twenty-two weeks

Whatcha got there, Peepers?

*sniff sniff, sniff sniff sniff*

Hmmm...  That's not nip.

"I know they're not catnip, Seville, but aren't they pretty?"

Meh.  Like I said, they're not nip.

"Well I like carnations, Seville, so there."

You like a lotta stupid stuff, Peepers, so THERE!

MOUSES!

Don't you roll your eyes at me like that, Peepers.  You and I both know darn well those flowers aren't as good as catnip.  They're not as good as nip mice, or nippy biff bags, or any other kinda catnip-related items, at all.

Not tuna-related, either.

Not that tuna is as good as the nip, but hey, it comes in at a strong, distant second.

MOUSES!

So anyway, Peepers, speakin' of nip...  I mean, tuna, how 'bout gettin' me some lunch?  Some albacore flaked white tuna with a sprig of catnip on the side would be nice.

And while you're at it, COULD YOU BRING ME A SAUCER OF CREAM?

Scratch that.  My mouth loves cream but my tummy...  Not so much.

MOUSES!

But speakin' of cream...

Peepers, you ever wonder how you ended up livin' with a kitty like me?  A kitty who is surely the CREAM of the crop?  Not that I'm a crop, or anythin' like that, but I certainly am the feline equivalent to cream.

Cream rises to the top.

In case you didn't know.

MOUSES!

And speakin' of risin'...

Peepers, how come you slept in this mornin'?  I was waitin' for my brekkies 'bout seven-thirty in the am, and I didn't get those brekkies of mine 'til at least eight.

I DON'T CARE IF IT'S SUNDAY.

Gosh darn it, Peepers, my tummy pays no attention to the days of the week.  You know that.

Unless, of course, the calendar makers out there create a NEW day in order to celebrate the nip.  Like uh... Like Niptuneday.  I would pay attention to that.

Has a nice ring to it, I think.

MOUSES!

And speakin' of rings...

Nope, I got NOTHIN' for rings.

'Cept of course, I CAN RUN RINGS 'ROUND YOU, Peepers.  I can run rings 'round you, for sure.

MOUSES!

But back to this calendar and days of the week thing.  You know what day it is today, Peepers?  You have any idea?  Huh?  HUH?  HUH?

Of course you don't.

MOUSES!

As you know absolutely nothin', Peepers, I shall explain.  Today marks twenty-two weeks of MY havin' been STUCK HERE in this house with YOU.  Yup, twenty-two weeks.  TWENTY-TWO.  That's one hundred and nineteen million, seven hundred and fifty thousand, four hundred seconds in cat time.

Did you hear what I said, Peepers?  I said, I'VE been STUCK HERE WITH YOU for ONE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN MILLION, SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED cat seconds.  That's a whole lotta seconds, you know.  A WHOLE LOTTA seconds, for sure.

I deserve a medal of some kind.

Or perhaps a monetary prize.

Oh, I know!  I deserve money to buy myself a new nip mouse.  Or a biff bag!  Or maybe both.  Anythin', really, other than those stupid carnations of yours.

Boy, do they EVER stink.

A rotting tuna would smell better.

A LOT better.

A WHOLE lot better.

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.