the box

What do you MEAN that box wasn't for me?

MOUSES!

I'm tellin' ya, peeps can be such...

Such...

Such PEEPS.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, the peep left out a couple boxes in the family room the other day.  They were pretty nice boxes, too.  One hundred percent authentic cardboard, they were.  You know, the good stuff.  Plain brown cardboard and fairly thick.  Nice and sturdy, for sure.

Not to mention bein' of an EXCELLENT size.

Just the right size for me.

MOUSES!

SO OBVIOUSLY...

So obviously, I jumped right in one and gave it a good scratch.

And that box turned out to be made of the perfect kinda cardboard for scratchin', too.  I was able to sharpen my claws on the base of the box without gettin' any ink and icky glossy stuff between my toes, like what sometimes happens when perfectly good cardboard has been RUINED by printin' stupid lookin' shiny pictures all over it and things.

Like I said earlier, THIS cardboard box was ONE HUNDRED PERCENT AUTHENTIC CARDBOARD.  Perfect for scratchin', for sure.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, ol' Peepers had been off in another room - no doubt doin' somethin' stupid, on account of her bein' a peep and peeps' propensity for doin' stupid things - while I was takin' my new cardboard box out for a spin.

A test drive, one could say.

And then she returned.

And then...

And then, MOUSES!

Well my gosh, my friends, you SHOULD HAVE HEARD the language comin' out of the peep's mouth.

For a minute there, I thought she was auditionin' for some kinda HBO special or somethin' like that.

And her language was far from filled with the spirit of Christmas, I might add.

MOUSES!

So apparently...

So apparently, those two boxes I told you about?  Apparently, those boxes were not actually for me.

Accordin' to the peep.

MOUSES!

APPARENTLY, those two boxes were gonna be used to ship off some Christmas stuff through the mail.

AND APPARENTLY, once holes have been made by SOME KITTY - we won't say whom - scratchin' his way right through the bottom of a box....

SAID BOX CAN NO LONGER BE USED FOR MAILING.

Again, that's accordin' to the peep.

But you know, peeps can be tricky.  Peeps have been known to tell a kitty fibs just to throw a kitty off track.  The possibility exists that ol' Peepers might have said what she said just to make me feel all guilty and stuff, but still be plannin' to use that cardboard box.

Hmmm...

Well we can't have that now, can we.

Methinks me needs to go pee in that box, or give it a spay or somethin' like that.  I've found that once a box has been sprayed or peed in, no peep will ever consider using said box again.

MOUSES!

oohhh... what's this?

Well thank you very much, Mr. UPS driver, Sir.  You need me to sign for that or anythin'?  X on the dotted line?  Pawprint or somethin'?  Anythin' like that?

No?  Okay-dokey then.  And if you wouldn't mind puttin' that there box inside the house for me, that would be great.

MOUSES!

Now I wonder what this could be.  I don't remember ordering anythin'.  Not even anythin' advertised on TV.

Let's take a little looksie, shall we?

Hmmm...  Apparently, it's addressed to the peep.

MOUSES!

BUT WE ALL KNOW, what's hers is mine, and what's mine is...  Well...  MINE.

MOUSES!

So she should have no problem with my openin' it up.

You know, this here box - as big as it is - it really kinda light.  I wonder if there's anythin' in it at all.  It might just be a box.

WHAT AM I SAYIN'???

There's no such thing as JUST a box.  A Jack-in-the-box, sure, but not JUST a box.  A box is a box is a box.  An item to be treasured and...  Well...  Shall we say..  REVERED?  And actually, empty boxes are the very best kinda boxes, on account of an empty box bein' the perfect place for cat like me to hang out.  You put too much stuff in a box, and there's no room inside that there box for me, and that, my friends, SUCKS.


MOUSES!

I'll just use a claw to examine this uh...  Umm...  OOPSIE!  Now look at that.  My claw accidentally tore right through the tape on that there box.

I wonder how that happened.

OOPSIE!  However it happened, it happened again.

And once more?  You know, for good measure.  Plus, it's a well known fact that these things happen in threes.

MOUSES!

And now that the tape is all split and no longer holding the box shut, I might as well go ahead and open it up, and...

OH MY MOUSES!  THE PEEP BOUGHT ME YARN!  Oh what a glorious peep my peep can be.  One, two, three...  FOURTEEN balls of yarn.

Bet you didn't know I knew how to count that high, huh?

MOUSES!

So I wonder what I'm gonna do with all these balls of yarn.  I'm usually content with unravelling one ball at a time.  I really don't need any more than the one.  It's not like I know how to knit.

On the other paw, the peep does.  Know how to knit, I mean.  She's not so much into the unravelling thing.

Hmmm...

I think...  I think I'll toss these balls of yarn outta my way, outta this here box, and onto the floor.  Might keep one, though.  You know, to unravel later on.  But I have no need for the rest.

And once the balls of yarn are all gone...

NOW THAT'S A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT TO BEHOLD.


An empty box.

BUT NOT ANYMORE!

*settles down and curls up in said box*

They SAY money can't buy happiness, but do you know what?   Money can buy a box, and a box is happiness wrapped up with a bow.

MOUSES!

Dear John...

Dear John, you say my box is stranded at the Atlanta airport?  My Consignment Box? MOUSES!

Hello my friends, Seville the Cat here, reportin' from my house, in Nova Scotia.

You know, I received a very disturbing e-mail today.  Apparently, my Consignment Box is stuck - no, stranded - at the Atlanta airport, along with the diplomat who was sent to deliver it.

Now in all honestly, I really don't give a mouse's tail 'bout the diplomat.  He can fend for himself.  BUT WHAT ABOUT MY BOX?

Although if I'm being really honest, I must admit, I didn't actually order a box.  At least I don't think I did.  I sure as mouses don't remember doin' so.  Hmmm...

And if I had ordered a box, would I have ordered a box containing 5.5 million US dollars, like this John Dan weasel - I mean, guy - who sent the e-mail, said?

Just how much does a box like that cost?  MOUSES!

And do I have to pay extra for shipping?  MOUSES!

And handling, too?  MOUSES!

Now if I did order a box containing 5.5 million US dollars, which I don't think I did, how the mouses did I pay for it in the first place?  Hmmm...

Questions, questions...  So very many questions...

But the questions must be asked, my friends, for I am truly concerned about my box!

You know, boxes are wonderful things.  You can sleep in 'em.  You can play in 'em.  You can even get nipped in 'em, too.  Believe me, I've been nipped in more than my fair share of boxes, for sure.

You can even pee in 'em!  That's right, you can even pee in boxes although I highly recommend against doin' that, 'cause once a box has been peed in, you're never gonna wanna play in that box again.

My Auntie Primrose used to do that, you know.  Yeah, she'd pee in a box to prevent the rest of us cats from usin' it. Thing is, it prevented her from usin' it, too.  Once a peep gets wind of a peed upon box, said peep tosses said peed upon box into the green bin, for sure. MOUSES!

Of course, litter boxes are a totally different issue but I'm not talking 'bout litter boxes here.  I'm talking 'bout good ol' cardboard boxes, which are the very best kind of boxes around.

But back to my box.  My Consignment Box.  Apparently, my Consignment Box containing 5.5 million US dollars, that I do not remember ordering and don't know how I afforded, is stuck at the Atlanta airport.  Now this is rather disconcerting 'cause for the nine lives of me, I can't figure out how my box ended up in Atlanta, at all.  Atlanta is nowhere near where I live.  It must be hundreds and hundreds of miles away. MOUSES!

I think I need to do a little investigative work regarding this matter.  Be right back.

Okay...  I see...

John Dan needs some information from me in order to deliver me my box.  Information like my address and name and city and...  and country and...  and nearest airport?

MOUSES!

Now correct me if you will, but how the mouses did I order a Consignment Box containing 5.5 million US dollars, without my givin' the weasels - I mean, guys - from whom I was orderin' the box, my name and address in the first place?  I mean...

THEY DON'T EVEN HAVE THE COUNTRY RIGHT!

Well it's no wonder my box ended up in Atlanta then.  MOUSES!

When you think about it, it's amazin' it got stuck somewhere on the same continent.   With a lack of information like that, it could have ended up in Timbuktu.

Anyone know where Timbuktu is? MOUSES!

You know, I'm beginning to wonder if this John Dan is an associate of that Canada Revenue Agency agent who told me that if I didn't pay up IMMEDIATELY, someone was gonna come and arrest me and...

Don't worry, I didn't get fooled by the CRA guy.  Nope, no siree.  Stupid scammer guy didn't even know I'm a cat.  CATS DON'T PAY TAXES. MOUSES!

But if we did, that 5.5 million US dollars contained in my Consignment Box would come in handy, for sure.  MOUSES!