how rude

Hey!  What do you think you're doing? MOUSES!

Lookie here, little birdie, this ain't no tug-of-war, it's...

Do you see what you just made me do?  I used the word ain't.  Ain't ain't even a word!  I mean, it isn't.  MOUSES!

Now come on, Mr. Birdie...  Or are you a missus?  Doesn't matter, really.  All I know is that you're rude.  Rude as the rudest of birds can be.  MOUSES!

Yeah, you.  Yeah, I'm talkin' to YOU.  I'm talking to you, the tug-of-war playing rude birdie who's ripping apart the peep's flowers and making me use bad grammar.

Don't bother looking over your shoulder, little birdie.  There's no one back there. Don't think you're gonna palm the blame off on someone else.  You don't even have palms.  You're a bird!  MOUSES!

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This was what happened at my house, the other morning.  As you can imagine, I was saying a whole lot of MOUSES! on account of the mousin' rudeness of that moused-up bird.  MOUSES!

Now you're probably wondering how a little birdie got me so worked up as normally, this here garden of mine is a bird-friendly zone, for sure.  Well wonder no more 'cause I'm gonna spill the beans right here and right now.

Please note that my spilling of beans does not involve any actual beans.  I'm gonna tell you right here and right now that there are no beans planted in my garden.  Do you know what happens when you plant beans?  I'll tell you what happens.  You get beanstalks growing, for sure.  And do you know what happens when those beanstalks that are growing happen to be growing from magical beans?

YOU DON'T WANNA KNOW!

Believe me, I know.  MOUSES!

But back to the beans...

No, I mean, the bird.  The rude bird.  The rudest bird ever, and for sure.  MOUSES!

What's that, Andy?  Was the bird being rude on account of his having eaten some beans?  I don't think so, Brother Anderson, also known as Sir Fartsalot.  That's your department.  Remember? MOUSES!


Anyway, there was this bird.  I don't know what kind of bird he was except for the fact that he was black like a crow but too small to actually be a crow so I'm thinking he was one of those birdies called Blackbirds or something. You know the ones, I am sure.

So there was this bird who was smaller than a crow but bigger than a little Chickadee or Goldfinch.  A medium-sized bird with gargantuan-sized rudeness packed right in.

And he was rude.  Rude as rude can be.  Do you know what he did?

I'll tell you what he did.  He tore up Peep's rock cress, for sure.

That's right, I was looking out the front door and I saw this medium-sized birdie, we think might be a Blackbird, grab hold of the rock cress and start pulling and pulling and pulling like there was no tomorrow.  He was pulling that ol' rock cress like it was a worm in the ground, holding onto said ground for dear life, except for the fact that it wasn't a worm but rather, a sprig of the peep's rock cress she had planted in the front garden.

I WAS GONNA POSSIBLY POSE NEXT TO THAT ROCK CRESS FOR PICTURE TAKING AND EVERYTHING.  MOUSES!

Well at least I was thinking about posing.  Posing like Rushton did, earlier.  I was giving it some consideration, for sure.  Maybe.  Kinda.  Possibly.  That sort of thing.  MOUSES!

Anyway, so the rude bird pulled and pulled and pulled until the rock cress could hold on no longer and gave up on the ol' game of tug-of-war, and let go.

Just to clarify, it was the rock cress who let go and not the birdie.  No, the birdie held on, causing him to stagger back and when he did, he had a sprig of flowering rock cress in his beak.  Then he began to strut about, showing off his prize, like he was cock of the walk and then...

Okay, there was no actual strutting involved.

But after the tug-of-war game ended and I stopped yelling, the birdie took one look at me and flew off with that rock cress still in his beak.  Yup, flew off to parts unknown wherever those parts may be.  MOUSES!


I, of course, was disgusted.

But I got over my disgust and immediately went and told the peep on that birdie, so as to make sure she didn't blame me for the missing rock cress, thinking I had ripped it apart so as not to have to have my picture taken with it.  MOUSES!

Later that day, I discovered two pansy flowers lying on the driveway, nowhere near where any pansy plants grow. Lying there, wilting away.  Methinks that birdie had something to do with the demise of the pansies, too.  MOUSES!

Mr. Stinkybums

Yesterday morning, the second peep was searching, high and low, all over the kitchen.  Searching for orange juice.

Now I'm not really into orange juice, myself.  Nor am I into oranges, what with their being citrus and my being a cat and cats not liking citrus and all BUT I was somewhat amused by the search for this long lost glass of juice.  Peep #2 claimed that orange juice had been poured but there was not a drop of the orange stuff in sight.

That was until...

Until Peep #2 came across a bowl of cereal sitting on the kitchen island, filled to the brim with...  you guessed it... ORANGE JUICE.  MOUSES!

Raisin bran with orange juice is, I am told, an unacceptable combination for peeps.

But boy-oh-boy is it funny.  I laughed so hard I nearly coughed up a fur ball.  Peep #1 was laughing, too.  She laughed so hard that for a moment, I thought she had turned into a lion or something.  Yup, she was roaring with laughter, for sure.

In case you were wondering, cereal is supposed to eaten with milk.  MOUSES!

Oh gosh, I love milk.  Not allowed the stuff, though, on account of my lactose intolerance.  I quite like the cat milk variety but we don't always have it on paw.  The peeps really should be better at keeping a good supply of it in the house.

It's really not fair.  My two marmie brothers and I are all lactose intolerant so none of us are allowed milk or cream although as you may know, I have been known to scarf down a piece of cheese every now and then.  Andy likes cheese, too.  Rushton isn't into the stuff.

You may remember that due to Anderson's lactose intolerance, he was knighted Sir Fartsalot. MOUSES!

Andy claims he was knighted by Queen Elizabeth, herself, but I'm not so sure about that.  I think it was Peep #1 who gave him the name...  Title...  Whatever.

The other day, the first peep gave Andy another name...  Mr. Stinkybums.  She said it right to his face and everything.  Kind of rude if you ask me although, truth be told, kind of true, too. MOUSES!

Then yesterday, I overheard the peeps talking.  I wasn't supposed to be listening in but being a curious cat, I did and I overheard a peepsified conversation.  Word on the street is that first thing tomorrow morning, Peep #1 is calling my doctor's office to make an appointment for Sir Fartsalot - A.K.A. Mr. Stinkybums - to visit the groomer.  He's going to be having a bath.  Andy isn't aware of this bathing plan so don't tell him, okay?  I'm thinking he's not going to like it.  Peep #1 told Peep #2 that Andy will feel way better after he's all nice and clean and sweet smelling and everything but even she is scared to let him in on the secret.

The peep shouldn't be scared but I can tell you who should.  The person who should be scared is the person who will be giving Andy that bath!  Have you seen the size of that boy's paws?  You'll notice that neither of my peeps volunteered for the job.

And if I overheard correctly, Andy is going to be loosing a little of the floof in his tail region, too.  He wears his fur, pantaloon style, if you know what I mean but all that excess floof appears to be part of his problem.  MOUSES!

Oh my gosh...  I just HAVE to tell you what happened.

When the peeps first moved into this house, before I was even born, there was a pool surrounded by a deck.  The peeps never used the pool and decided to get rid of it, a few years ago but peep stuff happened and it was only this year that they took action.  Yeah, I know, I've got a couple of procrastinating peeps.

Anyway, long tail short.  Sorry about that.  I mean, long tale short.  No, sorry.  Long story short, as of last week, the pool is now gone.  The deck is still there but the pool disappeared into nothingness.  It just disappeared into thin air like magic.  Yup, it's true.  One moment it was there and the next moment - about ten days later - it was gone.  MOUSES!

But the big news isn't the magical disappearing act.  The big news is that where that icky old pool once stood is now the most amazing, incredible, too-good-to-believe, mind-bogglingly huge, giant sandbox.

I took one look at that amazing sandbox and said to the peeps... WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG???

To think that the world's most incredible sandbox was lying there, hidden away underneath that pool for all those years.

Oh gosh, it really is fantastic.  Mason and I have both been frolicking about in the sand.  Mason likes to run and pounce on the sand, catching imaginary sand monsters or something.  Personally, I like to roll in it.  I roll this way and that until I'm covered with the stuff.  Then I come inside the house and give myself a good shake. It's nice to share the sand with the peeps.

And no, Mr. Stinkybums isn't allowed in our new sandbox until he has been all destinkafied by the groomer.  MOUSES!

Now from what I've heard, Peep #1 is planning on planting a garden in our new sandbox.  As you can imagine, I'm not too thrilled with this idea.  It's pretty much perfect just the way it is and clearly does not require any gardening interference on her part.

Of course, is she were to plant nip...

By the way, OUR NIP PLANTS ARE GROWING!  They're not very big yet but they most definitely are growing.  Didn't know the peep had it in her, to be honest.  She proved me wrong.  She actually can grow something worth growing.  MOUSES!

The valerian is growing, too.  Right now, the plants are blooming but the flowers are pretty stinky, if you ask me.  The peep seems to like how they smell.  Like baby powder, she says.  To each his own, I suppose.

Personally, I'm waiting until the peep harvests the valerian root.  Funny thing is, Peep #1 thinks the roots of the valerian are stinky whereas I think they smell great.  Peep wouldn't know a good stink if it rose up and slapped her in the face.  MOUSES!

You know, some peeps say that valerian root smells like stinky feet.  I wonder if that's why my sister Mason has such a fascination with the peeps' shoes.  Just saying...

Mr. Stinkybums has not yet encountered the root of the valerian. Wait 'til he tries it!  He's going to love it, for sure.  Currently however, he's having difficulty getting the stench of those baby powder-scented flowers past his nose just as the peeps are having difficulty getting the smell of Mr. Stinkybums past theirs and as I, Seville, am have difficulty getting the smell of orange juice infused raisin bran past mine.

Now the scent of nip flowers, on the other paw, is really quite delightful.  MOUSES!

all Sir Fartsalot's fault

What do you mean, I can't have any cream? But Peepers, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  You're gonna be havin' cream. You're gonna be havin' pumpkin pie with whipped cream on top,  Why can't I have some, too?

What do you mean, tomorrow isn't Thanksgiving up here in Canada?  What do you mean, it's only Thanksgiving for our pals in the United States? What do you mean, we already celebrated Thanksgiving, last month?  WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

Hmmm...

Okay Peepers, how 'bout this?  How about we celebrate Thanksgiving for a second time.  You know, 'cause so many of our pals are celebratin'.  Let's celebrate with 'em!  Nothin' wrong with having two Thanksgivings, I think.  Nothin' wrong with that, at all.  In fact, I think that bein' thankful for the life that we have is a good thing.  We're warm and safe and have our friends and each other. We're surrounded by love.  Bein' thankful for all that, twice, should be twice as good.  Right?

So now that that's settled, why don't you whip up an ol' pumpkin pie for tomorrow and we'll celebrate Thanksgiving for a second time, this year.  How 'bout it, Peepers?  You with me on this?

I'd like my pumpkin pie with extra whipped cream, minus the pie, please.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'VE BEEN CUT OFF FROM CREAM?  Awww...  MOUSES!

I thought for sure that Peep #1 would give me a little cream in celebration of Thanksgiving.

So there you have it, my friends, I've been cut off from the cream.  And do you know what?  It's all Sir Fartsalot's fault.  Again I must say, MOUSES!

So this is what happened...

It has been a long known fact that my marmie brothers, Seville and Rushton, are lactose intolerant. Neither one of 'em can touch a drop of anythin' dairy.  Not a drop.  Unfortunately, they both love the taste of dairy but the best the peeps can do for 'em is milky tastin' treats and whatnot.  From what they've told me, it's just not the same thing.

When my newest marmie brother, Anderson, came to live with us, Peep #1 figured he'd be lactose intolerant, too, and do you know what?  She was right.  The second peep gave him a smidgen of cream - against the wishes of the first peep - and the next thing we knew, Peep #2 had discovered a previously unknown source of renewable energy.  That's right, the cream gave my new brother gas.

The problem was, Anderson was hooked on the ol' cream the moment it passed his lips.  He wanted more and more of the stuff but Peep #1 put her paw down sayin', "No cream for Andy!"

Anderson was spendin' more and more time, gazing longingly at the refrigerator, hoping and praying that the peeps would relent and give him a drop of the cream but the peeps stood fast.  There was to be no cream for my marmie brother, Anderson.

Peep #1 went out and got some of the ol' cat milk.  Problem is, none of us really like the stuff...  except for Andy!  Now you'd think that would be a good thing, right?  'Cause Anderson would be happy gettin' cat milk while cats like me, every now and then, imbibed in a drop or two of the cream.

Normally, it would be a very good thing but Peep #2 was feelin' sorry for me while I watched Anderson down his saucer of cat milk, followed by mine.  So the second peep gave me a drop of cream.

Now let me tell you somethin'.  I, Nerissa the Cat, am eleven-and-a-half years old.  Durin' my eleven-and-a-half years, I have always been allowed to enjoy a little cream.  Never a lot.  Just a drop or two.  And only every now and then.  Never caused a problem.

But Peep #2 was feelin' sorry for me a little too much or somethin' and the next thing I knew, I was gettin' extra helpings of the cream.  This was all goin' on, unbeknownst to the first peep. Unbeknownst until...

Until the cream gave me gas.  MOUSES!

That's right, Peep #2 gave me way too much cream.  It all adds up, you see.  A drop here and a drop there, followed by a few more drops...  Long story short, Peep #2 gave me cream four times in one day.  What a peep.  What a way to ruin a good thing.  MOUSES!

Well I was not at all happy with the lack of cream and made my opinions known by settin' up camp in front of the refrigerator.  Peeps couldn't open the door without my pleadin' and beggin'.

That's when Peep #1 did some research and discovered that certain kinds of plain yogurt are low in lactose and the beneficial bacteria in 'em might actually help with lactose intolerance.  Even in cats. In fact, these types of yogurt are said to be perfectly fit for us cats.  Excellent.

So the first peep went shoppin'.  Home she came with not only the yogurt but also some chicken baby food.  I'm told that the baby food was the hardest thing to find.  For some reason, most of the chicken baby food on the market, 'round here, contains veggies and some of those veggies, like onions, aren't safe for us kitties.   The peep says it took her a long time to find the one and only variety of chicken that was veggie-free.

The peep mixed some of the chicken baby food in with a little yogurt.  I sniffed it.  I gave it a lick.  IT WAS YUMMY!  I devoured it in seconds.

Well...  that was a couple of weeks ago and suffice it to say, the novelty has worn off.

Oh sure, Anderson is still enjoying a steady supply of cat milk.  Anderson, who started this whole fiasco of the cream limitations with his lactose intolerance fartin'.  MOUSES!

Well the cat milk may be fine for Andy - hereby known as Sir Fartsalot - but what about me?  I have had to resort to, once again, beggin' and pleadin' by the refrigerator door, hoping against all hope that a peep will take pity upon me and give me a drop of cream. Just one drop.  That's all I ask!

But the peeps are both united on this front, now.  All ten of us cats have been cut off, cold turkey, from the cream.  Just wait 'til my sister, Tess, the butter fiend, finds out that butter is off the menu, too.  MOUSES!

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And for all my American pals...   HAPPY THANKSGIVING!  May you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, surrounded by good friends and loving family and may you all, ALL, get to enjoy a drop or two of the cream.