MOUSES!

that can't be right

What the mouses?  No, that can't be right.  Better double-check those numbers.

Hmmm...  8C.

Good thing I have a fur coat.

MOUSES!

Peepers!  Hey, PEEPERS!  PEEPERS!!!

Peepers, did you not hear me talkin' to you?

Talkin' to...  Yellin' at...  Whatever.

MOUSES!

Okay, so it's like this, Peepers: I need you to call someone for me and I need you to call her right now.

What?

Oh.  Hmmm...  No, I, Seville the Cat, cannot make the call.

OF COURSE I KNOW how to use the telephone.  What do you think I am, stupid?

Don't answer that.

MOUSES!

But as I was sayin', I may know HOW to use the phone.  I DO know how to use the phone.  I just can't make the call right now.

No, later today won't work.

Neither will tomorrow.

Why?

Well...

Well, the thing is, the last time I spoke to this particular person, she told me she was gonna give me a piece of her mind.  And I, of course, bein' my amazingly helpful self, replied with a snarky ol' "I couldn't do that.  I wouldn't dream of takin' your last piece."  And long story short...

Well...

Well, as a result, she's no longer takin' my calls.

MOUSES!

And that's why I need YOU to call ol' Mother Nature for me.  

Why?

WHY?

ARE YOU CRAZY, WOMAN?  YOU'RE ASKIN' ME WHY?

Because for the last few days, the weather has been icky 'round here.  Then this mornin', when I checked on the temperature - to see why the tips of my whiskers were feelin' all frosty - IT WAS ONLY EIGHT DEGREES.  This is the beginnin' of September, Peepers.  It's just the beginnin'!  Fall weather like this is way too early for this time of year.  It's like Ol' Mother Nature is drunk or somethin' and accidentally flipped her calendar over to November.  Or maybe she can't read.  MAYBE she misread November, thinkin' it was September, and...  

Yeah, now that I think about it, my sayin' stuff like that is probably the reason she's no longer takin' my calls.

MOUSES!

So Peepers, when you call, whatever you do, don't tell her she's behavin' like a sloppy ol' drunk or an illiterate fool, or...

Or anythin' else I may have said to her in pervious conversations.

MOUSES!

So just call that Ol' Mother Nature up and catsplain to her 'bout how September is supposed to be nice here in Nova Scotia.

But don't use the word catsplain, Peepers.  She'll know you're callin' for me.

Drunken or not, she's quick to pick up on these things.

Oh, and you probably shouldn't call her old, either.

At least not to her face.

MOUSES!

So Peepers, you have your instructions.  You've got your assignment.  You know what to do.  Now pick up the phone and start dialin'.  I've got her number right here.

Peepers, why aren't you dialin'?

DO I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHIN' FOR YOU?

WHERE ARE YOU GOIN'?  PEEPERS, WHERE ARE YOU GOIN'?  YOU CAN'T CALL FROM OUT THERE!

By gosh and by golly, it looks like Peepers isn't willin' to make this very important call.

Hmmm...

HMMM...

Well, maybe if I act all dumb and stuff, trippin' over my words and usin' incorrect grammar, and am very careful to not actually use the word catsplain whilst catsplainin', Ol' Mother Nature will think I'm Peepers and not me.

And if I'm lucky, she'll be in that same drunken stupor that caused her to send us the wrong weather in the first place.

Note to self: do not call Mother Nature drunk, stupid, or old.

This time.

'Cause if this call is anythin' like my last one, those words will not go over well, my friends.

MOUSES!

she's done it again

Peepers, did we not have this discussion before?

Well?

WELL?

WELL, DID WE, PEEPERS?  DID WE?

Nothin' but crickets.

MOUSES!

So she's gone and done it again, folks.  Yup, you heard me correctly, she's...

Now, when I say heard, I actually mean read - you know, on account of this bein' a blog and not some radio show.  But you get the picture, I am sure.

MOUSES!

Yes, you heard me correctly.  The peep has gone and done it again.

Of course.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', just WHAT has ol' Peepers done this time?

Well!

Well, she's only gone and promised me somethin', only to be fulfillin' said promise ON THE CHEAP.

AGAIN.

MOUSES!

That's right, my dear friends.  That's right!  Peepers promised to knit me another blankie, on account of my needin' another blankie, on account of autumn approachin', when the weather is cooler, and...

No, I don't actually go under my blankies to keep warm.  I like to lie on top of my blankies 'cause on top of blankies is cushiony soft, and...

Yeah, yeah...  Yeah, I know I mentioned the cooler weather autumn would bring, but that's not the point.  The point is, blankies and cool weather naturally go paw in paw, and..

Scratch that.   ACTUALLY, the point is, the peep has gone and done it again.

MOUSES!

The thing is, the last time Peepers knit me a blankie, instead of pickin' out beautiful, soft yarns in pretty mancat colours, she made me a blankie usin' scraps.  That's right, scraps.  SCRAPS!  Leftovers, I tell you.  Leftovers!  Leftover yarns from various projects for which she had purchased yarn ESPECIALLY to use 'cause she thinks HER projects are so special.

Well!

Well, the last time she knit me a blankie out of many coloured scraps, I was suitably outraged, to be sure.

I even made her PROMISE to never do anythin' so insultin' again.

MOUSES!

And to appease me, she said she'd knit me another one.

Well!

WELL!  

WELL, DO ANY OF YOU KITTIES OUT THERE KNOW WHAT THE WORD APPEASE MEANS?

DO YOU?

Apparently, at the time, I did not.

MOUSES!

So there I was, thinkin' ol' Peepers was plannin' on knittin' me another blankie to make up for her havin' previously made me one out of scraps.  THIS time, knittin' it out of extra-special, beautiful yarn, chosen especially for me.

When in reality...

When in reality...

When in reality, she was actually promisin' to knit me another blankie, AGAIN OUT OF SCRAPS.

I'm tellin' you, if she wasn't my workin' can opener, I'd be givin' her the boot, to be sure.

If I wore boots, that is.

Which I don't.

MOUSES!

So there you have it, my friends.  There you have it!  Ol' Peepers has gone and done it again.

I'm gonna remember this the next time she's beggin' for cuddles.

MOUSES!

clean-up

You ever notice, how...

Well, have you ever noticed how when you go to check your e-mails, it says there are like a thousand of 'em in there?  Maybe more?  Maybe closer to two?

Two THOUSAND, I mean.  Not just two.

But in reality...

But in reality...

But in reality, it's way more than just two.  Way more than two thousand, for sure.

MOUSES!

Gosh darn it, a kitty deletes a hundred e-mails and said kitty's number of unread e-mails goes down by three.

If you're lucky.

MOUSES!

That's why I don't do that, anymore.

Deletin' old e-mails, I mean.

No, now I just let 'em sit there in my inbox, buildin' up until...

Until I tell the peep to deal with those blasted things.

MOUSES!

So a few weeks back, I put her to work.  Yup, I told the ol' peep to plunk her tail down on my chair, and start deletin' my mail.

MOUSES!

I did have concerns, mind you.  Yup, I had concerns she'd actually READ some of my mail.  Mail is supposed to be private, you see.

But then I realised, with the amount of mail I had - the amount of mail I had sittin' there, pilin' up day after day, week after week, month after month - there's no way she'd be able to read all of it, all at once.  I mean, I didn't read most of it, myself, and I had months on end to attend to it all.  Nah, she'd never, ever have time to read all my unread mail.

And I was right!  I went to check on her at one point, and saw she was in some kinda trance.  She was starin' off in the distance, eyes all glazed over.  She looked like she might be fallin' asleep. And the only sounds in the room were click, click, click, click, click.  Clickety clickety click.  Nothin' but clicks.

MOUSES!

A few hours later...

That's what I said: a few HOURS later, I checked in on her, again.  

Unread e-mails were down to one thousand, four hundred and ninety-one.

MOUSES!

And by the next day...

Yup, by the next day...

Yeah, I had to give her a break.  Even a peep needs to get a good night's sleep, now and then.

So by the end of the next day, unread e-mails were down to one hundred and thirty-three.

Well, THEIR version of one hundred and thirty-three.  More like several hundred and thirty-three, I suppose, on account of every time she erased forty or so, there were still forty more to go!

*sighs*

But by the end of the day after that, there were no more unread e-mails to be read.

And HALLELUJAH! I said.

Just before rewardin' the peep a cup of tea and a slice of nicely buttered bread.

NO, I had not licked the butter off, first.

Although truth be told, it did cross my mind.

Hey, I'm a cat!  We cats like a slice of well-buttered bread.

Skippin' the bread, of course.

MOUSES!

And now, after doin' all that hard work...

After all that hard work...

YES, it WAS hard work, makin' sure the ol' peep completed her job.

So now, after my doin' all that hard work, my e-mail clean-up job was finished, once and for all.

And you'll be very interested in knowin' that since then, I've managed to keep it under control.  No unread e-mails.  No deleted e-mails needin' to be deleted, permanently.  All that is over with and done.

*smiles*

And to tell you the truth, those three or so days of work really paid off.  I really do need to pat myself on the back.  I should get myself a treat or somethin'.  Maybe order somethin' nippy or fishy or somethin' like that.

And for goodness sakes, boy-oh-boy, do I ever need a nap.

MOUSES!

a thumpin'

Oh my mouses.

MOUSES!

Oh my mousie mousin' mouses, that was an awfully loud thumpin', for sure.

MOUSES!

For mousin' out loud, Peepers, what the mouses are you doin' up there?

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about now?

You're answerin' my question, you say?  Well, I beg to differ, but I think not.  I think your answer is stupid and doesn't answer my question, at all.

MOUSES!

Well who the mouses asked those peeps to be up on the roof, hammerin' and thumpin', and now dumpin' all those blasted packages of heavy thingy-ma-jigs up there?  Was it Santa?  Or his elves?  Or...

You're sayin', it was you?

Why, of all the mousie mousin' moused-up things for a Peepers like you to do.  Did you not KNOW how loud all that thumpin' would be?

MOUSES!

And by the way, Peepers, had it been Santa, I might have given HIM a pass 'cause, you know...  Santa is special, you see.  He brings me nip mice and biff bags and all sorts of wonderful things.

But you.  You!  You had no right to authorise such noisy, noise-makin' activities 'round here.  They're makin' that noise at my house, Peepers.  At. MY. House, and...

Scratch that.  They're makin' that noise ON my house, to be sure, and...

And it's scarin' Saffy, you see.

MOUSES!

No Peepers, I, Seville the Cat, am not scared.  I, Seville the Cat, am a brave mancat, you see.  But Saffy...

Well, Saffy is down in the basement under somethin' or other, coverin' his ears, and...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about now?

Saffy's outside?

Oh.

Hmmm...

MOUSES!

And I say mouses 'bout this 'cause I really would have thought he'd be cowerin' in the basement under some furniture, coverin' his ears.  Tryin' to get as far away from the thumpin' as possible, like he normally does.  Like he does when there's thunder and lightenin' and stuff.  I really and truly did think that's what he'd be doin', right about now.

Why, I was so sure I was right, I didn't even bother to check!

Didn't think I had to, you see.

'CAUSE LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHIN', OL' PEEPERS-BE-JEEPERS OF MINE: I'M ONE WHISKER SHY OF HIDIN' IN THE BASEMENT, MYSELF!

Not that I'm scared, or anythin' like that.  I, Seville the Cat, am a brave mancat, you see.

I may have already mentioned that.

And brave mancats don't need to hide from loud noises.

No matter how scary they might be.

But nevertheless, my point is, that thumpin' is loud and it's scary and it's hurtin' my ears.

And where is my brother Saffon, anyway?

Lurkin', you say?  Lurkin' outside?  Watchin' the men up on the roof?  Waitin' for 'em to leave?

Hmmm...

Well, that's smart, I suppose.  I mean, they may not be up there fixin' the roof on orders from Santa, but...

But you never know...

You never know, with their knowledge of roofs and rooftop etiquette, they probably know it's just bein' polite that anyone spendin' time up on a rooftop should always leave a prezzie or two.  A prezzie laced with catnip or a boatload of treats or...

Hmmm...

Peepers, did you happen to notice if any of those noisemakin' noisemakers were dressed all in red?  Red hats and coats...  Red with white trim?  

Just askin' for a friend.

And a brother named Saffy who's out in the garden watchin' and lurkin', waitin' for the noisemakin' to end.

MOUSES!

it volunteered!

So the other day, a birdie hit the family room window.  I heard it.  The peeps heard it.  There was nobody else in the room BUT HAD THERE BEEN, I'm sure they would have heard it, too.

MOUSES!

And Peepers, bein' a peep, ran out to check.  You know, to make sure the little birdie was all right.

Okay, so she didn't run.  She walked.  Or, as some peeps might say, she did a slow run.  Not the kinda run you see Steve Austin do in reruns of The Six Million Dollar Man, mind you, 'cause that kinda slow-motion-pretendin'-not-to-be-so-slow runnin' in real life is...

Well...

Nothin' but weird.

MOUSES!

But my point is, Peepers went outside to check on the bird.

And what did she find, you might ask?  Did she find that the birdie was okay?

Well...

Well...

Well, long story short...

No.

The bird was alive, however.

I think.

Unfortunately, it also was also stuffed right inside of Saffy Saffron's little ol' mouth.

MOUSES!

That's right, my dear friends, in the time it took Peepers to get her tail outdoors, Saffy had invited that birdie for dinner.

The birdie just didn't know it was the main course.

MOUSES!

And Saffy was all wide-eyed, askin', "What did I do?  The bird volunteered!"

WELL!  Well, as you can imagine, the peep wasn't takin' that for an answer.  No siree, the peep wasn't believin' what Saffy was sayin'.

Or mimin', I should explain, 'cause with his mouth full of birdie, Saffy was speakin' with paws.

"BUT IT DID!" was Saffy's reply.  "This birdie just landed beside me, WANTING to be uh..."

Umm....

Hmm...

Well...

Well, for lack of a better answer, that was when Saffy saw the writin' on the wall.  So that's when...

What?

No.  No, no one had tagged the garage doors with graffiti.

Prolly 'cause Peepers took away all my spray paints after that last...

Uh...

Umm...

Oh, never mind.

Bottom line is, there is no writin' to be found anywhere in sight.

Anymore.  

MOUSES!

What I meant to say is, Saffy realised the Peep was about to confiscate his newly-found supper, so...

So...

So...

So he ran like the dickens, right under the deck, and neither he nor the bird were to be seen, ever again, and...

Okay, so Saffy showed up 'bout an hour or two later, but the bird was a no show, I'm afraid.

But he might make a return appearance in the ol' litter box, by morning.

MOUSES!

not again

Not again, I say.  I SAY, NOT AGAIN!

Oh for the love of mouses...

MOUSES!

Hey Peepers!  PEEPERS!  Saffy is at the back door, again.  I SAY, SAFFY IS AT THE BACK DOOR!

I say...

Yeah, that's what I said.  Saffy Saffron Sassifras is sittin' at the back door.  Wanted back in, I suppose.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You thinkin' that Saffy has every right to come inside.  After all, this is his house, too.

And I suppose you could be right.

The thing is, though...

The thing is...

The thing is, Saffy just went outside.

'Bout five minutes ago.

Give or take a few seconds.

MOUSES!

Did you not hear me, Peepers?  Did you hear me, ol' peep of mine?  Saffy is sittin' out there at the back door, wanted inside.

MOUSES!

Now, what you - my dear and wonderful pals - might not know is that when Saffy comes inside, he's gonna be expectin' a helpin' of treats.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', Saffy Saffron Sassifras has every right to expect a helpin' of treats.

But the thing is...

The thing is...

The thing is, Saffy had a helpin' of treats about fifteen minutes ago.

WHICH WAS THE LAST TIME HE CAME BACK INSIDE.

And fifteen minutes before that?  Yeah, he came in then, too, and had a helpin' of treats that time, as well.

And fifteen minutes before that?

Well, you get the picture, I am sure.

MOUSES!

Oh good.  Peepers has let my brother back in.

And here come, of course, the helpings of treats.

Excuse me a mo, my dear and wonderful pals, for I'm gonna make sure I get a helpin' as well.

*munch, munch, crunch, crunch*

*BURP!*

*ahhh...*

Hey Peepers!  PEEPERS!  Peepers, Saffy is now at the FRONT door, wantin' to go outside.

And in about ten minutes, he'll prolly be back at the back, wantin' back in.

For another helpin' of treats.

Like the twenty other times already, today.

MOUSES!

we'll gather at dawn

You're gonna have to do somethin' about that, Peepers.

I SAID, you're gonna have to do somethin' about that!

PEEPERS!  Like I said, you're gonna have to do SOMETHIN' about that.

That.

THAT!

Okay, THOSE.  You're gonna have to do somethin' about those.

MOUSES!

Peepers, are you even listenin' to me?

Gosh darn it, all this time I've been talkin' to her, she was firmly sound asleep.

Should have known by the snorin'.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, she might not have been asleep.

SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN IGNORIN' ME.

So rude.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, here's the thing: Peepers has a stash.  That's right, she has her very own stash.

Or is it a horde...

Huh, probably both.

MOUSES!

But it's like this: Peepers has a stash-slash-horde or horde-slash-stash of yarn.  All sorts of different yarns in all sorts of different colours.  It's embarrassing, really.  Embarrassing for her.

Not to mention me.

IMAGINE havin' more balls of yarn than a peep could ever even dream of knittin' up.

IMAGINE!

I mean, it's not like it's a stash of the nip..

A cat CAN ONLY DREAM of havin' so much nip in his stash that he couldn't possibly use it all up before next harvest season.

MOUSES!

But back to this hordelike stash of yarn the peep has.

It's big.  It's stupidly big.  It's BIGLY big, to be sure.  And it's takin' up space that could be put to much better use by bein' used as space for storin' catnip.  It is TOTALLY RIDICULOUS, for sure.

Which is why...

Which is why...

Which is why I have offered to help her out by takin' some of her stashlike horde, unravellin' it all, and thereby puttin' it to better use than just sittin' around, doin' nothin' but nothin', occupyin' space.

And once it's unravelled...

Once it's unravelled...

Well, once a ball of yarn is unravelled, it's time for kitties to do some major slobberin', before knottin' it up.  And THEN, once unravelled, slobbered upon, and knotted in knots, the best thing to do with said yarn is throw it right out!

MAKIN' SPACE FOR MY ANNUAL HARVEST OF NIP.

*purrs*

But Peepers, bein' a peep, is somewhat resistant to this idea.

MOUSES!

But fear not, my dear friends.  Fear not, not at all!  The plan is for Saffy and I to gather at dawn, dive into that stash, and have....

Well, have a ball!

Pun intended.

We'll gather at dawn and have a ball unravellin' those balls of stupid ol' yarn.

Best. Plan, EVER, for sure.

And when we're all done...

When we're all done...

Well, when we're all done, the empty totes that once held the stupid ol' yarn will be MINE.

Every. Single. One.

MOUSES!

crazy cat lady

Heeheeheeheehee...  What a dupe.

What a stupidy-dupidy POOP!

On the other paw...

On the other paw, maybe just poop.

Stupid, stinky, smelly ol' poop.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, some stupidy-dupidy poop, on-line, called Peepers a crazy cat lady, the other day.

And he said it like...

Like...

Get this.

HAHAHAHAAAAA....

He said it like it was an insult, or somethin'.

MOUSES!

Little does he know...

Little does he know, Peepers took it as a complement.

Just as she should.

MOUSES!

So, why was some stupidy-dupidy, stinky ol' poop callin' MY Peepers a crazy cat lady, you ask?

Well...

Well, to tell you the truth, no one really knows.

I mean, she is a lady, of sorts.

No real title, of course.

But she does know her manners and uses 'em well.

Usually.

MOUSES!

And I think we can all agree, she isn't a cat.

If only she were so lucky.

MOUSES!

And as far as bein' crazy...

Well, as far as bein' crazy, she really isn't, you know.

I don't think.

MOUSES!

To tell you the truth, I just think this guy got mad 'cause he realised he was wrong 'bout somethin', and instead of admittin' it, he decided to double down and hurl a bunch of insults.

But as this guy doesn't know an insult from a complement, Peepers has a message for him:  THANK YOU!  THANK YOU VERY MUCH.  THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLEMENT, KIND...

Hmmm...

Sir?

Nah, that doesn't sound quite right.

Thank you for the complement, kind stupidy-dupidy, smelly ol' poop.

That sounds better, for sure.

MOUSES!

what happens in Vegas...

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Right?

Right.

MOUSES!

Okay, so this didn't happen in Vegas.  Happened right here at my house.  My house here in Nova Scotia, Canada, that is.

MOUSES!

But the same principle applies.

Right?

Right.

MOUSES!

But on the other paw...

On the other paw, that would be wrong.

MOUSES!

'Cause the fact is, if peeps do stupid stuff...

And if I, Seville the Cat, should happen to see them doin' stupid stuff...

I'M GONNA TELL EVERYONE I KNOW.

'Cause that's the kinda cat I am.

MOUSES!

'Cause nobody - AND I DO MEAN NOBODY - is gonna put a muzzle on me.

What do you think I am?  A dog of some sort?

MOUSES!

So here's what happened the other day:  Peepers, bein' a peep, was walkin' around the yard with a cup of tea in her paw.

I mean, hand.

But there she was, walkin' about the garden, lookin' this way and that, when...

When she walked right smack dab into the hangin' glass bird bath.

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Water, water...  There was water, everywhere!

Well, maybe not everywhere.  Her shirt seemed to catch most of it, in fact.  She was drenched right down her front.

I didn't even know a bird bath could hold that much water.

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And, I am told, the whole moused-up incident left her with a headache of sorts.

She SAYS it's 'cause the bird bath hit her in the forehead.

I SAY, the bird bath didn't hit her, but rather, she hit it.

I also say that that tea must have been laced with somethin' stronger than tea leaves.

SHE SAYS it was not.

And truth be told, she is a bit of a klutz.  So perhaps it was all down to klutziness and whatnot.  Human, peepish kutziness and stuff.

But you'll never catch a cat doin' somethin' stupid like that.

MOUSES!

unanswered questions

It's been a long time since I've done a post like this.  A long, long, L - O - N - G time, for sure.

So I figured it was probably time to do one again.  You know, keep my paw in.  That sorta thing.

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What kinda post do I mean?

Well...

Well, the kinda post where I answer all of life's unanswered questions.  You know the kind.  The kind like uh...

Um...

Well...

Well, like who let the dogs out, for one.

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Who DID let the dogs out, you ask?

Their PEEPS! of course.

What, did you think dogs were standin' up on their hind legs, openin' doors, and lettin' themselves outside, now?

Pshaw, of all the silly things.

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'Course, it could also have been aliens.

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And speakin' of aliens...

And speakin' of aliens, we all know it was aliens that built all those pyramids, right?

Right.

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And speakin' of pyramids, I sure am glad Peepers stopped buyin' those funny lookin' pyramid-shaped teabags.  They kinda freak me out, on account of their lookin' so weird.

Imagine usin' pyramids for tea.

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And speakin' of tea...

And speakin' of tea, why-oh-why would peeps wanna use MY catnip to make THEMSELVES tea?

That's right: some peep out there has been stealin' my nip.

At least, that's what I'm thinkin' happened to part of my nip bed.  I'm thinkin' someone went and stole a few stems of catnip.  I've been countin' my nip crop daily, you see -  'cause that's what I do - and I'm absolutely positively certain SOMEONE stole three stems of my nip.  I've got three stems missin', for sure.

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So who stole my catnip, you ask?  Who?

That's gotta be THE MOST IMPORTANT unanswered question of all time.  The most important unanswered question in the whole wide world, to be sure.

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Truth is, I'm thinkin' it was Peepers.  I'm THINKIN' she thought she'd try a few leaves in her tea.  I'M THINKIN'...

Well, I'm thinkin' it had to be Peepers, for sure.  'Cause who else would have come into my garden and done such an awful thing?

Yup, had to be Peepers.  Absolutely HAD to be her.  Either her or some neighbourhood kitty who found him or herself in dire need of the nip.

Either that, or...

Well...

Well, it could have been aliens, I guess.  Nipped up aliens, sippin' on nip tea made from MY catnip - on account of their havin' run out of their own stuff in the little pyramidal teabags - while restin' after a hard day's work buildin' stone pyramids, and takin' a break before havin' to let all the dogs out for their nightly walks.

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Hmmm...

Can aliens even get nipped, do you suppose?

Huh.

Just another one of life's unanswered questions, I guess.  Another question for another post.

MOUSES!

about time

Well it's about time, Peepers.  It's about time.  You've been promising to make me...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about now?

YES I KNOW you started makin' me my blankie ages ago.  But then you set it aside.  You stopped knittin'.  And then...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about NOW?

YES I KNOW that for a while it was really too hot for for me to need a blankie, at all.  But there were nights that were cooler, too, you know.  I could have used a blankie on those nights, for sure.  PLUS, I can always sleep ON the blankie, even in warm weather, and...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about NOW?

YES I KNOW the first stitch you experimented with turned out to be a pain in the tail to knit, but...

WHAT?

Peepers, are you sayin' your first attempt to knit me a blankie was an experiment?

Peepers, ARE YOU SAYIN' you were EXPERIMENTIN'?

Experimentin' on ME?

Of all the moused up, stupid things for a peep to do.

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Peepers, if you wanna be experimentin' with knittin', you should stick to experimentin' on things you happen to be knittin' for yourself.

Or Saffy.

He'll never know.

But not for me.

MOUSES!

YOU HAVE A HECK OF A LOT OF NERVE thinkin' you can possibly get away with experimentin' on knittin' somethin' that you're supposed to be knittin' for me.

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Thank goodness you scrapped that experiment and decided to use a stitch you're more familiar with.  One you know will turn out all cushiony soft.  Thank goodness you decided to use that ol' Bamboo stitch just like the blankie you made for yourself.  Thank goodness you...

Wait a minute.

Peepers, now that I'm lookin' at your knittin' progress a little more closely, I must ask: what's with all the different colours?  How come you're usin' four different colours of yarn to knit up the blankie for me?  

And she's not yet finished.  There might end up bein' more!

What was that, Peepers?  I DIDN'T HEAR YOU.  You didn't answer my question.  Why are you usin' so many different colours when knittin' MY blankie.  YOUR blankie had just the one.

Colour, I mean.

And why the mouses are those the colours you chose?  I mean, the paprika and dusty peach are okay, BUT THE ROSE?  Are you unaware I am a cat who is orange?  Orange with rose?

Really?

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WHAT?

YOU'RE SAYIN' YOU'RE MAKIN' MY BLANKIE USIN' UP OLD SCRAPS?  Scraps of yarn you no longer need?  Scraps of yarn not even worth keepin' in your stash?

You're usin' LEFTOVERS to make a blankie for me?

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Of all the nerve.

I've never been so insulted in all my nine lives.

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Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday to me.  Happy Birthday to me.  Happy Birthday dear me........

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about now?

What do you MEAN it's not my birthday?  What do you MEAN?

Oh yeah.  Never mind.  You happen to right, there, Peepers.  For once.  Today is not, in fact, my birthday.  My birthday happens to be this Tuesday.

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Happy Early Birthday, to me.  Happy Early Birthday, to me.  Happy Early Birthday dear me...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about NOW?

What do you MEAN Tuesday is not my birthday?  What do you MEAN?

And more to the point, how would you even know?

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'CAUSE YOU DIDN'T KNOW ME when I was born, that's why.  You didn't know me when I was an eensy teensy weensy little kitty.  You didn't meet me 'til I was well and truly grown.  So even though you know the date of my Gotcha Day, when it comes to birthdays, you know nothin' but your own.

And maybe a few other peeps.

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BUT MY POINT IS, you have no idea when my actual birthday is, and for all you know, it could easily be this Tuesday.

Tuesday, July the 1st.

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And what's more...

Hmmm...

Nope, I got nothin' to add to that.

Wait a minute!  It just so happens, I do.

Fact is, Peepers, this Tuesday - Tuesday, July the 1st - is gonna be an absolutely huge birthday celebratory blast.  Yup, there are picnics and Q's - that's short for BBQs, in case ya didn't know - and parades, and all sorts of things planned.  Prince Edward is even in town!  Okay, so maybe not in my particular town, for reasons I simply cannot fathom but I'm thinkin' it has somethin' to do with a faulty GPS or somethin' like that, but um...  But anyway, my point is, Prince Edward is here in Canada for MY birthday blast.  Now, I can pass on the fireworks they're plannin', as I'm not too keen on those, but hey, if peeps wanna have fireworks to celebrate my birthday, who am I to scold 'em for interruptin' my late evenin' nap, and...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about NOW?

What do you MEAN Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh, is in Canada to celebrate CANADA'S birthday and not mine?

WHAT THE MOUSIE MOUSIN' MOUSES CAN YOU POSSIBLY MEAN?

Oh.

That.

Hmmm...

But I thought...

Oh, for mousin' out loud.  And there I was, thinkin' forty million or so Canadians were plannin' a big ol' birthday bash for little ol' me, Seville the Cat.

But then again....

But then again, maybe everyone is plannin' on celebratin' both!

EVER THINK ABOUT THAT?

And it's not like I'm incapable of sharin'.

Just as long as nobody is wantin' a share of my nip.

'Cept, of course, for Prince Edward.  Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh, that is.  'CAUSE EVERYONE KNOWS, sharin' a nip mouse with a member of the Royal Family is a true honour, for sure

Note to self: don't slobber on any nip mice I plan on sharin' with Royals as that would be frowned upon, I believe.

Maybe.

Well...  Probably.

Yeah, I'm bettin' it would.

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are you in there?

Hey Peepers, are you in there?

Hey Peepers!

PEEPERS!

PEEPERS!  ARE YOU IN THERE?

Oh good, I was just checkin' you were there.

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But uh...  But how come you didn't answer me the first time?

I DON'T CARE that you were in the bathroom, takin' a shower.  You still could have answered.

Which would have saved me from havin' to yell.

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So anyway...

So anyway, now that I know you're in there, you can go back to doin' whatever, although you might wanna first take the time to mop up the water you dripped all over the floor.

What?

DON'T BLAME ME 'cause you got out of the shower to answer my calls and ended up drippin' water all over the floor.  I didn't tell you to get all soppin' wet in the first place.  AND I CERTAINLY didn't tell you to stand at the door drippin' water all over....

What?

Well...

Well, had you told me you were gonna take a shower BEFORE you took said shower, I would have known where you were.  I would have known you were in the shower and I wouldn't have had to sing the song of my people over and over AND OVER again outside the bathroom door, tryin' to figure out if you were in there or not and...

What?

SO WHAT if I heard the water runnin'.  You suggestin' the water isn't ever runnin' when no one is takin' a shower?

Well, yeah.  Yeah, maybe not at our house.  But I'm sure that if you look long and hard enough, you'll find some plumber, somewhere, who had to make an emergency visit to somebody's house 'cause water was runnin' when it wasn't supposed to be runnin' and ended up runnin' all over the place, when no one was takin' a shower.

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But like I said, Peepers, now that I know you're actually in there...  Now that I know where you are....  Now that I know, you can go back in there and finish up with your shower.  

I just needed to know.

'CAUSE I'M A CAT, THAT'S WHY.  We cats like to be kept informed.

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Boy-oh-boy, explain' stuff to peeps can be so difficult, at times.

For mousin' out loud, all I wanted to know was where she was.

It's not like I was askin' for state secrets, or anythin' like that.

I get those on Signal chat.

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Hmmm...  You know, it's been at least two minutes since I heard from her last.  I should probably do something 'bout that.

Hey Peepers, are you still in there?

Hey Peepers!

PEEPERS!

PEEPERS!  ARE YOU STILL IN THERE?

Yup, she must be.  Just heard the water bein' turned off and I'm pretty sure it doesn't do that all on its own.

And now the door handle is turnin'.

And now...

DON'T LOOK at me like that, Peepers.  I was just wonderin' if you were still in the shower.

You know, you really should have told me just how long you would be.  That would have saved me from havin' to check on you again, and all that.

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AND DON'T FORGET TO MOP UP ALL THAT WATER YOU'VE DRIPPED ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

AGAIN.

Good gosh, a kitty could get his paws wet walkin' into the bathroom after you've been in there, havin' your stupid shower.

MOUSES!

four minute mile

Yup, you heard that right.  You heard that definitely right, for sure.  Saffy and Peepers have beaten their own record.  Those two have gone and run a four minute mile!

MOUSES!

Hmmm...

Did I say minute?  

That's not correct.

Nope, what I SHOULD have said is that Saffy and Peepers have bested their record and run a four HOUR mile.

MOUSES!

Hmmm...

Did I say run?

That's not correct.

Nope, what I SHOULD have said is that Saffy and Peepers have bested their record and uh...

Ummm...

Hmmm...

Well...

Well truth be told, I don't know what you'd call what they were doin', but I do know one thing for sure: Whatever it was, it was nothin' like runnin', at all.

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 It was more like uh...

Ummm...

Hmmm...

Well...

Well like I said, it was more like somethin' totally unlike runnin'.  Totally unlike anythin' even resemblin' anythin' that knows how to run.  It was more like a...

Ummm...

Hmmm...

Like a crawl.

'Cept without any knees bein' involved.

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Oh, I know!

Okay, so you know when figure skaters do those figure eights, over and over again?

It was kinda like that.

'Cept no one was wearin' skates.

But Saffy was, in fact, doin' figure eights 'round and 'round and 'round Peepers' feet with Every. Single. Step. she did take.

Which is why...

Which is why it took like four hours for Peepers to get from the backyard into the kitchen which is actually nothin' like a mile, but I think everyone was feelin' like it was, on account of it takin' so long to get from there to here, and...

Good gosh, I was exhausted just watching 'em run.

I mean, crawl.

I mean...

Whatever it was.

MOUSES!