birds

Knock it off!

KNOCK IT OFF!

I SAID, KNOCK IT OFF OUT THERE, YOU STUPID BIRDS!!!

MOUSES!

I'm tellin' ya...

Birds.

MOUSES!

Peepers.  PEEPERS!  Peepers, this is all your fault, you know.  It's ALL. YOUR. FAULT.  If you hadn't fed those darned birds all last winter, then planted a whole bunch of stuff for 'em to eat in the summer, they wouldn't be hangin' out in the garden next to MY office window, right now.  YOU are to blame, Peepers.  You are TOTALLY to blame.

MOUSES!

Actually, I wouldn't mind 'em all that much if it weren't for that incessant noise they keep makin'.  All that cawin' and squawkin' and stuff.

They're disturbin' my peace!

They're almost as bad as the peep when she caterwauls.  Not quite, but pretty darned close.

MOUSES!

I know!  I shall call the RCMP and let 'em know there's a flock of crows and blue jays in my yard all hootin' and hollerin; and disturbin' the peace.

Now let's see...  Nine...  One...

PEEPERS!  You might wanna check on those birds.

I DON'T CARE if you're not bothered by their loud cawin'.  I'm phonin' the police 'cause I'M bothered by all that noise.  But you might wanna get out there toot suite, my peep, 'cause I'm bettin' you'll be bothered by what they've started doin' now.

Don't tell me to wipe that Cheshire Cat grin off my face.  That grin is there for a reason.  That grin is there 'cause I know somethin' you don't know, and I know you'll be upset when you do know, too.

One.

*ring a ling ding*

Gosh darn it, police put me on hold.

MOUSES!

Yeah, yeah, Peepers.  I'm tellin' ya, you had best get out there now.  I'd come with you but I'm still on the phone.  I'm on hold.

Oh, hello there Mr. Police Person, Sir.  Seville the Cat, here.  I'm callin' to let you know...

WHAT?

They hung up on me.

MOUSES!

You'd think they'd never before been called by a cat.

MOUSES!

Well I'll just have to take care of those birds, myself, then.  Take matters into my own four paws.  I'll just have to let those birds know who's boss 'round here, and...

Oh, here comes Peepers back from outside, now.

Told ya.  Yup, I told you, you wouldn't be happy.  I TOLD YOU.

Hehehehehehehe...

Whatcha doin' there, Peepers?  Who are ya gonna call?  Don't bother callin' the police 'cause if they're not takin' calls from me, they're definitely not gonna take one from you.  I mean, I'M a cat, and you...   Well you're norhin' more than a mere peep.  A peepling, in fact.  A...

YOU GOT THROUGH?

MOUSES!

Well you don't need 'em, Peepers.  'Cause I'm headin' out there right now and I'm gonna deal with those birds once and for all.  By the time I'm through with 'em, it'll be quiet 'round here, and I'll be able to get back to my nap...  I MEAN, back to workin' on my book.

MOUSES!

Be back in a sec.

OH MY MOUSES, PEEPERS!  CALL THE POLICE!  CALL THE POLICE!  THERE'S A BUNCH OF ANGRY BIRDS OUT THERE BEIN' EVEN LOUDER THAN BEFORE, AND IT'S LIKE THEY'RE READY TO ATTACK.  THEY'RE HOOTIN' AND HOLLERIN' AND SWOOPIN' AND FLAPPIN' THEIR WINGS, AND...

AND IT'S MAYHEM AND MADNESS, FOR SURE!

Plus, they've been busy pullin' out a whole whack of your plants.  At first, I thought they thought it was a game of some sort, but now...

But now, I think they're preparin' for war.

Those birds mean business, Peepers.  They mean business, for sure.

BIRDS.

MOUSES!

 ***********************

And remember:

IF IN DOUBT,

DON'T. GO. OUT.

Continue to practice SOCIAL DISTANCIN' measures

AND KEEP WASHIN' YOUR PAWS.

MOUSES!

Remember to mask up, too.

two weeks

Two weeks.

Two. Whole. Weeks.

Fourteen days.

Three hundred and thirty-six hours.

Twenty thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes.

One MILLION, two hundred and nine thousand, six hundred seconds.


Multiply that by nine to translate into cat time...

I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH CLAWS TO ADD ALL THAT UP.

MOUSES!

This self-isolatin' business the peeps are doin' is for the birds.

MOUSES!

And speakin' of birds...

Did you know that birds don't know how to self-isolate?  And they CERTAINLY don't know how to practice social distancin'.

Or maybe they do, but are choosin' not to.

Hmmm...

I'M GONNA CALL THE POLICE ABOUT THEM, FOR SURE.

MOUSES!

Scratch that.  So I'm not gonna call the police on account of my not wantin' the police to know 'bout my catnip plants.

Catnip isn't illegal, you know.  IT'S PERFECTLY FINE for a cat to be growin' a little nip on the side.

But...

But a cat doesn't want to take any unnecessary chances, you see.

MOUSES!

And speakin' of unnecessary chances...

Those birdies at the feeders should be stayin' six paws apart in order to abide by social distancin' protocols.  But are they?  OH NO, they're sittin' on those feeders, side by side, wing by wing, their feathers touchin' each other and everythin'.

MOUSES!

But if I'm not gonna call the police on 'em, I'm gonna have to take matters into MY OWN FOUR PAWS, for sure.

Be right back.

MOUSES!

That did it.  That dealt with the problem at paw.  One can always count on Seville the Cat to instil social order when social order is in need of instillin'.

What did I do, you ask?

Well...

Well I marched right out onto the veranda and I puffed out my chest, and I let those birdies take a good look at ME, the resident cat.   Next thing I knew, the birdies flew off.

Good thing, too, on account of my havin' to hold my breath in order to puff out my chest, and a kitty can only hold his breath for so long.

MOUSES!

Uh-uh...

Drat, there are currently restrictions on travel.  Peeps aren't supposed to be flying 'round unnecessarily.  Wonder if that also applies to birds.  More to the point, I wonder if I'll get in trouble for making 'em take flight.

MOUSES!

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

And remember peeps:

IF IN DOUBT,

DON'T. GO. OUT.

Continue to practice SOCIAL DISTANCIN' measures.

AND KEEP WASHIN' YOUR PAWS.

MOUSES!

the cheek of it

You know, peeps SAY we should turn the other cheek.

Yup, they say that all the time.  They claim it's the best thing to do.  I've heard my peep say it like twenty-nine million times, times two!

So...

So I asked that squirrel sittin' out on my veranda to turn the other cheek, and what did he do?

Well he turned right 'round and I saw that his SECOND cheek was as pudgy as his first.

Oh, the cheek of it.

MOUSES!

Okay, so MAYBE that wasn't the kinda cheek turnin' Peepers had in mind, but...

But...

Ohhh....  Whatever.

MOUSES!

So you all know 'bout the bird feeder business out on our veranda, right?  The bird feeders the birds WERE ignorin' but are now comin' to in droves?

Well...

Well now we've got squirrels.

MOUSES!

Now don't get me wrong.  We've ALWAYS had squirrels.  Little red ones, big grey and black ones, etc, etc, etc...

But NEVER BEFORE did they come this close to me and my house!

MOUSES!

The other day, I was lookin' out the livin' room window and down on the ground, right below one of the feeders, was this big ol' grey squirrel.  He sat there for the longest time, his tail all puffed out like a powder puff on steroids, stuffin' his face with bird seed.

Yup, that's what he was doin' all right.  He was eatin' the seeds the birdies had spilled, for those little gold finches are a messy lot, indeed.  Seems there are some seeds they like better than others, and when they come across one they don't like, they spit it out on the ground.

I'm tellin' ya, if my table manners were that bad, ol' Peepers would be havin' connptions and fits.

MOUSES!

But back to that squirrel.

So anyway, there he was, eatin' and eatin' and EATIN' all the bird seed on the ground.  Stuffin' his face like a Thanksgivin' turkey.

On steroids.

MOUSES!

And for the nine lives of me, I HAVE NO IDEA how he fit it all in!

Yup, it was that bad.

MOUSES!

So I called ol' Peepers to the window and pointed down at the ground.  I told her she was gonna have to do something 'bout that squirrel and she was gonna have to do somethin' fast, OR I WAS GONNA GO OUT THERE and do somethin' myself.

But do you know what?

She thought that ol' stupid squirrel was cute.

Oh, the cheek of it.

MOUSES!

I've got news!

Well hello there, my friends.  Boy have I got news to share.  BOY HAVE I GOT NEWS!

Duh, duh, duh, DUH...

Are you ready?

Are you set?

Are you sittin' down on your tail?

Duh, duh, duh, DUH...

We have birdies, my friends.  WE HAVE BIRDIES!

That's right, all the birdies in the neighbourhood have flown their coops and are makin' their way over to my house.  To MY house!  Yup, they're comin' in droves.  TO MY HOUSE!

MOUSES!

So remember how ol' Peepers failed Bird Feedin' 101?  Remember how none of the neighbourhood birdies were comin' to eat at the feeders Rushy and I had Peepers put up for Christmas?

Remember?

REMEMBER?

Well I guess ol' Peepers must have been studyin' up on bird feedin' while we were off-line (due to her computer and Internet incompetence), and now...

Now...

NOW...

Now the birdies are comin' in droves!

MOUSES!

That's right, we've got chickadees and woodpeckers and juncos.  And the other day, I even saw a cardinal.

A CARDINAL!

MOUSES!

Oh, and there's a whole whack of goldfinches, too.  Well only six or eight, actually, but when you go from a big fat ZERO to six or eight, I think it can be considered a whole whack, for sure.

Now Peepers SAYS those little birdies are goldfinches although they're not all that gold.  She SAYS that at this time of year, they're not supposed to be gold.  She SAYS, later on they'll gold up - or whatever - but for now, they're only supposed to be a yellowish hue.  So anyway, she's determined to call 'em goldfinches.  Personally, I'm calling 'em snacks...  I mean, little birdies we watch from afar.  But a snack by any other name still tastes as sweet, right?  Right.

MOUSES!

Okay, okay...  Yeah, yeah, yeah...  I KNOW the birdies are there for lookin' at and not eatin'.  In fact, I don't think I've ever eaten a bird in my life.  At least not a bird that didn't come out of a tin.  Chickens and turkeys ARE birds, too, you know.

MOUSES!

Just not the pretty little ones comin' to the feeders.

Now.

FINALLY.

MOUSES!

Funny that, isn't it?  Peeps are okay with eatin' chickens, but not goldfinches.

Weird.  But then peeps ARE weird.

Generally speakin'.

MOUSES!

they say it's good luck

Don't worry, Peepers.  It's SUPPOSED to be good luck.

BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, the peep has been volunteerin' as target practise.  That's right, ol' Peepers is gettin' all sporty and athletic and...

NOT!!!

No, the peep isn't practising darts or shootin' arrows or anythin' like that.  She's uh...

Well...

Well ol' Peepers isn't tossin' darts or shootin' arrows at a target.  Peepers IS the target, I'm afraid.

MOUSES!

And there are no darts or arrows involved.

But like I told her earlier, it's supposed to be lucky.

BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

MOUSES!

Apparently, Peepers has become the target for...  Now how should I put this?  Hmmm...

POOPIES!

And pee-pees.

MOUSES!

So the other day, Peepers was out in the back yard under the big oak tree out there.  You know the one.  The one where the crows congregate to put on their daily always-cheated-of-an-Emmy Crow Show, and where the starlings and blue jays hang about makin' guest appearances and stuff.

Well...

Well ol' Peepers bent down to pick somethin' up from the ground - a dropped prop, I do believe - and the next thing she knew, she felt somethin' hit the back of her arm, and...

Well...

Well wouldn't you know it, some ol' crow sittin' up in that tree went and pooped on the peep.

MOUSES!

Let's just say, the peep was not amused.

MOUSES!

Then this mornin', Peepers was tryin' to get me to lie down on a chair in the family room AND I WAS TRYIN' to tell her I didn't want to lie down, but rather, I wanted - No, NEEDED - to use the little boys' box, but Peepers, bein' a peep, paid no attention to what I was sayin' and the next thing we knew...

Well...

Well didn't I go pee on the peep.

MOUSES!

But like I said to the peep, it's supposed to be lucky.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

MOUSES!

BREAKING NEWS...

BREAKING NEWS...

THIS JUST IN:

RECENT REPORTS INDICATE...

This just in:  Recent reports indicate that on Friday January10th, two chickadees were spotted at the newly installed bird feeders on the veranda belongin' to none other than Seville the Cat.  Two, my friends.  TWO!  Not as many as were first sighted on Christmas Day, but two more than have been seen since December 25th.

Scientists have been brought in to try to discover why...

Okay, so there were no scientists brought in.

Peepers has been employed to find out...

Okay, so she isn't so much bein' employed as...

Well...

Well I just asked her to make some enquiries, okay?.  It's not like I'm actually payin' her.

MOUSES!

Peep #1 is on the job...

Peep #1 IS NOT BEIN' PAID - at least not by me, no matter what she tries to tell you - but on the job, nevertheless, in an attempt to figure out why after visitin' on December 25th, all but two of the chickadees have failed to return.  And those two only returned for a short period, and only the other day.

THERE HAVE BEEN REPORTS GOIN' ON AROUND THE NEIGHBOURHOOD that there are other peeps fillin' their bird feeders with premium bird seed, IN A DELIBERATE ATTEMPT to shut out the feeders at the house of Seville the Cat.  These reports are currently unsubstantiated however, the RCMP and CSIS have been contacted and are expected to start an investigation in the coming days.  I have it on good authority, their first plan of action will be to track down and interview the two chickadees spotted at the feeder on Thursday, so anyone knowing the whereabouts of said chickadees is asked to IMMEDIATELY call their local law enforcement agencies, and...

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

What do you MEAN the RCMP and CSIS aren't gonna investigate?  What do you MEAN?

What do you MEAN the RCMP and CSIS have better things to do than hang out by our bird feeders and investigate the lack of chickadees?  What do you MEAN?

What do you MEAN I shouldn't be tellin' peeps to call the RCMP and CSIS if they know the whereabouts of those two chickadees I saw the other day?  What do you MEAN?

Oh for mousin' out loud, Peepers.  You know, if you were a better peep than the peep you are, you'd know how to get those chickadees back here, pronto, and the RCMP and CSIS wouldn't have to investigate the lack of chickadees in the first place!  This is all your fault, Peepers.  ALL YOUR FAULT.  Don't you go tryin' to accuse me of whatever it is you're accusin' me of doin'.  IT'S NOT MY FAULT I have a case of missin' chickadees on my paws.  Not my fault at all!

Besides, my sources tell me the RCMP and CSIS REALLY ARE startin' up an investigation, and my sources are sound.

SO THERE.

MOUSES!

Who might my sources be, you ask?

Well...

Well would you believe it if I told you one of 'em was Rushy?

He does so know.

DOES TOO.

Yeah, he does.  He heard it from some cat, who heard it from some cat, who heard it from some other cat, who heard it from some handsome marmalade author-type dude who happens to be very known in the cat bloggin' world, and

Uhh...

Umm...

Hmm...

Awww...  Never mind.

MOUSES!

that feeling

On Christmas Day, I looked out the livin' room window and...

...and I got all warm and fuzzy inside.

NO...  I was not into the nip.

Okay, so I WAS into the nip, I HAD BEEN into the nip, and I was plannin' on continuing TO BE into the nip for the rest of the day, but...

...but it wasn't the nip that was givin' me that warm and fuzzy feelin' inside.

MOUSES!

You see, I was feelin' all warm and fuzzy inside watchin' the little chickadees flit here and there on the veranda, eating their fill of the seeds in the bird feeders Rushy and I got Peep #2 for Christmas, and knowin' we were instrumental in makin' sure those cute little birdies had full tummies on Christmas day.

MOUSES!

That's right, Rushy and I gave the second peep a couple bird feeders for Christmas, and Peep #1 - AKA Peepers - agreed to be responsible for keepin' the feeders full  You know, she agreed on account of A, our kitty paws not bein' great with pryin' open bird feeders and filling 'em up with seeds; and B, little birdies often get nervous when they see a kitty like me fiddling with their dining room table.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, everythin' was fine and dandy, and goin' all tickety-boo...

...on Christmas Day.

Yup, ON CHRISTMAS DAY, I watched the little birdies eatin' their fill, and got all warm and fuzzy inside.

That was CHRISTMAS DAY.

MOUSES!

The next day, I got myself into position in the big livin' room chair next to the window, and waited for the warm and fuzzies to start, when...

When nothin'.  Nothin' at all.  Absolutely bloomin' NOTHIN'.

MOUSES!

And the next day...

The next day, no birdies came to visit the feeders, either.  Not one!  I never saw one, never heard one, never even got a letter.

MOUSES!

And the day after that?  Yesterday?

SAME THING.

MOUSES!

The birdies have never returned.  Not even for a snack, never mind a meal.  Not even for a morsel!

Clearly, the peep's culinary efforts aren't up to the standards of birds.  CLEARLY, the peep's cookin' is NOT for the birds, after all.  CLEARLY, the peep's kitchen prowess is...  Well...  SUCKY TIMES TWO.  Maybe even a hundred.

MOUSES!

Now I ask you:  HOW HARD CAN IT BE TO OPEN A BAG OF BIRD SEED?  HOW HARD?  Are there other peeps out there who get failin' grades when it comes to preparation of meals for birds?  ARE THERE?  Or is it just MY peep who totally sucks?  Times two.  Probably a hundred.

Seriously, I'm lookin' for answers here, my friends.  Inquirin' minds are NEEDIN' to know.  'CAUSE SERIOUSLY, if ol' Peepers doesn't get her act together and learn how to do this bird feedin' business better, the birdies out there are gonna starve themselves to death!

And any chance of my havin' more warm and fuzzy feelings is gonna fly right out the window with 'em.  Or not with 'em.  You know, 'CAUSE THE BIRDIES AREN'T THERE.

MOUSES!

mine!

If you've been religiously readin' my blog as of late, you probably heard 'bout how I uh...

Um...

Well...

Now how can I put this nicely?

You probably heard 'bout how I, one day, peed on my catnip plants.

MOUSES!

Did I say one day as in just the one?  I meant to say...

Uh...

Never mind.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, I had my reasons at the time.  I think.  Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did.  Whatever they were, I can't really remember, but I'M POSITIVE I must have had at least one.  I mean, what kitty goes around sprayin' their own nip plants without good reason, and...

OH YEAH, I remember now.  I was marking 'em.  Makin' sure the peeps and neighbourhood cats, not to mention my brother Rushton, knew those plants were mine.

MOUSES!

SO ANYWAY...

So anyway, the other day, I was checkin' on my nip plants, and what did I find?

I found, some other plants had been marked, too.

MOUSES!

That's right, my friends, someone had been out there markin' the peep's brokali and broccolini plants.

Only...

Only they weren't marked with pee.

Somebody...

Pooped.

Can you believe it?

MOUSES!

Now before you start makin' any accusations, IT WAS NOT ME who did the poopin'.  I, Seville the Cat, would NEVER, EVER mark the peep's brassica plants, in any way.

For starters, why?  I mean, it's not like I'm gonna want to eat that crap...  I mean, stuff, or anythin' like that.

What's more, I don't believe the plants were marked by any cats, at all.  The poopies looked suspiciously like the poopies of...

Wait for it...

BIRDS.

MOUSES!

No, not mice.  Just birds.

Now the first thing I said to myself was, "Way to go, Peepers.  You've gone and put your pots of veggie plants right in the middle of a flight path, you have."

And the second thing I said to myself was, "Oh my mouses, Sivvers, your pots of nip plants are right there in that same flight path, too!"

But then I realized...

Then I realized, there were no poopies on any of my nip plants at all.  Not even a trace.  All poopies were confined to Ol' Peepers' stupid old veggie plants.

And THAT'S when I came to the conclusion that...

That's when I came to the conclusion that there was one of two things goin' on out there.  Either the birds were makin' those veggies for themselves, or...

Or the peep had been out there doin' a little markin', herself.

MOUSES!

Bird

"YOU CAN'T GO IN THERE!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.  Bracing myself, I stood on my hind legs and barricaded the door to the kitchen.  "Peepers, why don't you spend a few more minutes outside?  Outside in the sun and the fresh air.  Get a little colour in your cheeks why don't ya?  You could do with losin' that pasty face pallor you've been sportin', as of late."

"Because it's getting cold outside, Seville, and in case you hadn't noticed, there is no sun.  The sky has clouded over."  The peep narrowed her eyes, suspiciously.  "Why don't you want me going into the kitchen?"

"Ummm...  Because uh....  Because...  Because it's...  Uh...  Because it's not dinnertime yet?" I answered.  Sorta.

The peep narrowed her eyes even more.  "You're up to something," she said.  "Spit it out."

I obligingly coughed up a large hair ball.  MOUSES!

"What the heck?  What was that?"  The peep squealed as a small dark grey somethin' flew right past her head.

I innocently looked about.  "What was what?" I asked.  "You seein' things again, there, Peepers?  Maybe the cold has gotten to you.  Why don't you come inside?"  I stepped away from the door to the kitchen, allowin' Peep #1 to pass.

Just then, a loud crash come from the next room.  "GOTTA RUN!" I cried, and disappeared into the family room.  Moments later, I reappeared at the door.  "Whatever you do, Peepers, don't come in here, okay?  We'll talk later," and I turned, goin' back into the room.

"WHAT THE MOUSES IS GOING ON IN HERE?"   The peep was standin' at the door to the family room, her hands on her hips and her mouth hangin' halfway to the floor.

"Nothin'," Mason, Andy, Rushy, and I all answered in unison.  "Nothin'.  Nothin' at all."

Once again, a dark grey object flew past the peep's head.

"Why do you ask?" I enquired.  Innocently.

The peep's face turned three shades of purple.

Andy got up on his hind legs and leaned up against the coffee table.  That lasted all of five seconds before one paw slipped and he fell flat on his face.  The visitor who had been perched on the table just behind him, then fluttered up toward the ceiling fan.

"WHY THE MOUSES IS THERE A BIRD IN THE HOUSE?" the peep cried.

"Because the chicken told him not to cross the road?" I helpfully replied.

"This..." the peep fumed.  "This is why you wouldn't let me into the kitchen?  This is what you were hiding?"

"Oh my mouses!" I gasped.  "Where are my manners?  I haven't yet made any introductions.  Peepers, this is uh...  Um...  Bird.   Bird?" and I looked up at the ceiling fan.  "This, here, is the first peep."

The bird now known as Bird looked down at the peep before taking flight and flying into a window.

"Oh for crying out loud," the peep said with a sigh, and made a beeline for the window.  "How on Earth did a bird get into the house?"  She stopped in her tracks and turned toward my fursibs and me.  "Did one of you cats bring him inside?"

I busied myself, examinin' a claw.  Meanwhile, Mason flicked her tail in Rushy's face, Rushy tried to catch Mason's tail with a paw, and Andy sat down and started washin' his bum.  MOUSES!

The peep turned back to the window where Bird was fluttering up against the glass.  She went to lower the upper pane behind which there's no screen, but I, Seville the Cat, was quicker, and lickety-split, I was up on the window ledge on my hind legs, tryin' to catch Bird with my front paws.

"NO!" the peep cried.  "Seville, stop that.  Stop that right now."

"But Bird needs my help," I explained.  "He's stuck in the house and he can't get out."

"I'LL help the bird," the peep said.

"FINE.  Suit yourself," and I jumped down.  At that moment, Bird gave up on the gettin'-out-through-the-window-business and flew down to me, passin' inches from my nose.  I took flight after him (Not literally, of course.  I mean, I was on the ground, runnin'.  I wasn't actually flyin'.  Takin' flight is just an expression, you see.) and together we ran behind a piece of furniture where the peep couldn't get at us.

Scratch that, Bird ran behind a piece of furniture, where neither I nor the peep could follow.  MOUSES!

A loud crash came from the kitchen and the peep, Mason, Andy, and I all ran toward it.  We found Rushy sittin' next to the bucket belongin' to the spinnin' mop thing.  The mop was lyin' on the floor.  The peep grumbled somethin' about somethin' (I wasn't payin' that much attention to her so I really don't know what.) and went to pick up the mop as Bird flew straight up like a helicopter from the bucket itself.  Then he flew right back down, back into that bucket.

My whiskers twitched.  Lookin' at the peep, I said, "Are you gonna get him, or shall I?"

The peep didn't answer but boy-oh-boy was she quick.  Quicker than a clowder of cats at a nip farm, I should think.

Okay, so scratch that.  A clowder of cats at a nip farm aren't likely to be very quick.  They're LIKELY to be nappin' off the snacks they enjoyed after gettin' the munchies from imbibin' on all that nip.  MOUSES!

At that moment, the peep grabbed a grocery bag that just HAPPENED to be lyin' on the floor along with some other stuff we cats had inadvertently knocked down while previously chasin' Bird through the kitchen, and placed said bag over the spinnin' mop's bucket.  Scowlin' at us, she picked the bucket up and took it outside.  The moment she removed the bag from over it, Bird flew up and out at an extraordinarily fast speed, straight toward the tall trees at the edge of the garden.

Returnin' to the kitchen with the empty bucket in tow, the peep looked about.  "Just look at this mess you cats have made!" she exclaimed.  "I don't suppose any of you are going to help me tidy it up."

I looked at the peep, blankly, then busied myself and examined another claw.  Meanwhile, Mason again flicked her tail in Rushy's face, and Rushy tried swattin' said tail once more.  Andy, bein' Andy, went to wash his bum again but stopped short.  "Awww...  Where did the pretty birdie go?" he asked.  "Did someone go and let him outside?"

MOUSES!

freak out!

"I thought we had cats," the peep fumed, placing her hands on her hips in a disgruntled fashion.  "I THOUGHT WE HAD CATS."

"What's up, Peepers?" I asked.  "Havin' a bad day, are we?"

The peep narrowed her eyes.  "Since you ask, Seville, the blue jays have been making a mess of my potted lettuce seeds."

I looked over at the plant pots in which the peep had planted her lettuce the day before and sure enough, there was a blue jay struttin' about in one, just like he owned the joint.  The bird looked over at me and nonchalantly gave me the feather.  MOUSES!

"So uh...  What's your point there, Peepers?  What does that there blue jay have to do with us cats?" I asked.

The peep let out a loud sigh.  Loud enough for at least half the world to hear, I'm sure.  "You'd think that in a multi-cat household, the birds would stay away from my plants."

"Well if you don't want the birds to visit," I began, "you should probably stop feeding 'em."

"I'm NOT feeding them," she replied.  "I'm certainly not feeding them lettuce seed."

I screwed up my nose.  "Um..  APPARENTLY, Peepers, you are.  MOUSES!"

"Ugh," and Ol' Peepers spun on her heels and began to head for the house.

"No need to freak out about it!" I called out to her.  Then, turnin' to my fur-sibs, I began clickin' my claws to an upbeat beat.

And now, for a musical interlude from the Back Street Cats.

"Aaahh FREAK OUT!" we sang.  "Le freak, see'est Chic.  FREAK OUT!"

Peep #1 turned back to face us again, staring at my fur-sibs and me with disgust.

"Don't speak, Monique," we sang.

"Who the mouses is Monique?" the peep asked.

"I don't know," I answered, "but whoever she is, her name rhymes with speak."

At that moment, the blue jay dancin' in the plant pots with the lettuce seeds, stopped dancin' and gave me the feather again.

Or maybe he was givin' it to the peep.

MOUSES!

"Freak out!  Peep's seeds, your beak," we continued to sing.

The peep rolled her eyes.

"Plant more, next week," I suggested, all the while keepin' in tune.

The peep threw her arms up in the air.  "HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE CRAZY?" she cried out to no one in particular.  She looked like she was about to give up on the conversation.  Either that or...  You know...  Freak out.  I looked over at the bird again who was now actively pecking away at the soil in the plant pot.  Every now and then he'd find a lettuce seed and swallow it whole.

Not that one would not swallow lettuce seeds whole, mind you.   I mean, they are kinda small.  Not worth the bother of cutting 'em up with a knife, for sure.

"Aren't you going to do ANYTHING about that bird?" the peep cried.

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Like what?"

"Like...  Like...  Like scare him off.  Shoo him away.  ACT LIKE CATS, for goodness sake."

I looked at my fur-sibs and my fur-sibs looked right back at me.  We knew exactly what we needed to do.  Huddling together, we formed a plan of action.

And now, for another musical interlude from the Back Street Cats: 

"They'll be swinging, swaying, records playing.  Dancing in the street," we sang.  "Doesn't matter what you wear, even feathers in your hair.  Every cat, grab a bird.  Birds right 'round the world... WILL BE dancin' in the street.  They'll be swinging, swaying, plant pot playing..."

The peep just stood there, her mouth hangin' halfway to the ground.  Gathering her senses, she calmly stated, "You cats are all nuts.  Every single one of you is nuts.  NUTS."

"Nuts?" I questioned.  "Now if you wanna talk nuts, Peepers, we should consult the squirrels.  HEY BIRD!" I called out to the blue jay.  "You know where the squirrels are today?  You seen any of  'em hangin' about?"

The blue jay once again gave me the feather.  Then he went back to struttin' about in the plant pot, lookin' for more lettuce seed.

"Look, Peepers, we tried," I sighed.  "Like I said before: If you don't wanna attract the birds, you've gotta stop feeding 'em.  They seem to really like lettuce seed so uh...  So why don't you start by stop feeding 'em that.  MOUSES!'

are you KIDDIN' me?

For mousin' out loud.

Are you KIDDIN' me?

Oh COME ON...

Awww...  MOUSES!

*sighs*

*SIGHS*

First it was the mouse in the garage.

Then there was that frog.

Now the birds are wantin' in on the action, too?

MOUSES!

Hey!  You!  Yeah, YOU.  YOU, you stupid bird.  DON'T BE A TURD!!!

Sorry, I know.  I know it's not nice to call others names, but..

Fine.  FINE.  Fine, so you're not a turd.

Not my fault bird rhymes with turd.

But you know, I'd just like to point out, just because the peep insists on parkin' the car in your flight path, it doesn't mean you should be droppin' your poopies - ie. turds - all over said car.

NO IT DOESN'T!

MOUSES!

And whatever you do, don't you even THINK about dropping 'em on me.  Bad enough that as a cat I have to wash my OWN bum.  I don't need to be washin' up what comes out of yours, too.

MOUSES!

*sighs*

So anyway...

So anyway, I bet you're all wonderin' what happened this time.  Yup, I bet you're all wonderin' that, for sure.

No, there wasn't a bird in the garage.


But there WAS a bird.

Just not in the garage.

MOUSES!

Let me explain what happened, at my house, yesterday.

So the peep was all up in arms 'bout somethin' happenin' to her stupid ol' lettuce plants.  The new ones she just planted.  The ones in the stupid pots that were just startin' to poke their heads out of the soil.

Don't worry, I'm not gonna bore you with the tedious details.  I mean, we are talking 'bout lettuce plants.  WHO THE MOUSES CARES ABOUT THOSE?

Apparently, the peep.

Turns out, long story short, birds have been tryin' to eat 'em.

The baby lettuces, I mean.

So there you have it.  First it was the mouse causin' trouble.  Then the frog.  Now, birds.

MOUSES!

And the thing is, the peep, bein' a peep, IS EXPECTIN' ME to do somethin' about it.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I am a cat.  Cats are supposed to deal with birds, right?

SAYS WHO ???

Apparently, the peep.

But you see, the cats in my fur-fam are more into livin' and let live.  We're lovers, not killers.  WE DON'T CHASE NO STUPID LOUSY DIRTY ROTTEN BIRDS!

Oh sure, we watch the daily bird shows and stuff.  We watch 'em.  We WATCH the birds.  WE DON'T KILL 'EM!  We actually quite like the birdies.  By nature, we kitties are peaceful kitties, you see.

But now the peep is freakin' out about her stupid ol' lettuce plants.


What's a kitty to do?

Seriously, what IS a kitty to do?  I'm all out of answers, myself, which is why I've recently installed a suggestion box out at the back door. Maybe someone would like to suggest what a kitty like me should do 'bout these dirty rotten turds - I mean, BIRDS - eatin' the peep's baby lettuce plants.

So far, no one has made any suggestions.

Nope, not a one.

Not even the peep.

MOUSES!

birds of a feather

Birds of a feather...

THEY BE FLOCKIN' TOGETHER.

MOUSES!

And when you think about it, they're not unlike those two freaky long-haired marmie brothers of mine.  You know the ones: Rushton and Andy.

Yeah, those two are always hangin' out together.  If you see one, the other is never far behind.

Behind?  What am I sayin'?  More likely, they'll be side by side.  Side by side, schemin' and plottin' and conspirin' together.  Probably against me.  Those two are in cahoots, you see.

MOUSES!

Of course, their constant hangin' out together does have its advantages.

Firstly, if I know where one is, I almost always know where the other is, too.  It's actually easier to avoid long-haired freaky brothers when there's only the one GROUPING, so to speak, to avoid.

And secondly, if I feel the desire to smacky-paw one, I can smacky-paw the other at the very same time.  Often with the very same smacky-paw, too!  Kinda like killin' two birds with one stone.

Not that I, Seville the Cat, would ever kill a bird with a stone!  Personally, I don't kill birdies, period.  Killin' birdies does not bode well for the local channels of Bird TV.

And speakin' of birds...

Those birdies be flockin' TOGETHER, for sure.

Now I don't know what kinda birds they are, but there must be at least a MILLION of 'em.

Okay, so maybe not a million.  Probably more like a couple hundred thousand.

Okay, so maybe not a couple hundred thousand.  Maybe more like 'bout ten thousand.

Okay, so maybe not ten thousand.  Now that I think about it...   Well...  Well it's probably more like fifty or so.  Yeah, that sounds about right.

But it's the BIGGEST flock of fifty birdies, for sure.  Biggest fifty bird sized flock, EVER.  It's HUGE!  It's...

Okay, so it's like a few dozen birds.

MOUSES!

But you should see 'em, my friends.  They've been performin' on the local Bird TV network for the last couple weeks.

Peep #1 puts out some bird food and the next thing you know, they're there, perchin' on all the trees, waitin' for the peep to go away so that they can come down and eat.  It's really quite the sight to see.

They're not too talkative, though.  More interested in eatin', I do believe.

And speakin' of eatin'...

A kitty should NEVER confuse Bird TV with a TV dinner.  They are NOT the same thing, at all.

MOUSES!

Not that I, Seville the Cat, would ever confuse the two.  Like I said earlier, I'm not into the killin' of birdies.

Not even mocking birds.

MOUSES!

Hmmm...  But if we're talking 'bout turkeys...

But that doesn't count, for the turkey I eat comes out of a tin, and tinned turkey is decidedly different, somehow.

I'm not even sure it's a bird.  It sure doesn't look like one.

MOUSES!

Plus, tinned turkey is my favourite, and there's no way, no how, I'm gonna stop eatin' my favourite din-dins.  I CERTAINLY couldn't stop cold turkey and that is for sure.

MOUSES!

But seriously, I do believe, it is safe to say that those birdies flocking to my yard are safe and sound from me.

But from those two freaky long-haired brothers of mine...

Okay, so they don't kill birds, either.  'Cause you know, it's kinda hard for a turkey-sized cat to catch a lithe little birdie.  By the time they caught up with one, they'd be all outta breath!

MOUSES!

Well...  Perhaps I'm exaggeratin' a bit.  I must admit, my freaky brothers are actually very agile for their size.  They're pretty quick, too.  They're both Olympic champions when it comes to sprinting for treats.

MOUSES!

Nah, even if we could, we cats would never kill any of the Bird TV cast.  Not even for ratings!  We cats are civilised creatures.  We don't live in some kinda disreputable weird and surreal, reality television world.

Besides, although we like our food fresh, those birdies are just a little TOO fresh, if you know what I mean.

And speakin' of fresh...

Oh my mouses, you shoulda heard the lip that Blue Jay gave the peep when she slept in the other mornin' and was late with his food.

MOUSES!

STAT!

There I was in the kitchen, mindin' my own business and thinkin' about what I might like for a snack, when I heard a loud thud in the family room.  Thinkin' it was Andy jumpin' down from somewhere or somethin', I figured if I was gonna get my snack, I had better get it quick, before Andy appeared and tried to steal it away from me.  I was just about to chow down on a tempting treat when...

"Crash cart.  STAT.   Fluids.  STAT.  Nip. STAT!"

Hearin' my sister Mason's voice, I ignored my tempting treat and ran into the family room.  I jumped up onto the kitty condo and leaned forward so that I could see out the window.  There she was, down on the ground, outside.  "Mason, are you in need of some nip?"

"Get the peep!" Mason answered back. "And do it, STAT!"

Well this kitty has seen enough medical dramas on television to know that stat stands for...   Stands for...  Okay, so I don't know what it actually stands for but I know it means, stat.  I mean, quick.  Or somethin' like that.  MOUSES!

"PEEEE-PERRRS!  MASON HAS A MEDICAL EMERGENCY OUTSIDE.  STAT!"

Then the peep and I raced outside to see what was the matter.

"Paper towels, STAT.  Shoe box.  STAT.  Nip.  STAT!"  Mason cried.

I looked up at the peep.  "And she's in dire need of some nip.  STAT!"

Blatantly ignorin' Mason's request of the nip, the peep ran over to her side and there, by Mason's paws, was a little birdie.  A goldfinch, I do believe.

"The bird is need of some nip?" I asked Mason.

"Don't be silly Sivvers," and Mason rolled her eyes, just as I might roll my eyes in response to one of Anderson's remarks.  "The nip is for me.  Birds don't use nip."

"Oh yeah," and I pawed at the ground by my feet.

The peep raced back indoors and moments later, she reappeared with paper towels.  Very gently, she lifted up the little birdie.  Cradling him in her hands, she took him indoors, in search of a mobile recovery unit.  In other words, a shoe box.  MOUSES!

"Mason," I hissed.  "You're not supposed to chase the birdies.  You are so gonna be in trouble now."

"OUCH!" and I rubbed my cheek where Mason smacky-pawed me with a paw.  "What did you do that for?"

"I didn't chase that birdie," Mason scowled.  "I SAVED him.  He hit the family room window and knocked himself out.  Must have been texting while flying or something foolish and stupid like that."

"So THAT'S the thump I heard.  And there I was, thinkin' it was Andy.  You know, Andy jumpin' down from somewhere or somethin'.  You know, with a thud."

"A reasonable deduction," Mason nodded.

"But Mason, how did you know it was a birdie?" I asked.

"Because I was having a little wash behind my ears when I heard a thud, and then the next thing I knew, there was a bird lying unconscious by my paws.  I put two and two together and got..."

"Five?" Anderson asked as he sauntered down the path toward us.

"I thought Andy was going back to school," Mason hissed to me under her breath.

"They don't teach math in Kitty Lit. 101," I answered back.  "No Andy, two plus two equals four," I explained.

"Four?  Still?  Oh.  Anyway, I heard there was a bird..." and Anderson looked about.

"Yup, Mason here saved a bird's life, and the peep took him inside where he could recuperate."

"Speaking of which," and Mason headed toward the back door, "I'm going to see if Peep #1 requires my assistance.  And to find out why my request for nip has not yet been fulfilled.  I did say STAT, did I not?"

"Yup, that you did."  I turned back to Andy and found him studying his paws.  "Whatcha doin'?"

"Tryin' to figure out how two plus two equals four.  I have two front paws and two back paws but when I count 'em all up, I get...  One, two, three, four, five.  FIVE!  How come I keep counting five?"

"Because..." and I took a deep, calming breath.  "Because when you're countin', you're including your tail.  MOUSES!"

"Oh yeah.  Hahahaha...  Go figure."  And with that, Anderson turned and followed Mason back into the house.

I sat back on my haunches and had a little think.  My sister, Mason, had saved a bird's life. Because of Mason's quick thinking, Peep #1 was able to come to the bird's aid and take him to safety, allowing him to recuperate.

Of course, had the birdie not hit the window in the first place...

Had the birdie not hit the window in the first place, the birdie's life would never have been at risk.

MOUSES!

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

Did you know that millions of birdies die from window collisions every year? Accordin' to the Washington Post, as many as 988 MILLION birds die from hittin' windows, annually.*  And that's in the United States, alone.  MOUSES!

And did you also know that there are ways to help prevent birdies from hittin' your windows?  It's true!  The Humane Society of the United States has some great tips on how to make your windows bird-safe,* by usin' decals or tape or even hangin' some wind chimes and the like.  And, if a birdie does happen to hit a window - 'cause no matter how careful we are, accidents do happen - they tell you what to do to save that birdie's life.

REMEMBER, my sister Mason may have saved this birdie's life, but she can't be everywhere, savin' every birdie's life.  Peeps need to do their part, too.  STAT!


*    Stop Blaming Cats:  As many as 988 million birds die annually in window collisions.
      by Susan Milius and Science News, Washington Post
**   Make Your Windows Bird-Safe, The Humane Society of the United States

hey Peepers!

Hey Peepers!  You wanna keep it down, out there? I'm tryin' to get some work done. I'm workin' on The Next Great Canadian Novel, and I need some peace and quiet, for sure. MOUSES!


What's that, Peepers? Why am I workin' on The Next Great Canadian Novel?  'Cause I'm a Canadian kitty, that's why.  Why do you think? MOUSES!


Sometimes I wonder 'bout my peeps.  Really and truly, I do.

Oh for mousin' out loud.

Peepers!  There's way too much noise goin' on outside.  What's with the ruckus?

Peepers!  PEEPERS!  Peepers?

Hmmm...  The peep does not appear to be out there.  Apparently, the ruckus bein' made is not her ruckus, after all.  MOUSES!

Hey Peepers!  You wanna tell those birds outside to keep it down?  I'm tryin' to get some work done in here, and they're makin' way too much noise and....

I don't know.  I have no idea.  Peepers, how am I supposed to know why they're squawkin' up a storm out there?  All I know is that they're squawking and their squawking is super loud.  I need you to tell 'em to shut up.  Would you mind doin' that for me?  Huh?  Could you do that now, please? Peepers?

Oh for mousin' out loud.

CROWS!  BLUE JAYS!  KNOCK IT OFF!  I'M WORKIN' IN HERE.  MOUSES!

There, that's better.  Now let's see...  Where was I?  Ah yes, page two.  Hmmm...

Hey Peepers!  You wanna tell those squirrels outside to keep it down?  I'm tryin' to get some work done in here and...

Never mind.  I'll do it myself.  MOUSES!

Oh Peepers...  PEEPERS...  PEEPERS!  You're needed outside.

No, that's not why I called you.  I already told the birds to be quiet.  I told the squirrels to, too, but when I was out there tellin' those squirrels to be quiet, I happened to notice Tess and she...

Peepers!  Are you listenin' to me, Peepers?  Tess.  Outside.  Squirrel.

What's that, Peepers?  You don't understand?  You have no idea what I'm talkin' about?  Typical. Typical peep, for sure.  MOUSES!

Peepers, I was tryin' to tell you that Tess is trottin' down the driveway with a live squirrel hangin' from her mouth.  Well at least she was trottin' down the driveway.  I have no idea where she is now.  For all I know, she might have already brought that squirrel into the house like Nissy used to do with chippies and...

That got her attention.  Wanna see a peep run?  Just tell 'em a cat is bringin' a live squirrel inside the house and...

What's that Peepers?  You can't find Tess?  You don't know where she is?  You need my help?

Let me tell you somethin', Peepers.  You need way more than MY help, and that is for sure.  And not just 'bout Tess and the squirrel, either.  You need help in so many ways, I can't even begin to...

Pardon me, Peepers?  You need my help right now?  You want me to stop babbling 'bout how much help you need and come outside right this instant and help you find Tess?  Really?  Really? REALLY?

Peepers, I'd love to help you out there.  Really and truly I would but...  But I'm a little busy at the mo.  Like I said, I'm workin' on THE NEXT GREAT CANADIAN NOVEL and I'd really like to get it done by Friday.  You know, on account of Friday bein' Canada Day and all and...

How far along am I, you ask?  Let me check.  Hmmm...

I'm on page three.

Peepers, how long do these great Canadian-type novels need to be?  You know anything about that sort of thing?

Really?  That long, huh?  Hmmm...

Awww...  MOUSES!

You know, I'm thinkin' I'd be a whole lot further into this novel of mine if the birds and the squirrels weren't makin' so much noise outside and...

PEEPERS!  Just had a Tess sighting.  She's back on the driveway.  The squirrel ran up the oak tree.  Thought you'd like to know.

Now...  Now back to my book.  I mean, novel.  Hmmm...  Page three...

Peepers, are you SURE these Great Canadian Novels need to be as long as that?  Are you SURE you've never heard of a Great Canadian Novel bein' about five pages long?  I think I can probably manage five pages by Friday.  Especially if I say MOUSES! a lot, and stuff.  And maybe if I use a larger print and...

Well my other option is to push back Canada Day but that would mean havin' everyone change their calendars and stuff.  Everyone from right across Canada.  From coast to coast to coast and...  I'm not sure I can get everyone to agree to that.

So Peepers, you honestly don't think five pages is long enough for The Next Great Canadian Novel?  Really? You're not just yankin' my chain?  Not that I ever wear a chain to yank but, you know...  You're serious about this, huh, Peepers?  Serious about five pages not bein' long enough?

Well what about six?  Would six pages be...

Six pages is too short, too?

Awww...  MOUSES!



                  HAPPY CANADA DAY EVERYBODY!
                 I hope you have a niptastic Canada Day, for sure.  MOUSES!

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!

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

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!

here chickadee-dee-dee

Here chickadee-dee-dee...  Here chickadee-dee-dee...  Chicka-chicka-chickadee-dee-dee...  Here chickadee-dee-dee...

Oh, hello there Mr. Chickadee.  What a nice surprise!  How very nice of you to visit.

Why yes, yes I did. You're absolutely right about that.  I did call.  I'm glad you got my message.

Now tell me, Mr...

You are a mister, right?  You are a mister and not a missus?  Yeah, that's what I thought.  So tell me Mr. Chickadee, I've been meaning to ask you...

What's that Peepers?  Stop bothering the birds, you say?  Why, I'm not bothering them at all.  How very rude of you to even insinuate that I might be bothering my good friend, Mr. Chickadee, here. By the way, have the two of you met?

Never mind her, Chicky.  You don't mind if I call you Chicky, for short, do you?  If you like, you can call me Sivvers.

Why do I call the peep, Peepers, you ask?  Well I don't know.  'Cause it's her name, I guess.  Never really thought of it before.  Pardon me?  Does she peep?  Does Peepers peep?  Ummm...  NO.  I've heard her squawk, though.  Yeah, I think one could call that sound she sometimes makes a squawk.  Loud, harsh, discordant, noisy...  Almost like a cackle.  Oh yeah, I've heard the peep squawk, for sure.  Anyway...

Anyway, like I was saying, I've been meaning to ask you a question.  I've been watching you flitting about the garden, this way and that, and I've noticed that even though you're a very good flier, you don't always fly.  You seem to hop a lot.  Hop like a bunny.  You know, hop like a bunny as in rabbit as in the guy with the big ears and fluffy tail who hides eggs at Easter.  Yeah, just like that.

I've seen you climbing, too.  And might I add, you're a very good climber by the way.  I watched you climb up that big ol' oak tree at the end of the driveway today and let me tell you, I've climbed that tree quite a few times, myself, and it's not an easy tree to climb.  Gotta dig your claws right in and haul yourself up.  Of course, there's far more of me to haul than there is of you so I guess that might be why you're so light on your paws...

Do you have paws there, Chicky?  Do you call those feet of yours paws?  Or would they be hands?

What am I saying?  MOUSES!  Of course they're not hands.  Hands are at the ends of arms and your wings are your arms.  Silly me.

But my point is, you climbed that oak tree like a pro. Like a professional climber, for sure.  But why?  Why-oh-why did you not just fly?

Thing is, I have some concerns.  You met my peep, right?  Well let me tell you something about that there peep.  She's a peep.  'Nough said.  MOUSES!

You need more of an explanation than that, huh? FINE.  Let me put it this way, then.  The peep is a peep which means she's human.  Human beings have weird ways of doing things, you see.  Human beings can't seem to let things be.  As a cat, live and let live is my motto but peeps?  Nope, peeps just don't seem capable of leaving anything alone.

Humans do all sorts of stuff that might harm a bird like you, you see.  They'll spray chemicals on the lawn and in the garden.  Yeah, could you believe it?  Then when you go to munch on some seeds from said garden, those seeds will be all contaminated with all sorts of horrible stuff.  Horrible poisons and things.  Now if you're lucky, you'll just hork it up but some of those chemicals will kill you as quickly as they'll make a Chicky hork.  MOUSES!

It's the humans who are also responsible for killing off a lot of the insects 'round here which is why, in case you were wondering, you've been so hungry as of late.  Must be hard to feed a growing family with the food supply being so short.  I have to tell you, I feel for you Chicky.  I surely do, indeed.

Now actually, my peep doesn't spray the garden with anything at all so in that way, she's a pretty good peep.  But other peeps?  You can't trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em, my man, and judging by the length of your wings there, I don't think you could throw 'em at all.  MOUSES!

Now I can't do anything 'bout the chemicals and the lack of food and stuff and hunger you've been feeling but warn you.  Humans just don't listen, you see.  Not sure if it's because they can't or because they won't although truth be told, I'm thinking the latter.  Peeps don't like to hear stuff they don't wanna hear, you see.  They have a tendency to ignore the truth.  MOUSES!

But as for all the hopping and climbing, might I make a suggestion.

My peep may not spray the garden with poisons and things but almost as frightening as that is her tendency to come up behind you, scoop you up and kiss you all over.  Well not all over, really. She does limit her kisses to the tops of heads, backs of necks, tummies and an occasional paw but still...  It's really quite disgusting.  You ever been scooped up and kissed in front of a nosey-neighbouring-cat who's just looking for some reason to mock you?  I have and let me tell you, I have nightmares 'bout that to this very day.

Now I've never seen the peep scoop up a bird for kisses and cuddles but as she is human and therefore prone to doing crazy human things, I wouldn't put it past her at all.  And if you, my friend, are hopping about and climbing trees within her reach...  Well let's just say that that is one picture I would not wanna paint, far less be part of. MOUSES!

So might I suggest that you do a little more flying and a little less hopping so as to steer clear of the peep.  To keep out of her reach and stuff.  You know, to avoid any unnecessary kisses and cuddles and the like.  A ten-minute cuddle with kisses from a peep is something you will never forget.  Never forget in a bad way.  In a very bad way, indeed.  Believe me, I say this from personal experience.  MOUSES!