dweebs versus nincompoops

I sat back on my haunches, narrowed my eyes, and looked at the peep.  "You're a bit of a dweeb Peepers, aren't you?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, YOU'RE A BIT OF A DWEEB, and apparently a hard-of-hearing one, at that.  MOUSES!"

"Do you even know what a dweeb is, Seville?"

"Of course I do.  Don't be so ridiculous Peepers.  It's uh..  Um...  Hmm...  Be right back.  MOUSES!"

Several minutes later...

"Okay, so maybe you're not a dweeb after all.  Shame though.  Dweeb sounded like a really good word to use to describe you.  It had a good ring to it, you see.  I liked how it sounded to my ears.  Hello my friends, this here is Peep #1.  She's a real dweeb.  Or uh, Would you like to meet my dweeb?  You know, that sorta thing.  MOUSES!"

I noticed the peep rolling her eyes at me.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, Peepers.  Not my fault you're a nincompoop."

"What?"

"Nincompoop.  It means a stupid or foolish..."

"I know what it means, Seville.  The question is, why are you calling me one?"

"Because APPARENTLY the term nincompoop suits you better than dweeb.  DUH."

Again the peep rolled her eyes and this time the eye roll was accompanied with a hands in the air kinda gesture, along with a shrugging of the shoulders.

"Look Peepers, it's like this: as the author of an upcoming - sure to be best selling - book, I think it would be prudent for me to expand my vocabulary.  You know, find new and inventive ways to describe run-of-the-mill, ordinary things like uh...  Well...  YOU.  I can't constantly refer to you in my book as the peep, or my peep, or Peepers.  I need a few new names for you.  Pet names.  Names like...  Well I was gonna use dweeb but nincompoop seems to be a more accurate description, so..."

"Seville, I'm not sure I want to be in your book."

My jaw dropped.  "WHA???"

"I said," and the peep narrowed her eyes while slapping a stupid-looking kinda grin on her face, "I'm not sure I WANT to be in your book.  What do you think about that?"

"Not much.  MOUSES!"

I glared at the peep.  The peep glared back at me.  We sat there for the next five minutes,the peep and I, glaring at one another like we were havin' a glaring contest with neither one of us willing to concede.  A mosquito flew past my nose.  I gave it a swat, accidentally breaking eye contact with the peep and losing the impromptu contest.  Stupid mosquito.  MOUSES!

"Well the fact is, Peepers, you're in the book whether you wanna be or not.  I'm almost finished writing it so you can't change your mind now.  It's way too late in the game to think about backing out when..."

"It's not like you asked my permission to include me in the book in the first place."

"Well...  Well no.  No, I didn't.  But that's totally irrelevant to the situation."

"Oh?  How so?

"Because I say so.  Oh, don't look at me like that, Peepers.  It's not like you didn't know all along that you'd be included in my book.  I mean...  I mean....  Well, I need SOMEONE to mock in the book!  And mocking you is pretty much what I do on my blog twice a week, so uh...  So if you weren't such a nincompoop, you would have figured it out for yourself that there'd be a wee bit of peep mocking in my literary masterpiece, and..."

Peepers turned to leave the room.

"Oh come on, Peepers.  It's not like I've written you in for comic relief."

"Why don't I believe you?"

I shrugged.  "I dunno.  But the fact is, I don't need you for comic relief.  I have fur-sibs for that.  MOUSES!"

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

And just for fun - and 'cause it wouldn't be fair for me to mention my book without my sharin' a little somethin' from it - here's another excerpt.  Enjoy!  purrs



“So whatcha doing’ there, Petey?”  I hopped onto the desk next to the computer Peepers and I shared.

You know, the computer I use when writing my cat blog, Nerissa’s Life, and keeping up with my various social media accounts on Facebook and Twitter.  What the peep does with the computer, I have no idea.  It’s not like she has fans all over the world with whom she needs to converse.

I looked sternly at Peter and asked, “Does the peep know you’re using her..  I mean, OUR computer?”

He narrowed his eyes.  “Did I hear you call me, Petey?” he asked.  I thought I detected a note of derision when he repeated the little name I had come up with for him.

“Sure.  Petey.  It’s short for…”  I chuckled.  “I guess it’s not really short for Peter after all.  The two names are actually the same length, but…“  I noticed Peter’s scowl becoming more…  More scowly-like, for lack of a better word, and figured I should probably ixnay the ickinamenay business with an apologetic-sounding, “Whatever.”

Petey…  I mean, Peter, continued to look somewhat displeased.  If he were a cat, my money would be on his starting to growl anytime now.

“So anyway,” I began again, “whatcha doing’?”  I looked at the computer screen and saw he had been reading posts in some Facebook group for Canadians.  Looked like peeps in the group were getting all riled up about something or other.  Politics.  Ugh.  I let out a loud sigh.  Figures.  If I knew one thing about Facebook, it was that peeps were incapable of playing nicely together when they were talking about politics.  MOUSES!

Peter clicked on “home,” and in an instant the screen went from the group he had been participating in, to the general feed.  “What I’m doing is really none of your business, Seville.”

“Oh contraire,” I told him.  “That there computer belongs to me and the peep, so EVERYTHING you do on it is my business.  MOUSES!”

Peter grumbled some nonsense about something nonsensical  - to tell you the truth I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention - before attempting to click on the little Windows key to shut the computer off.

“Hold on there, Petey," and I placed a paw on his hand.  “Not so fast.”

He glared at me.

“Fine.  PETER, if you insist.  But don’t be so quick to turn off the computer,” and I pushed his hand away from the keyboard.  “I need to use it myself.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

“I do!  I need to work on my blog and stuff.  You know, stuff like checking in with my fans on Facebook and Twitter, and sharing a few dog-shaming photos and funny cat videos.  That sort of thing.”

“Your social media accounts?“ asked Peter.

“Yeah, you heard me.  We cats RULE when it come to social media on the Internet, you know.  If it weren’t for us, Facebook and Twitter wouldn’t even be able to make a living.  MOUSES!“

Peter stood, pushing back his…  I mean, MY chair.  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” and I waved him off with a paw.  “AND CLOSE THE OFFICE DOOR ON YOUR WAY OUT PLEASE!” I called after him.  “A little peace and quiet in here would be nice.  I need to concentrate on what I‘m doing.  MOUSES!”

and I'm topless

Publishing day, and I'm topless.

*sighs*

WHA ???

Oh yeah.  Whew!  Scratch that.

Publishing day, and I'm TOPIC-less.

Better.

Darned auto correct.

MOUSES!

Not that it would matter if I were topless.  You know, on account of my bein' a mancat and all, and as a cat, I'S ALL COVERED IN FUR.

MOUSES!

But still...

But still, it doesn't solve my problem.  The correctin' of the auto correct, I mean.  Nope, even with that correction, I'm still left with the same dilemma.

Publishing day, and I'm topic-less.

MOUSES!

The thing is, the peep has been very busy helpin' me edit parts of my book, and as a result...

Well as a result, she hasn't been doin' anythin' embarrassing about which I can write.

Well...

Well nothin' TOO embarrassing, I should say.  There was that...

Nah, that wasn't all that interestin'.  Not worth writin' about at all.

Oh, but then she...

Nah.  BORING!  Yup, boring with a capital B, not to mention an O, an R and ING.

MOUSES!

Oh, oh, oh!  I know!  Oh yeah, I've just now remembered THE MOST HUMILIATIN' story, EVER.  Okay, sit back, my friends, and take a load off your paws.  Let me tell you 'bout how...

WAIT A MINUTE.  Scratch that.  That embarrassing story was about me.

MOUSES!

Hmmm...

So uh...

So how 'bout those Raptors, huh?  Gotta paw it to them, for sure.

WE THE NORTH.  WE THE NORTH.  WE THE NORTH.

WOOT WOOT!!!

Yup, those Raptors do NOTHIN' embarrassing, at all.  Good thing I'm not countin' on them to provide me with fodder for my blog.  If I were, I'd have no humiliating tales to tell, for sure.

But back to the bit 'bout my bein' topic-less for today's blog.  Like I said earlier, the peep has been SO busy helpin' me with my book that...

Well...

I know!  I should share a second except from my book.  Yeah, that's exactly what I'll do.  ENJOY.  Purrs.

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

I stared at Peter and Jeffry in disbelief.  Neither one of them was volunteering any information about their being top secret spies, to the two RCMP officers sitting in our living room.

Of course, maybe that was part of the whole top secret thing.  I mean, if a top secret spy goes around telling everyone he or she is a top secret spy, are they really still a top secret spy, or just an ordinary kinda spy, and not a secret spy at all?  Keeping quiet about being a top secret spy might very well be part of the job description.

But still…

But still, identifying oneself as a CSISS agent to the RCMP wasn’t like taking out a full-page ad in the local paper.

Or was it?

Nah, law enforcement agencies were supposed to work together these days.  Work paw in paw, so to speak.  Share Intel and all that stuff, and…

“So neither one of you heard any kind of commotion, or saw any suspicious activity, in the woods out back?” one RCMP officer asked.

Peter shook his had.  “Nothing at all.  Of course we’ve only been here for a few days.  When did you say those two men were killed?”

“I didn’t.”  The RCMP officer narrowed his eyes.  “And the two of you are…  Visiting?”

“Cat sitting,” Jeffry answered, smugly, as he pointed in my direction.

“Hey!  It’s not like I need a babysitter or anything.”  I puffed out my chest to show everyone what a big, strong mancat I am.  I glanced over at Rushy.  All he had to do was take a deep breath, I begrudgingly realized, and the chest furs in that fluffy mane of his puffed out naturally.  I, on the other paw, go to puff out my chest and I look like I’m about to start wheezing.  MOUSES!

“And the home owner is…”  The RCMP officer was obviously fishing for information.

“Away.” stated Jeffry.

And no fish supper for you, Mr. Officer Sir, I thought to myself.  Nope, you’re gonna have to keep on fishing if you‘re planning on eating tonight.

The two police officers bored into Peter and Jeffry with their eyes, but Peter and Jeffry remained calm.  As calm as a couple of clammy cold fish, for sure.

Fish…  Hmmm…  I made a mental note to have Jeffry prepare fish for us for supper.  Either whitefish or salmon would do.

“Well if we’re done here,” and Peter stood up, “I’ll show you to the door.”

I tugged on Peter’s pant leg, and he attempted to brush me away with his foot.  I tugged harder and one of my claws caught hold of a thread.  Clearly, the man’s pants were cut from cheap cloth, or they wouldn’t give way so easily.  “Sorry ’bout that,” I shrugged, “but…”

Peter glared at me.  I glared right back, then attempted to flick away the wool thread from his pants, now caught on my paw.

“Stop tearing at my clothes,” Peter growled under his breath.

“You stop not paying attention to me,” I hissed back, “and I won‘t have to tear at your clothes.  Don’t you,” and I motioned for Peter to bend down so that I could quietly whisper what I had to say in his ear.  “Don’t you think you should tell them about…  You know…  Our missing peep?”

Peter straightened up.  “Cats,” he laughed.  “They do come up with the strangest things.”

I let out a low growl, half directed toward Peter and his ridiculous comment, and half because, try as I might, I could not get that stupid cheap thread from his pant leg out from between my claws.

“Here, let me help you with that,” and one of the RCMP officers picked me up.

I scowled at him.  Who the mouses did he think he was, picking me up like that?  Of all the nerve.  The least he could do was ask for permission, first.  Some peeps think they can do whatever they want to a cat, and…

“Oh!  You’ve managed to get that nasty thread out from between my claws.  Well…  Well thank you, then.  But next time, if there is a next time, ask first before picking me up.  Okay?”

The officer gave me a quick chin scritch before setting me back down on the floor.  “Nice cat,” he murmured.  I wasn’t sure if he was speaking directly to me, in which case he sounded a tad condescending, or to Peter, telling him I was nice.  Either way, getting the chin scritch made it worth my while, I decided, so I swallowed the low growl I could feel bubbling to the surface at the back of my throat.  MOUSES!

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

Oohhh...  And if you missed the first excerpt from my upcoming book, you can find it right here:  FIRST EXCERPT FROM MY BOOK.  It's at the end of the post.  purrs

it's Easter!

Oh my mouses...

IT'S EASTER!

And a VERY HAPPY EASTER to all of my pals.

Happy Easter, everybody.  HAPPY EASTER!

So you're all probably wondering what my Easter plants are...

Oops!  That was a Freudian slip, for sure.

Yes, I will be imbibing in some Easter plants this year.  Well not so much Easter plants, as plants that I'll be imbibing in on Easter.

You know...

CATNIP.

MOUSES!

But anyway...

But anyway, my Easter PLANS this year are to be busy busy like a busy bee, and do some more work on my book.

IT'S ALMOST COMPLETED!

Can you believe it?

MOUSES!

So due to my furiously workin' on my FIRST FULL BOOK LENGTH ADVENTURE, I'm afraid that this year, there will be no Easter adventure on my blog.

Please don't cry.  PLEASE...  I know it's disappointing, but...

But so as to make sure my pals don't miss out...

I'm including the links to some of my Easter adventures on Nerissa's Life from years past.  You know, so that you can experience the fun once more.  Here they are!  Just click on the title of each, and you'll be transported through space and time to the adventure.

          the weasels who stole Easter - an Easter adventure from 2018
          nip eggs - an Easter adventure from 2017
          jailbreak - an Easter adventure from 2016
          a request for assistance - part 1 of an Easter adventure from 2014
          savin' Easter morning - part 2 of an Easter adventure from 2014 

And what's more...

Just for fun...

I'm including an excerpt from my upcoming book.

Can you believe it?

MOUSES!

Now I've posted this very same excerpt on Facebook before, but I know some of you aren't on Facebook yourselves, so you might have missed it.  This is from near the beginning of my book and part of a chapter I absolutely love.  I hope you'll all love it, too.  PURRS
 
But before I forget...

HAPPY EASTER!!!

The followin' is the excerpt from my upcomin' book.  Enjoy!


I peered through the glass. Two men wearing long, dark trench coats of some sort stood on the doorstep, their newly polished leather shoes sparkling in the sunlight. Neatly trimmed hair framed what were obviously stern-looking expressions, even though dark glasses hid their eyes from my view.
“CSIS agents,” I muttered to myself.
Wait a minute. I turned away so that my back was to the door and leaned up against it. How the mouses did I know that these two smartly-dressed, stern-looking characters were Canadian Security Intelligence Service agents? Had I met them before? Had I seen them around? Had they attended the peep’s party on New Year’s Eve? But perhaps more importantly, WHY the mouses would two Canadian Security Intelligence Service agents be knocking on my front door?
Something else didn’t feel right, either, but I wasn’t quite sure what. The unlikely appearance of two CSIS agents on my front doorstep was odd, to say the least, so that was probably it. On the other paw, my uneasiness might very well be due to the fact that my fur-sibs and I had had to fend for ourselves for both lunch and dinner the day before, not to mention breakfast, this morning. It was quite possible I was suffering from a bit of a dodgy tummy. Although I couldn’t be positive, I suspected Andy had drooled in the open bag of kibble from which we had all been eating, and goodness knows what life-threatening kinda germs might be found in Anderson’s drool. At this very moment, I could be starting to feel the effects of such a life-threatening contagion, causing me to hallucinate, and imagine the appearance of two CSIS agents at my front door, and…
“WE CAN SEE YOU, YOU KNOW. We can see you right through the glass, Seville. Open the door.”
I turned back around. Huh. The CSIS agents were still there so I had to conclude they were real. What’s more, they somehow knew my name. And they probably wouldn’t give up easily, I surmised, as I was quite positive government agents and the like never did, so rather reluctantly, I opened the door. “What do you want?” I asked. I held up a paw before either one of the men could answer. “More importantly, do either of you know how to use a can opener?”
One of the agents made a sharp movement with his head which I assumed to be a nod of affirmation.
“Good. Come this way,” I told them, padding softly through the foyer and leading them into the kitchen. “There are tins of tuna on the counter. You can talk while I eat. MOUSES!”

HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY EASTER MY PALS!!!

purrs

writer's block

Of all the no good, good for nothin' antics.

Of all the stupid ol' stupid things a peep can do.

Of all the...

Awww...  MOUSES!

As many of you know, I, Seville the Cat, have been busy writing my first full length adventure these last few months.  Busy, busy, busy like a bee, I've been.  Only busier, of course, on account of bees not bein' able to write books.

MOUSES!

So anyway, the other day, I encountered the age old problem WE WRITER TYPES sometimes encounter.

WRITER'S BLOCK.

MOUSES!

Okay, so it wasn't so much writer's block, as it was...

Well...

Writer's barricade?

MOUSES!

Now what, pray tell, is writer's barricade, you ask?

Good question!  And luckily for you, I have an answer, too.  Writer's barricade is when a bloggin' kitty such as myself who is authoring his very first book, goes to work on said book, and finds some STUPID OL' PEEP using HIS computer for her own selfish needs.

Needs.  Reasons.  Excuses.  Whatever.

Well she called them reasons, but really and truly, they were nothing more than excuses and FLIMSY excuses at that.

MOUSES!

So I, bein' the Gentlecat that I am, GRACIOUSLY left Peep #1 to work on whatever stupid ol' stupid stuff she was workin' on, and politely stomped out of the room sayin' mouses this and mouses that under my breath.

MOUSES!

A whole ten minutes later...

Ten minutes later, I again entered the room, ASSUMING the peep would be done with whatever stupid stuff she was doing, and that my writer's barricade would be gone.

But OF COURSE, she wasn't.  Wasn't done using the computer, that is.  OH NO, the peep was still typing away without even a HINT of concern about MY NEEDIN' that computer to work on my book.  Inconsiderate or what?

MOUSES!

So I sat there and stared at the peep.

But alas, she paid no attention to me.  *Sighs, LOUDLY*

So I sat there even longer, continuing to stare at the peep.

And when I say stare, I really mean, I was boring into the back of her head with my laser sharp vision.

EVENTUALLY, the peep relented and my writer's barricade was gone.

I KNEW my staring at her would do the trick!

Now unlike MY gracious and polite Gentlecat behaviour, the peep, bein' a peep, muttered something stupid about something undoubtedly stupid, and stormed out of the room.

Okay, so it wasn't so much a storm as a...  Um....  Unsettled weather.

But rude?  Oh yeah, it was rude, all right.  The peep was rude as all get out!

Which she did, eventually.  Get out, that is.  The peep GOT OUT of my office and left me alone to work on my book in peace.

My writer's barricade was finally gone.

And THANK GOODNESS for that, 'cause I, Seville the Cat, have an incredibly important novel to write.

MOUSES!

top of the day to you all!

Happy St. Patrick's Day, everybody.

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!

Oh my mouses, my pals, I NEARLY FORGOT.

Can you believe it?

I did.

That's right, my friends, I nearly forgot today was St. Patrick's Day.

Now that wasn't lucky at all.

MOUSES!

Well actually...

Well actually, I didn't forget entirely.

Sometime last month, I remembered.

But then...

LAST WEEK...

I FORGOT.

MOUSES!

I've had so much on my mind as of late, you see.  You know, on account of my being hard at work writing my book.  I've been focused on that book of mine, for sure.

FYI, regarding my book, so far I've got two dead bodies, a couple of possible impostors, two law enforcement agencies - at least, a humongous list of suspects, and one suspiciously missing peep.

MOUSES!

So as you can imagine, with all my book writing stuff and everything, I wasn't able to bring you a 2019 St. Patrick's Day adventure.

So instead...

And I do hope this is okay.

So instead of writing a new adventure this year, on account of my havin' my paws full with adventure of the book-writing kind, I'm gonna post the links to some St. Patrick's Day adventures from St. Patrick's Days past.

That okay?

MOUSES!

So let's get started then.

If you remember last year, we had a wee bit of a flying green thing problem in the sunroom.  It was a mess, my friends.  A mess!  You can read all about it in The Infestation on my blog.

MOUSES!

In 2016, I found some gold coins.  I thought they were there for the taking.  Turned out, they weren't.  You can read all about 'em in Finders Keepers...  Maybe on my blog.

MOUSES!

Back in 2015, Nissy was still with us and he, along with a magical fairy, helped me concoct..  I mean, make.  Nah, concoct will do.  Anyway, Nissy helped me do up some catnip-flavoured breath mints.  Remember?  You can read all about 'em in Catnip and Fairy Dust on my blog.

MOUSES!

My last adventure to share is from 2014, when Nissy and I travelled ALL THE WAY TO IRELAND for some St. Patrick's Day fun.  You can read all about it in Seville's Four-Leaved Clovers on my blog.

MOUSES!

So there you have it, my friends.  Four - count 'em, FOUR - St. Patrick's Day adventures to share.

HAPPY READING EVERYONE!

And more importantly...

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY

TO YOU ALL!!!

 

the scandalous cad

So there I was in my office, workin' hard on my blog and totally mindin' my own business, when...

Yeah, I was TOTALLY mindin' my own business.

When alarm bells started doin' their dingin'.  There were alarm bells and sirens, EVERYWHERE.  There was even an alert on the television.

MOUSES!

Okay, so maybe there weren't actually any alarms or sirens doin' their dinger.  And maybe there wasn't a TV alert, either.  MAYBE it was really more of a case of the first peep walkin' into my office and openin' her mouth.

Of course, when Peep #1 opens her mouth, what comes out can kinda sound like the screechin' of a siren, for sure.

It's a proven fact, you know.  And I'm not the only one who says it.

MOUSES!

But I digress.  Let's get back to that alarming message.

So there I was, hard at work on my blog, when Peep #1 said, "Hey Sivvers, did you read what some guy wrote on your Facebook page?"

Of course, I immediately raced over to my fan page, on Facebook, and started reading.

My jaw dropped.

My pallor paled.

My eyes started burning.

A torrent of tears streamed down my face, and in dismay I watched as they formed a puddle right there on the floor beneath me.

What?

Why?

HOW?

HOW COULD ANYONE WRITE SOMETHIN' AS NASTY AS THAT?

AND ABOUT ME, TOO.

MOUSES!

I looked at the post I had previously made 'bout how I was writin' a book-length adventure, and just below my good news...

Some STUPID GUY wrote...

He wrote...

MOUSES! 

Of all the good for nothin' guys out there...

In all the no good gin joints of the world...

AND HE HAD TO GO COMMENT ON MINE?

Okay, so my Facebook fan page isn't exactly a gin joint.

Isn't exactly?  It isn't at all.

And it certainly isn't no good.

But still... 

But still, I, Seville the Cat, was annoyed.

And rightly so, too.

Of course, that was AFTER my heart had been broken.

*sighs*

But the peep said to me, "Don't worry, Sivvers, keep your chin up.  There's always going to be that one guy who just can't help himself but to say something nasty."

And you know somethin'?

SHE WAS RIGHT! 

Which just goes to show you, there's a first time for everythin', for sure. 

MOUSES!

I mean, who does this guy think he is, anyway?  Has he written any books?  Does he know how to write?  Does he even know how to READ? 

MOUSES! 

So even though this stupid guy went and TOTALLY SPOILED the announcement 'bout my writin' a book... 

TOTALLY spoiled it, for sure. 

And even though he went and TOTALLY RUINED my good mood...

You know what?

I, Seville the Cat, am gonna forgive him.

'Cause truth be told, maybe, as the peep said, he just can't help himself.  Maybe he's just naturally nasty.

And MAYBE I can work his name into my book.

As a villain, of course.

Or perhaps as the victim.

Or MAYBE a SCANDALOUS CAD.

Who ends up at the bottom of very deep river, wearin' blocks of cement-fashioned shoes.

'Cause you know somethin', else?

THAT'S the kinda thing we writing types do.

MOUSES!

deathly claws

I walked into my office, only to find those two freaky, long-haired marmie brothers of mine workin' on their Claws of Death (written by MY PAL, Linda Reilly) book reports, for Professor Lyon's Kitty Lit. 101 course.

At least I ASSUMED they were workin' on their book reports.  Andy was rollin' around on the floor laughin', while Rushy was up at my desk, wipin' tears from his eyes with a paw.  "WHAT THE MOUSES ARE YOU TWO DOIN'?" I cried.  They both stopped laughin' and cryin' and blankly stared ahead.  I surmised they were overtaxing their brains by thinkin'.  MOUSES!

Then Andy went back to laughin'.  And rollin'.  Laughin' and rollin'.  And rollin' and laughin'.  All over the floor.  MOUSES!  Slappin' a paw on Linda Reilly's book, Claws of Death, he cried, "A muumuu.  A MOO-MOO.  She's wearin' a muumuu, Sivvers.  A muumuu!"

I gave my brother a cold, hard stare as I tried to figure out what the mouses he was on about this time.

"Oh come on, Seville.  You have to admit, it's a really funny word.  MOOOOOO-MOOOOO." he said, drawin' out the syllables.  "A muumuu." He chuckled to himself."

"What are you talkin' about?" I asked.  "Let me see that," and I grabbed Andy's copy of the book, Claws of Death.  Hmmm...  It's just some kinda dress peeps wear.  She's wearin' a 'garish orange muumuu,' the book says."  I looked at my brother, closely.  "You know, with all that freakishly long fur of yours, you kinda look like you're wearin' a garish orange muumuu, yourself.  MOUSES!"

Then I turned to my other brother and asked, "And what's your problem, Rushy?  What's got you all teary eyed and stuff?"

"They're tears of joy, Seville.  Tears of joy!  I was thinking about certain parts of Linda's book.  Parts that were really happy, and...  And then these tears of joy started flowing right out of my eyes."  With that, Rushy grabbed a tissue from my desk and gave his nose a good blow.

"And out of your nose, too, apparently."  I pointed to the wastepaper basket on the floor, makin' sure my brother disposed of the used tissue properly.

Andy, still rollin' about on the floor, cried, "I laughed!"

Rushy, still sittin' at my desk, sobbed, "I cried."

"We laughed.  We cried.  IT WAS BETTER THAN CATS!" the long-haired freaks exclaimed in unison.

"Oh for the love of mouses," I muttered, rubbin' my throbbing temple with a paw.  "So uh..." and I looked up, "have either of you actually finished your book reports for Professor Lyon's class?  Or have you been too busy laughin' and cryin' and quotin' stuff about CATS?"

My brothers looked first at one another, and then at me.  "I've started mine," Rushy said.

"Me too," said Andy.  "But it's not quite done yet.  "I got a little distracted while rolling around on the floor.  And by the way, Seville, you've got dust bunnies under the big chair over there.  You might want to have the peep do some cleaning."

I rolled my eyes.  "Our reports on the second book in Linda Reilly's Cat Lady Mystery series are due tomorrow, you know.  You had best finish 'em up, lickety-split."

Turnin' to exit the room, I stopped when Andy asked me, "Have you finished yours yet, Seville?"

"Of course I have," I snapped.  "What a ridiculous question.  I finished my report late last night.  Pretty sure I'm gettin' an A on this one.  Maybe even an A+," and I puffed up my chest furs with pride.

"Really?" asked Rushton.  "What did you write about?  What did you say about the book?"

"Well..." I paused, and scratched behind an ear with a paw.  "Hmmm...  Believe it or not, I'm thinkin' that maybe I wrote 'bout the same kinda things the two of you are writing about.  'Bout how Linda Reilly has once again managed to fit a gamut of emotions into one cozy mystery book, by creating such interestin' characters with whom the reader can easily develop close attachments, on account of their likability factors, and..."

Andy screwed up his nose.  "Uh, I don't think I've written anything about that."

"What's a gamut?" Rushy asked Andy under his breath.

"I have no idea," Andy hissed back.  "That's why I'm pretty sure I didn't write about it in my report."

Rushy thought about this and nodded.  Turnin' to me, he asked, "So this gamut thingy of which you speak.  It's uh..."

"It means a...  a complete range of somethin'," I explained.  "When Linda writes, her stories take readers on an emotional trip, complete with both highs and lows.  First of all, she creates characters that are both believable and likeable.  And many of them have a little quirk or two that makes them incredibly interestin', as well.  Then she creates a plot that twists and turns, a number of times.  Because you've come to know and love the characters, when the plot twists in one direction, you're happy for them.  When it turns in another direction, you're sad.  Sometimes you might even be angry 'bout what happens to the peeps in the book.  Other times, you worry for them and their safety, which, of course, builds a tonne of suspense, and..."

"So it's like being on a roller coaster?" Asked Andy.  "An emotional roller coaster?"

"Kinda, 'cept no one throws up any hairballs.  MOUSES!"

Andy pawed at the floor.  "I thought we were going to keep that little incident to ourselves," he muttered under his breath.

"So anyway," I continued, "I wrote all 'bout how, in Claws of Death, I was swept away with the storyline, and how there were more than a few tense moments where I was really worried for Lara, and Aunt Fran.  And the kitties livin' in High Cliff Shelter, too.  I mean, there was a murderer loose in Whisker Jog, AND I HAD NO IDEA who he or she was.  Not until the very end, which is kinda surprisin' when you think about it, on account of my bein' a cat with a real knack for sniffin' out the culprits in mysteries and stuff."

"I didn't know who the killer was, either," said Andy.  "Came as a complete surprise to me, too."

I screwed up my nose.  "Most things do for you," and I supportively patted him on the his back.

"What did you think about the new gal, Claudia?" Rushy asked me.

"I LOVED HER!" I squealed with delight.  "Blue - you know, the ghostly Ragdoll kitty from Lara's childhood - had given Claudia her blessing, so OBVIOUSLY, she had to be an okay person.  But I had no idea she's be such fun!  I so enjoyed readin' the scene where she first met Lara.  Between Reilly's description of her, and the actual dialogue, I could picture her, PERFECTLY, in my mind.  Reilly made her seem so real.  Made her come to life, right there on the page.  I sure do hope Claudia makes an appearance in Linda's next book, too."

"And did you write about how your pal, Linda, named one of the characters after our first peep?" Rushy asked.

I furrowed my brow.  "No...  No, I don't think that's right, Rushy.  There were no characters in the book called Peepers."  I rolled my eyes, wonderin' what foolishness my brother would come up with next.

"But Trisha's mum's name was Jennifer," explained Rushy.

I screwed up my nose.  "What the mouses does that have to do with our peep?  The peep's name is Peepers, silly.  Ha!  But...  But did you happen to notice how there's a devilishly, devastatingly handsome orange marmalade cat in the book?"  I smiled a wide smile, grinnin' like a Cheshire Cat, then wiped the corner of my mouth with a claw.  "I'm pretty sure Munster is supposed to be me."

Rushy and Andy looked at one another.  "Yeah.  Right," said Rushy.  Oddly enough, his tone didn't sound at all like he was agreein' with me.  MOUSES!

"So anyway," and I slapped my front paws together.  "Sounds like I should let the two of you get back to those reports of yours.  Best get on 'em right away."

"What are you going do for the rest of the afternoon, Sivvers?" Andy asked.  "What are you going to do while Rushy and I are in here working?"

I thought about it for a moment, but didn't have to think for very long.  "I know exactly what I'm gonna do, Andy.  I'm gonna go grab a niptini and then reread the best parts of Claws of Death.  It was such a good book, it's really worth a second read.  And then I'm gonna go on-line and have a chat with Linda.  Ask her when book number three is comin' out, 'cause I'm already anxious to read it.  MOUSES!"



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

Claws by Death is the second book in the Cat Lady Mystery Series written by my pal, Linda Reilly.  It's published by Lyrical Press, a division of the Kensington Publishing Corporation.  You can connect on-line with Linda through her website, Linda Reilly, or on her Facebook page, Author Linda Reilly or on Twitter at LindaSReilly7  The cover picture of Linda's book was used with Linda's permission, of course.  Purrs.

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

Disclaimer:  Although I did receive a free copy of the book from the author, neither I nor the peep received any monetary compensation for this post, and all opinions are MY very own.  MOUSES!

claws to escape

"Hey Sivvers!  Did you see this?" Andy asked.  "Did you see what is written on the back cover of this book?"

Sauntering over to the desk where his brothers were working, Seville examined the back cover of Escape Claws by Linda Reilly, the book the three boys were currently studying for Kitty Lit. 101.  "Did I see what?" he asked.

"On the back cover of the book, Escape Claws, it says, you can inhale too much catnip."

"Let me see that!" and Seville grabbed the book out of Andy's paw.  A moment later he looked up and replied, "That there is some kinda rhetorical question, I do believe.  Everyone knows it's impossible to inhale too much of the nip.  MOUSES!"

"See?  Told you," said Rushy, nudging Andy in the side.  "A cat can have too little catnip, but never too much.  Of course..."  Rushton rested his chin on a paw.  "Lara isn't a cat, is she?  She's just a peep.  It's quite possible that peeps can have too much nip."

"QUIT TALKIN' NONSENSE!" Seville demanded.  "I will not have my brothers talkin' like this.  There is never too much nip for anyone.  NEVER."  He looked from Rushton to Anderson, and then back to Rushy again.  "You two finished your book reports already?"

Anderson hesitated before answering.  "Not exactly."

"We got talking about the book's back cover," admitted Rushy, "and..."

"And that's sort of where we're still at."  Andy added.

"You know," began Rushton, "it seems to me, reading the book is a whole lot more fun than writing about it afterwards.  I'd much rather read Escape Claws a second time than write about it.  I'd much rather read it a third time, too!"

"Wouldn't we all?" asked Seville.  "But that's not how school works, guys."

"Yeah but still...  I mean, Escape Claws was THAT good.  Good enough to read more than once."

"Oh for the love of mouses," and Seville rolled his eyes.  "You have to write the book report so that Professor Lyon knows you've read it, and understood it, and..."

"And enjoyed it?" asked Andy.  "Because I did."

Seville sat back on his haunches.  A broad smile grew across his face.  "I did, too.  I always wonder how much I'll like the first book of a new series, you know?  'Cause in the first book, you haven't yet met the characters and stuff.  And you don't know if you'll like 'em or not."

"I liked Aunt Fran," blurted out Rushy.  "She has a boatload of cats, and..."

Andy tugged on Rushy's tail.  "She has a house load of cats, Rushy.  Aunt Fran doesn't live on a boat."

Seville sighed, loudly.  "It's just an expression of speech, bro.  MOUSES!  What Rushy is sayin' is, Aunt Fran has a lot of cats."

"Oh."  Andy looked down at the floor.  Looking up, he quickly added, "Do you know who my favourite cat is?" he asked.

"Would that be moi?" Seville asked.

"I meant in the book, Sivvers.  Do you know which cat of Aunt Fran's is my very favourite?  Don't bother guessing," and Andy held up a paw.  "My favourite cat of Aunt Fran's, is Blue."

"But Blue isn't Aunt Fran's cat," Rushton stated.  "Blue belongs to..."

"Blue belongs to no one, I should think," interjected Seville.  "Blue is her own cat.  A cat who goes about doin' what she wants.  Goin' WHERE she wants.  Makin' pals with whomever she wants.  Plus, she's a ghost.  Blue is a ghost cat.  She was Lara's pet when Lara was a young girl.  Kinda.  Sorta."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Rushy.  "How was Blue just kinda or sorta Lara's pet?"

"Well...  You know.  You read the book, too," stated Seville.  "Blue is a mystery within a mystery.  Kinda neat, if you ask me."

Andy nodded vigorously.  "Blue and Lara are reunited when Lara returns home to Whisker Jog to help Aunt Fran with all the other cats.  You remember that, don't you Rushy?"

"What I remember is that Aunt Fran was in need of Lara's help.  There were the cats, and her poor health, and that nasty town bully."

"Oh, he was a real piece of work.  Tryin' to force Aunt Fran to..."  Seville paused.  "Let's just say, he was not the nicest of peeps."

Seville's brothers nodded in agreement.

"I'm super glad Lara was able to return home and help out," began Andy.  "But then..."

"Then she found the body," Rushton finished.

"Actually, that's not true," Seville corrected Rushy.  "Oh sure, the police and everyone thought Lara found the murder victim, but really, it was Blue.  Blue led her right to it!"

"And landed Aunt Fran on the suspect list," added Rushton.

"Yup, right there at the top, too," Seville nodded.  "Of course, that's what happens in real life, isn't it?  The police always look at the person who calls in the uh..  murder.  MOUSES!"

"And of course, by then, we were all rooting for Aunt Fran 'cause she's such a nice lady."  Rushton thought for a moment.  "I think that's a real credit to Linda Reilly's writing.  Don't you agree, Seville?"

"I sure do," Seville answered.  "Linda creates characters with real substance.  They have layers, you know?  They're multi-dimensional.  They have depth.  Makes the reader invested in what happens to 'em, I think.  Makes us root for Aunt Fran and Lara.  Makes us want justice to be found, too."

"Seville," began Andy, "were you worried the police might not be able to figure out who the real killer was?"

"I was, kinda.  It was a hard mystery to solve."

"Good thing Blue was able to help Lara solve it," added Rushton.

"Yeah.  I tried," Seville began, "but no matter how hard I worked at it, I couldn't figure out who the killer was.  I always do, you know.  Try, I mean.  When readin' a murder mystery, I always try to solve the mystery myself.  I think every avid mystery reader does.  I..."

"YOU HAVE RABIES?" gasped Anderson.

"What?  What the mouses are you talkin' about, Andy?  I said I was an AVID mystery reader, not a RABID mystery reader.  MOUSES!"

"Whew!" Andy breathed a sigh of relief.

"ANYWAY," continued Seville, "I was tryin' to figure out who the killer was right to the very end of the book, but for the life of me, I couldn't!  Now that there is the mark of a good book.  Yes sirree, surprising twists and keepin' the reader in suspense right to the end is what makes a mystery great in my books, for sure."

"Great in your books..." Andy scoffed.  "In your BOOKS.  And it IS a book, and..."

"Of for the love of mouses," Seville sighed.  "Sometimes I really wonder 'bout you two.  Are you sure we're actually related?"

Andy thought for a moment.  "I don't really know, Sivvers.  Peep #1 says we are."  He clicked his claws together.  "But Lara is good at figuring out mysteries.  We should ask her."

Seville slouched his shoulders.  "For the love of mouses," he muttered.

"Um, Seville?  I have a question.  There was one thing about the book I didn't like.  Should I write about that in my report?" Rushton asked.

Seville's jaw dropped.  "Really, Rushy?  There was something 'bout Escape Claws that you didn't enjoy?"

"Well yeah," nodded Rushton.  "It came to an end.  I was enjoying it so much, I wanted to read more."

"Well then you're in luck!" exclaimed Seville.

"How so?" asked Rushy.

"Because Escape Claws is only the first book in a whole series!  Book number two of  the Cat Lady Mystery series, Claws of Death, will be out on June 26th, and we can all read that one, too."  Seville smiled, "Isn't that wonderful news?"

"It sure is!" Rushy and Anderson cried in unison.

Seville looked sternly at his brothers.  "But for now, you had both best be gettin' on with those reports of yours for Professor Lyon, okay?  Okay.  MOUSES!"


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

Escape Claws is the first book in the Cat Lady Mystery Series written by my pal, Linda Reilly.  It's published by Lyrical Press, a division of the Kensington Publishing Corporation.  You can connect on-line with Linda through her website, Linda Reilly, or on her Facebook page, Author Linda Reilly or on Twitter at LindaSReilly7  The cover picture of Linda's book was used with Linda's permission, of course.  Purrs.

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

Disclaimer:  We received no monetary compensation for this post, and all opinions are my own. MOUSES!

all about me

It's all about me.

Hmmm...

It's ALL about me.

Hmmm...

It's all about ME.

HMMM...

THE WHOLE DARN KIT AND CABOODLE IS ALL ABOUT ME.

Now that's a perfect title, for sure.  MOUSES!

But...

But everybody probably knew that already.

MOUSES!

Caboodle.  CABOODLE.  Heeheeheeheehee...  Sounds like a new kinda dog breed or somethin'.

Bwhahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!

Well that won't do!  Dog breeds have nothin' to do with me.

MOUSES!

Oh hello there, my friends.  I was just workin' on the book I'm writin'.  It's an autobiography of sorts. It's a book all about me.

And so far...  Well so far, I've...  I've uh...  Um...

So far, I have a workin' title.

I think.

MOUSES!

Who ever knew writin' a book could be this hard?  But once I get past this title thing, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to sail right on through.

You know, Peep #1 says writin' books is a lot harder than it looks.   She says it's a lot harder than sailin', for sure.  But what does she know?  I mean, she is just a peep.  MOUSES!

On the other paw, I did get kinda stuck on the title.

But seriously folks, who wouldn't wanna read my life story?  My life story after comin' to live with my peeps, I mean.  Before that, before comin' to live with the peeps, I didn't take any notes.

Not that I've been takin' notes since comin' to live with the peeps, either, but...

Pshaw!  Notes, shmotes.  Who needs notes?  I'll just make up what I don't remember.

What?  What's that, Peepers?  You can't make up stuff in an autobiography, you say?  You say that the stuff in an autobiography is supposed to be true?

SAYS WHO?

Oh yeah.  You.

MOUSES!

But then again, what do you know?  Do I need to repeat it?  You are just a peep.

I wonder if there's such a thing as a fictional autobiography.

Hmmm...

A fictional autobiography sounds a WHOLE LOT BETTER than a big ol' pack of lies.

Not that I would ever write a book about myself and fill it with lies.  I'm not that kinda cat, you see.  I am an honest kitty.  A kitty with integrity.  A kitty who states the facts.  The real facts, and nothin' but the facts, and certainly not those facts of an alternative kind.

Of course, a little fibbin' here and there might need to be done.  You know, to fill in the missin' parts of my life story.  Those missin' parts I don't remember.

And, of course, to make my life story sound better.

MOUSES!

What?  What's that, Peepers?  If I wanna write a book full of made-up stuff, I should write a novel, you say?

But would that novel be about me?  'Cause whatever kinda book I write, it needs to be a book ALL ABOUT ME.  I can't stress that bein' all about me bit, enough, you see.

BECAUSE.

BECAUSE!

Because I say so, that's why.

'CAUSE WHO WANTS TO READ A BOOK THAT'S NOT ABOUT ME?

Really?

That many, huh?

And not a single book in a single bookstore bein' sold these days was written about me?

Not even one?

Are you serious?

Are you SURE?

And people are still reading 'em?

AND ON PURPOSE?

Well I'll be.

All I can say is...

All I can say, if that truly is the case...

All I can say, if that truly is the case, THERE'S CLEARLY A REAL NEED OUT THERE, FOR CATS AND PEEPS TO START WRITIN' BOOKS ALL ABOUT ME.

MOUSES!

all nice and cozy

Well let me tell you, the peep has finally gone off her rocker.  Not that she actually had a rocker from which to 'get off' as in this here multi-cat household, rockers are simply not allowed - on account of the tail thing - but if she had a rocker to get off, she would be off it, for sure.  MOUSES!

Now I know what you're thinking.  You thinking, what's new 'bout that? And to tell you the truth, you'd be making a good point.

Truth be told, I misspoke when I used the word finally.  I mean, that kinda makes it sound like it was the first time Peep #1 had fallen off that ol' metaphorical rocker of hers and that, my friends, is simply not true.  More like it was the first time she had gone off her rocker that day.  Well... maybe that week.  Yeah, that sounds about right, for sure.  MOUSES!

Let me start from the beginning.

Last night, I wandered into the family room and what did my kitty cat eyes see?  They saw Peep #1 knitting.

Was the peep knitting something useful like a nip mouse or a biff bag, you ask?  Nope.  No sirree. The peep was knitting a cowl.  A cowl as in like a round kind of scarfy kind of thing.  As in something you might wear in winter.

Now at this sight I stopped short and said to the peep, "What the mouses are you doing?  Do you not know that today is the hottest day of the year?  Got the ol' humidex goin' and everything."

And it was, my friends.  It was!  So far, yesterday, which was today when I originally asked the question, was the hottest day of 2016, here in the valley, in Nova Scotia.

Well that ol' Peepers just looked at me and said she was makin' a gift for someone.  A gift that would keep 'em all nice and cozy, she said.

That's when I said, "All nice and cozy!  Do you not realize this is the hottest day of the year? Peeps don't wanna be cozy.  What they'll want is a fan.  MOUSES!"

Of course, the peep ignored me, completely.  Instead of answering my question, she finished up the cowlly scarf - or should that be scarfy cowl? - and put it away.  Next thing I knew she was starting up something else.

So I looked in her knitting bag of tricks and saw that she was using a different kind of yarn and lo and behold, she had two balls of it going at the same time.   MOUSES!

"Oh Peepers," I said.  "You've got your yarns all mixed up and screwy.  You making a fan like I suggested, earlier?  An extra-thick one?  That why you're using two balls at once?"

Peep #1 looked at me and said, "No, now that I've finished the cowl, I'm making a tea cozy."

"A tea cozy!  MOUSES, WOMAN!  Why-oh-why would my nip tea need a cozy to keep warm?  I prefer it iced," I explained, even though she really should have known that already.  MOUSES!

"It's not for you, Seville," said the peep.  "It's a tea cozy for me.  And not for nip tea, either.  It's for black tea which I enjoy, hot."

I slapped a paw to my forehead 'cause for a brief moment there, I was speechless.  Then I recovered.

"Your tea comes hot out of the kettle," I explained to the peep.  "No need to keep it all nice and cozy. Besides, your cozy thing is gonna get all wet."

I sat there imagining that ol' peep of mine, placing a teabag on her cozy, and pouring hot water over the whole thing, making one really big ol' soggy mess.  Then she'd have to squeeze the tea out of the cozy in order to drink it, and the mess she made would get even messier.  MOUSES!

"The cozy goes on the teapot, Seville.  The tea is in the pot.  The cozy doesn't get wet."

So I thought about this for a moment or two, giving myself a good ol' scratch behind the ear, and then said, "Are you forgetting that today is the hottest day of the year?  No need to keep ANYTHING all nice and cozy.  What we're in dire need of are fans.  Why can't you knit up one of those instead of your stupid cowls and tea cozies which are clearly meant for winter.  MOUSES!"

Peep #1 just looked at me with a blank stare.  Clearly, she was trying to respond and finding herself unable.  Brain was likely trying to climb back up onto her metaphorical rocker, I suspect.

Taking pity upon that ol' peep of mine, who was obviously in denial of the summer weather, I put a paw on her hand and said, "It's okay, Peepers.  Don't fret.  If you need something cozy, I know exactly what to get.  And it's appropriate for summer, too!  I'll go find you a nice cozy mystery to read which will keep your heart all nice and cozy without making you feel like you're boiling to death."

And with that I trotted off to my office to get Ol' Peepers a nice cozy mystery to read so that she could put away her stupid knitting.

Let me clarify something.  IF the peep were knitting nip mice or biff bags, her knitting would not be stupid but as she was instead knitting wintry stuff in summery weather, stupid it was, for sure. MOUSES!

So I brought the peep a nice book to read and then I thought aloud to myself, "OH MY MOUSES!  I need to tell my readers who won the autographed copy of the amazing cozy mystery, Out of the Dying Pan, written by my pal, Linda Reilly!"  I then tossed the new book onto the peep's lap and ran into my office to write this here blog post, to let everyone know 'bout the results of the draw.

Drum roll, please...

And the winner of the autographed copy of Out of the Dying Pan is my friend, Quinn!  Quinn who writes the lovely blog, Catitude. CONGRATULATIONS QUINN!!!

Quinn, I need your address so that Linda can mail you your prize.  If you would please leave it as a comment on my blog, I'll get the peep to write it down, then delete the comment before publishing, so that the whole world doesn't know where you live.  Thanks.

And many thanks to everyone else who entered and ESPECIALLY BIG THANKS to Linda Reilly, herself, for offering to autograph a copy of her book for one of my readers to win.  Thank you Linda!!!  You really are THE BEST.

out of the batter bowl

"LOOK OUT!" Rushton yelled as Seville walked past the kitchen door. Seville turned in the direction of his brother's voice just in time to receive a paw-full of goopy, gooey, pasty batter in his face.

"What the mouses?" Seville sputtered, spitting out lumps of batter as he spoke.  "What the mouses are you two long-haired marmie boys up to?"

"Sorry about that," Anderson apologized, padding over to Seville.  He wiped what batter he could from Seville's face with a paw.  Drawing the paw to his mouth, he sniffed.  Then he licked it and screwed up his face. "Tastes good, Rushy, but you were right.  It is kind of lumpy."

Seville looked from Anderson to Rushton and then back to Andy once again.  "I'll ask once more. What the mouses are you two up to?  Whose idea was this here food fight, anyway?  I thought you were working on your book reports for Kitty Lit. 101!  You know, your reports about Linda Reilly's latest book, Out of the Dying Pan."

"We were.  I mean, we are," Rushton answered, rather matter of factly.

"It's true, Seville," piped up Andy.  "We're doing what one calls a reenactment of one of the scenes in the book.  Checking out how realistic it is and stuff."

"Turns out the scene was very realistic," added Rushton.  "I can totally see something like that escalating to flying batter and things, just like in the book.  Andy and I proved it and everything."

Seville rolled his eyes before saying, "When Peep #1 finds out about this..."

"Oh she already knows," explained Andy.  "Said something about us driving her crazy which is absolutely ridiculous as neither one of us can drive."

Seville pursed his lips, partially closed his eyes allowing them to glaze over, and shuddered.

"You okay there, bro?" Andy asked.  Without waiting for a response he continued with, "So anyway, now that we've proven that the book's batter scene in the kitchen really could happen..."

"Which we already knew but simply felt the need to prove," added Rushton.

"Now we can go type up our reports for Professor Lyon," finished Anderson.  "You have yours done already, Seville?"

"Had mine done ages ago and it's a good thing, too, 'cause I'm looking at this kitchen and thinkin' that SOMEONE is gonna have to do a little cleaning."

"I think Peep #1 will clean it up when she gets back from crazy, wherever that is," said Andy.

Rushton stared at Seville for a moment before asking, "Don't you want to know why we needed to do this reenactment, Seville?"

"Uh actually...  NO."

"Sure you do.  Don't you think Seville wants to know, Andy? Don't answer that, Anderson.  It was what one calls a rhetorical question," and Rushton settled back on his haunches before continuing.  "Anyway, Andy and I were discussing the various relationships in Linda Reilly's latest book, Out of the Dying Pan.  The various relationships between the characters and stuff."

"And by stuff," Anderson butted in, "he means food.  Deep fried food like fish as, as you know, the main character Talia owns and operates a restaurant serving such things.  Things like fish.  And meatballs too!"  Anderson turned to Rushton to add, "We need to try making those Deep Fried Meatballs, Rushy.  Recipe is in the back of the book."

"As I was saying," Rushton scowled at his brother, "the book has a lot of relationships.  Some fairly simple and others far more complex.  Relationships between the various characters and..."

"And food.  Don't forget the food," Andy reminded Rushy.  "But also scarves."

Seville sat down, closed his eyes, and lay his head in his paws.  "I can't believe these two cats are my brothers," he muttered.  "Clearly, they were adopted."

"Andy does have a point about the scarves," Rushton agreed.  "There are two scarves.  The smoky smelly one that Martha is always wearing and then the.. uh..  the murder weapon.  You know, the one Talia made for her grandmother."

"Which is another relationship," Anderson said.  "You know, the relationship Talia had with her grandmother when she was growing up.  How she loved her and made her that lovely scarf as a gift..."

"Which then showed up with the victim, before the victim was an actual victim," continued Rushton. "That has got to make one wonder if there was a relationship between the victim and Talia, right?  Might even make the police look at Talia as the killer."

"Yeah," Andy butted in, "because Talia already had a relationship with the police.  After all, she did find a dead body in Linda Reilly's first book, not long before Out of the Dying Pan takes place. This is the second time she has done that so when you think about it, she's developing a rather interesting association - or relationship - with the police.  And then there's the relationships between the victim and Talia and the victim and her mother and the victim and..."

"And the relationships between the shop owners with one another," added Rushton.  "Also the relationships between Talia and her adorable calico kitty and then that Siamese kitty and the victim had a relationship which leads to the exposure of some other relationships and...  Oh!  And keep in mind, all of these relationships are exposed throughout the book, one at a time, so you never know which ones are simply fun or interesting or related to the crime.  Plus, the relationships make the storyline multi-dimensional."

"Excuse me," Seville interjected, "but can someone please explain what all of this has to do with your whipping up a batch of batter and having a food fight in the kitchen?  Anyone? Anyone at all?"

"Um..." and Rushton looked upwards at the ceiling.  "Oh wow.  Look at that.  Which one of us threw batter all the way up there?  It hit the fan and everything."

Anderson looked down at a paw and began to study a claw with great concentration.

Rushton scratched behind an ear.  "Well we really just wanted to see what being in a food fight would be like as neither one of us had ever been in one before.  Ours went a little further..."

Andy tapped Rushton on a shoulder.  "Actually, ours went a lot further than the one in the book.  No batter hit the ceiling in Out of the Dying Pan."

"True," Rushton nodded in agreement.  "But at the time, it seemed like a good experience to have. And you have to admit, Seville, that the characters involved in the smaller and..."  He gazed about the kitchen.  "...and not nearly so messy incident in the book did all share relationships both to Talia and to one another and..."

"THERE WERE NO FOOD FIGHTS IN THE BOOK!" Seville hollered.

"But there was that scene involving some arguing and batter and some of the batter did end up on someone's shoe."

"MOUSES!" cried Seville.

"No, there were no mice Seville," Andy frowned.

Seville slapped a paw to his mouth.  "Tell me you didn't..."

"Didn't what?" asked Rushton.

"Tell me you didn't go and get your lumpy batter on that extra-special, super-duper autographed copy of Out of the Dying Pan that Linda Reilly offered to GIVE AWAY to one of the readers of my blog.  Where is it?  Andy?  Rushy?" and Seville looked frantically around the kitchen.  "With all this batter flying about...  WE CAN'T GIVE AWAY A DAMAGED COPY!"

"Don't be ridiculous," chastised Rushton.  "We wouldn't do a thing like that.  The autographed copy of Out of the Dying Pan is tucked safely away, where it will remain until your blog's GIVEAWAY is over and someone wins it.  We would never let it get damaged in our little food fight.  NEVER."


"Little?" and Andy raised an eyebrow.

"Little," Rushton answered firmly.  "And that's exactly what you will say if questioned by the peeps.  Got that?"

"Got it," Anderson nodded before turning to his other brother.  "Seville, you really should tell everyone about the giveway.  Tell them how to enter and stuff.  Your readers will want to know.  Or...  Or do you want me to do it? I can, you know.  I can definitely do that.  Here goes."

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Linda Reilly is giving away an AUTOGRAPHED copy of Out of the Dying Pan to one lucky reader. To enter, simply leave a comment on this blog post before midnight, Atlantic time, on Sunday May 29th, 2016.  The winner will be selected by random drawing on Monday May 30th.  Contest is open world-wide, unless prohibited by law.  No purchase necessary.

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Out of the Dying Pan is the second book in the Deep Fried Mystery Series written by Seville's pal, Linda Reilly, and published as a Prime Crime Mystery by the Berkley Publishing Group, a division of the Penguin Group.  Connect on-line with Linda through her website, Linda Reilly, or on her Facebook page, Author Linda Reilly.  The cover picture of Linda's book was used with the permission of none other than Linda Reilly, herself.

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Disclaimer:  We received no monetary compensation for this post.  Linda Reilly is giving away a copy of her book to one lucky reader but we cats bought our own copies for Kitty Lit. 101.  Also, all opinions are our own.  MOUSES!