eenie meenie miney mo

"Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a snackie by its toe..."

"What's a snackie?" asked my sister, Mason.  "I've never heard of that before."

I looked at Mason and rolled my eyes. "Clearly, it's a made-up word.  I needed to add a second syllable in order to make the rhyme work.  MOUSES!"

Mason thought about this for a moment before asking, "What kinds of snacks have toes?  Mice?"

"No," I informed her.  "Well, they do but they're not on the menu tonight.  There are two bags of treats up here on the island and a plate with some cheese.  Some orange cheese and some white cheese. I'm trying to decide whether to go with the treats or the cheese and if the cheese, which kind."

Mason hopped up onto the island next to me and after snatching one of the treat bags with a claw, she jumped back down onto the floor.  "I'd go with the treats," she called behind her.  "Snacking on cheese gives you those weird dreams about Mouseland and the Canadian Cheese Consortium."  Her voice trailed off as she headed into the family room with her bag of treats.

"No can do.  The rhyme just eliminated the last bag of treats.  Besides, I'm not sure Mouseland is a dream," I added even though Mason was now out of earshot.  "Now where was I?  Oh yeah, eenie meenie miney mo..."

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

After scarfing down several chunks of the orange cheese, I headed into the family room, myself. Snacking on cheese always makes me sleepy, you see.

"Psst...  Cat.  Psst...  Cat.  PSST...  CAT!!!  Are you awake there, Mr. Cat?"

"Well I am now," and I stared into the eyes of a little grey mouse.  "What do you want this time?"

"Your assistance..."

"Yeah, yeah, my assistance is required.  Mouseland needs me again.  Yadda, yadda, yadda. MOUSES!"  I waited for the grammar mice police to chime in with their usual grammar lessons regarding the plural of mouse but heard nothing.  Nothing but silence.  "What's up with the grammar mice?" I asked the little grey mouse standing before me.  "Cat got their tongues?"

"That's why I'm here, Mr. Cat," answered the little grey mouse.

"You mean a cat really did get their tongues?  MOUSES!"

Again, nothing but silence.  Truth be told, the absence of the grammar mice police was somewhat disconcerting.

The little grey mouse glared at me, pursing his lips, signalling his disapproval.  "Follow me, please. I'm on a tight schedule."

I rose from the chesterfield, stretching first my front legs and then my back.  After giving my head a bit of a shake and letting out a loud yarn, I obediently followed the little grey mouse.  There was no use arguing as the mice of Mouseland are well known as being a rather persistent lot.

As expected, when we turned the corner and entered what should have been the kitchen, the air turned thick and hazy.  Rainbow coloured threads swirled before my eyes and the space-time continuum was altered as the kitchen morphed into the great hall of Mouseland.  But the hall was different, this time, for other than the little grey mouse who had come to summon me, there wasn't a mouse in sight.

"This way," the little grey mouse called as he led me down the center of the hall until there, right before my eyes, he disappeared in a poof of light.

"MOUSES!" I cried and stopped dead in my tracks.  I inched my way forward, sniffing out the mouse's tracks and then, all of a sudden, a little grey paw reached out of nowhere, grabbed me by a whisker and pulled me in.  I felt myself falling.  Down and down and down I fell, picking up speed as I went.  It seemed like I was falling forever and goodness knows how far I fell until finally, I stopped, landing with a thud.

"Ouch!  Get off me, you big lug!!!" cried the little grey mouse as he struggled to crawl out from beneath me, looking a little worse for the wear.

"Sorry about that," I apologised.  "Didn't see the floor coming."  I stood and brushed off my fur.  Looking about, I found the room to be empty save for a small group of mice, huddled around a table.  I counted and found there to be eleven.  "Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a snackie by its toe..."  I stopped myself short. Probably wasn't a good idea to be talking in such a suggestive manner.  I quickly changed the subject and asked, "So what's with the table of mice?  Are they having a meeting or something?"

"Yes, this is the Council Chamber of the CCCCCGMPF and this is their monthly council meeting."

"The CCCCCGMPF?  What the mouses...?"

"The Canadian Cheese Consortium County Council Grammar Mouse Police Force," the little grey mouse explained.  "They gave themselves a name that would make them feel important."

"MOUSES!"

"Exactly," sighed the little grey mouse.  "But as you can see, they're in the midst of a meeting. They're discussing an amendment to the Mouseland dictionary whereby they would..."  The little mouse stopped mid-sentence.  "Hold on, they're about to vote," and I could sense the mouse holding his breath so I held mine as well.

"All those in favour," one of the grammar mice cried and I watched as eight little mice held up their paws.  "All those against," the grammar mouse continued and the three other mice held up paws. "That's it, then.  Eight to three in favour of NOT amending the Mouseland dictionary and changing the plural form of mouse to mice. "

"MOUSES!" I cried.

And as if echoing from the very council chamber walls themselves, I heard, "Mice, the plural of mouse, is mice."  Oddly enough, the familiar sound of the grammar mice attempting to correct my grammar was somewhat reassuring.

"Ummm..." and I whispered to the little grey mouse.  "They do realise that MOUSES! isn't meant to be the plural form of mouse, don't they?  It's more of an expression, really.  It's like...  Uh...  Well... It's just MOUSES!  It's what you say when you're frustrated or excited or you just want to add a little emphasis to something.  It was never meant to mean more than one mouse.  MOUSES!"

The little grey mouse shook his head.  "Sadly, no.  They think your brother Nerissa the Cat invented the word to mock their love of grammar."

"Well that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," I explained to the little grey mouse, somewhat indignantly.  "Nissy mock grammar?  Why, he was a grammar fanatic!  Nissy loved his grammar! He always made sure to use I and me correctly, not to mention lay and lie.  And he never ended a sentence with a preposition.  Okay, sometimes he did do that.  Being a stickler with the preposition stuff can make a cat appear a little pretentious at times, if you know what I mean.  But the bottom line is this.  Nissy truly loved good grammar.  He loved it almost as much as he loved inventing words and, of course, using run-on sentences which he freely admitted to doing, not ever denying it one bit.  MOUSES!"

"Mice!" the grammar mice shouted as they stared pointedly at me.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," and I waved off the mice as I approached them.  "Look, you've got it all wrong. Firstly, mouses doesn't mean a bunch of mice," and I held up a paw before they could attempt to correct me.  "Secondly, look around you, you mice.  This is the twenty-first century and the world is a-changing.  All the major spell-checks on the Internet are accepting MOUSES! as a word and it's only a matter of time before Oxford and Websters do, too.  THIS IS THE FUTURE.  You have it within your grasp to be a progressive grammar council, leading the way to a new tomorrow.  A tomorrow where the word MOUSES! is as acceptable as cream cheese."

The mice gasped in unison.

I saw I was making headway and so continued my spiel.  "Listen up, you mice.  We can all see you're just digging in your heels, here.  Digging them in until you can dig no further.  But do you know what happens when you dig in your heels?  You end up digging a hole for yourself.  A hole for yourself so deep, there's not getting out of it. You think that by admitting you're wrong about this whole mice versus mouses thing, you'll somehow be viewed as being weak in the eyes of the mice of Mouseland.  But you won't!  Owning up to our mistakes only makes us stronger.  Owning up to our mistakes shows the world we have character.  Resisting change is what reveals us to be weak."

I looked over at the little grey mouse who had summoned me to Mouseland and could see him smiling from ear to ear.  Clearly my speech had pleased him.

Turning back to the council I added, "And now, my little Mouseland friends, what do you say we take another vote, huh?  I think that sounds like a good idea."  But the members of the CCCCCGMPF continued to simply sit around the table, stone-faced.

"Okay then, we'll play it your way," I said.  Pointing a claw at each of the little grammar mice sitting at the table and with a gleam in my eye, I chanted, "Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a snackie by its toe..."

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.

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!