Dear Mother Nature,

Dear Mother Nature.

Hmmm... 

Now should that be Mother or Mrs?

Hmmm...

Methinks Mother sounds best.  I'm not sure she's actually married.

MOUSES!

So let's start this thing again.

Dear Mother Nature.  It's fall.  It's October.  This here is Canada.  MOUSES!

That should do the trick.  Now to stuff my letter in an envelope, slap an old stamp on the thing, and get it mailed off, lickety-split.

MOUSES!

On the other paw...

On the other paw, perhaps I should elaborate a tad further.

Hmmm...

Dear Mother Nature.  It's fall.  It's October.  This here is Canada.  DID YOU FORGET?  MOUSES!

There!  Done.  At least on my end, it is.

MOUSES!

But on the other paw...

But on the other paw, I know, first paw, how ridiculous it is for someone - like a peep - to ask me if I forgot somethin' when I forgot somethin', BECAUSE IF I FORGOT IT, I've probably forgotten I've forgotten it, so even though I have forgotten somethin', I'll be darned if I can remember that I've forgotten it, never mind remember what it is I've forgotten.

Or somethin' like that.

Kinda like tellin' someone to look up how to spell a word you can't spell in the dictionary.

MOUSES!

So I'll take a stab at this once more.

Dear Mother Nature.  It's fall.  It's October.  This here is Canada.  DID YOU FORGET?  Did you forget that 'round about now it should be gettin' chilly?  Chilly enough for summer flowers to die back, and leaves to fall and get raked up, and gardens to be put to bed before winter?  AND CHILLY ENOUGH for kitties to actually WANT to snuggle under blankies and get cuddled up by cuddlin' kinda peeps?  DID you?  MOUSES!

Okay, I think that covers all my bases.

Oh, I know!

PS.  Don't bother replyin' to this letter by sendin' ME a letter.  Just get to work with the onset of fall, please.  Fall...  Autumn...  Whatever.  MOUSES!

PPS.  Please don't tell Peepers I'm the reason for the cooler weather.  I mean, I'm pretty sure she wants to get crackin' with the puttin'-the-garden-to-bed business, but you know peeps: they're fickle.  One minute they're complainin' it's too warm for this time of year and how first frost is later than ever, and goin' on about global warmin' and climate change, and extreme and scary weather; and the next minute, they're all up in arms 'bout it bein' too cold.

PPPS.  Hope you're not a peep, Mother Nature.  If you are, please don't take my peeps-are-fickle comment too personally.

PPPPS.  Actually, now that I think about, the complainin' about weather might be more of a Canadian thing.

Hmmm....

PPPPPS.  Mother Nature, if you're a Canadian, please don't take offence to my...

Nah, I'd best leave it at that.  No need to stick one more paw in my mouth.  There might be a couple in there, already!

If you know what I mean.

MOUSES!

it's rainin', it's pourin'...

THE OLD MAN IS SNORIN'.

Yeah, that's how the song goes, right?  It's rainin', it's pourin'.  And the old man?  Well he's a snorin'.

MOUSES!

Thing is though, I don't hear anyone's snores.

And who is this old man, anyway?  And why does he snore?  Maybe he could do with one of those special anti-snoring pillows, of which I've heard tell.  It's definitely worth a try.  I should send him one as a prezzie.  I WOULD send him one as a prezzie if I had his address.  If I even knew who he was, that is.

MOUSES!

But all kiddin' aside, it has been rainin' on and off here in Nova Scotia since the end of last week AND THANKS BE TO GOODNESS FOR THAT.

Why, you ask?

Well...

Well my fair province has been battlin' wildfires, as of late.  I don't think we had all that much snow over the winter and when spring came, the snow melt wasn't...  Well for the most part, it just wasn't there!  Then the month of May was dry, too.  Lawns were crunchin' underpaw and seeds were scared to sprout lest if they did they'd shrivel up and die.  And the forests were absolutely tinder dry.  Any little spark made by anythin' or anyone was likely to result in an out of control fire.

Let me tell you, IT WAS SUPER SCARY, for sure.

But Friday brought rain.  It rained.  Then it poured.  Then it rained some more.  Then poured!  But the old man, whomever he is...  He didn't snore.

MOUSES!

And when the rain DID come...

Saffy, Saffy, Saffy...  *shakes head*  WHAT CAN I SAY?

SAFFRON, I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO STOP PLAYIN' IN THOSE PUDDLES!

Yeah, that's what I had to say.  And I had to say it more than once, too.

For the love of mouses, my friends, I have a brother who thinks he's a duck.

Or a fish.

Or maybe a peep toddler in a raincoat and wellies.

MOUSES!

That darn cat is out there, right now, playin' in puddles.  Dunkin' a paw in and splashin' it about.  Not drinkin' from the puddle like a normal cat might - WOULD - do, but playin'.  Playin' in puddles, he is.  PLAYIN'!  Playin' while I, Seville the Cat, watch and have to give my head a good shake.

And what AM I to do?  Do I ignore him?  Do I scold him?  Do I stick a big box over him in an attempt to cover the whole embarrassin' situation up?

Well...

Well I did think about the cover up scenario 'cause it's coverin' up stuff - not to mention payin' peeps off to keep quiet - that seems to be all the rage, these days.  You hear 'bout it all over the news.

But then I thought...

Then I thought, nah, coverin' up Saffron's duck-like tendencies with a box would be ONE GIANT WASTE OF A REALLY GOOD BOX.

Not to mention, I'd rather use the hush money to buy lots more boxes than to pay anyone to keep quiet 'bout what they saw Saffy doin'.

MOUSES!

So then I thought...

Then I thought, I am Seville.  Seville the Cat, I am.  I have a blog.  I have an audience, too!  Why not make use of my brother's weird behaviour and instead of coverin' it up...

WHY NOT PROFIT FROM IT, MYSELF?

Well not so much profit as expose.

Well maybe not so much expose as uh...

Hmm...

Okay, FINE.  I really just needed a good laugh.  And watchin' my brother, who is apparently a two-year-old toddler duck with wellies and some fish-like tendencies playin' in puddles, has proven to provide a very good laugh, for sure.

For me.

Not quite sure if Saffy will be laughin' once he finds out I've told the whole wide world all 'bout his new past time, though.

'Cause it's very embarrassin', you see.

MOUSES!

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

And remember:

IF IN DOUBT,

DON'T. GO. OUT.

Continue to practice SOCIAL DISTANCIN' measures

AND KEEP WASHIN' YOUR PAWS.

MOUSES!

head in the sand

Feeling a little peckish, I sauntered into the kitchen only to find my sister, Mason, already snacking on a bowl of kibble. "That the best on offer today?" I asked.

"Looks like it.  Checked on the island but there was nothing save a vase of sweet peas."

"Why would you want to save a vase of sweet peas, Mason?"  I shook my head, trying to figure out what sweet peas had to do with savings accounts.  I then glanced in the direction of the refrigerator and a brilliant idea came to mind.  "Mason, help me with this door, would you?"

Mason stopped eating her kibble.  "Do you think we can get it open?  I tried earlier but with this new fridge, I can't reach the handle.  All I could open was the freezer part at the bottom and everything in there was frozen."

I braced myself on all fours.  "Hop on my back, Mason.  You should be able to open the door if I give you a boost."

Within five minutes, we had the fridge door open.  Standing on our hind legs, we stared inside.  The top shelves were out of reach but there, on the bottom shelf, was a box of Camembert.  With one swipe of a paw, I had that cheese onto the kitchen floor and out of its box.  Success.

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

Mason smacked her lips with pleasure.  "That was delicious!" she declared, "even if it was a tad on the cold side.  Ice cold Camembert isn't nearly as bad as I've heard it to be.  Pass me some of those broken crackers, would you Sivvers?"

I obliged by stomping on a few crackers and pushing the broken bits over to my sister before stating, "That was good.  I think I'll take a little nap.  Maybe I can score some tummy rubs or something from a peep," and off I went in the direction of the family room.  Minutes later, I was sound asleep.

"Psst...  PSST...  CAT!"

"Awww...  MOUSES!" I mumbled under my breath.  I let out a big yarn.  A HUGE yawn. My teeth gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the family room window.

The little grey mouse standing before me and clutching a mouse-sized clipboard, sniffed the air. "You have cheese breath," he declared.  "Camembert, to be exact.  No wonder I was sent to summon you tonight."

"Better cheese on my breath than mouse, I should think," and I slowly rose to my feet.  Getting in a good stretch, I asked, "What is it this time?  What has The Big Cheese done now?"

"He hasn't done a thing," explained the little grey mouse.  "That's the whole problem.  Please follow me as I'm on a tight schedule."

"You're always on a tight schedule," I muttered while following the little grey mouse out of the room. "Sometimes I think you just make that schedule stuff up.  Just once I'd like to actually see that schedule of yours."  We turned the corner and, as expected, the air in what should have been the kitchen turned thick and hazy.  Coloured lines swirled before my very eyes and flashes of light burst here and there.  We had arrived in the great hall of Mouseland.

I peered around but saw no sign of any mice anywhere.  As if reading my mind, the little grey mouse explained how it was summer break.  "Then why am I here?" I asked him.  "Surely I must deserve a summer break from Mouseland, too."

The mouse just stared at me as if I had said something ridiculous.  "Please..." he uttered in an exasperated tone.  "Come this way."

Obediently, I followed the mouse to the end of the hall and watched as he magically disappeared through a wall.  "MOUSES!"

"Mice." I heard emanating from beyond the wall.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Ah-hah!  The grammar mice aren't on holiday," I declared.  "Wonder if I can walk through that wall, too."  I closed my eyes and forged ahead.  "OUCH!"  I rubbed my nose where I had smacked it into the wall.  "Darn it.  Why didn't that trick work for me, too?"

I opened my eyes and the wall before me moved.  The little grey mouse stood on the other side, staring up at me.  "Mr. Cat, it's not a wall.  It's a door.  I walked though that little mouse hole at the bottom.  You, on the other paw, need to use the doorknob and open the door!"

"Oh, yeah.  Knew that," I said, still rubbing my nose and crossing my claws that it wouldn't leave a bruise.

"Hurry up, Cat.  We're running late.  I'll brief you along the way.  I need you to have a little chat with The Big Cheese."

"But I thought you said he didn't do anything."

"I did," explained the mouse, "and that's why we need you to talk to him."

Before long, I was standing in front of an office door. Not willing to fall for the same trick, twice, I reached for the doorknob and turned it.  The door opened and a blast of hot air hit me in the face.  I jumped back in shock and disbelief.

It wasn't just the temperature of the room I found to be disturbing.  It was its appearance, too.  The floor was covered in several inches of sand.  Wall-to-wall sand, everywhere.  And on those walls surrounding the sand, were pictures of ostriches.  I looked at the pictures and then at the little grey mouse. "The Big Cheese likes them," he explained, shrugging his shoulders.  "I don't know why. He just does."

The Big Cheese was in the office, too.  He was lying on his back next to a mouse-sized refrigerator that was chugging away as all get-out, trying to keep cool in the rising temperatures.  The door to the fridge was open and every now and then The Big Cheese would reach inside to extract a paw full of soft cheese.  I momentarily wondered if said cheese was Camembert which should be served at room temperature but not when the temperature in the room was this high.

I peered inside The Big Cheese's fridge and saw that it was stuffed to the brim with various types of soft cheese.  Then I looked outside the office window and saw truck after truck after truck, lined up on the street.  Each one clearly belonging to the Canadian Cheese Consortium and every one packed full of soft cheese.  Suddenly I realised exactly what was going on.

"You can't just ignore it," I said to The Big Cheese.  "Ignoring the facts won't make them go away."

The Big Cheese turned toward me and I saw gooey melted cheese dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"Just look at you, man!  I mean mouse!  I mean man!" I cried.  "LOOK AT YOU!!!  Lying here in this sweltering heat, pretending that everything is normal.  Pretending there aren't truckloads of soft cheese lining the streets due to a glut of soft cheese on the world market.  Bet that glut has lowered its price, and all.  Bet it's lowering Consortium profits, too.  Have you done anything to address this issue?"

I paused for a moment and fanned my face with a paw.  "Why it feels like it's a hundred degrees in your office, I couldn't tell you, although truth be told, as these temperatures are melting all the soft cheeses, it might be the reason no one wants to buy any of it.  You ever think about diversifying and trying to sell some different types of cheese?"

"I don't feel the heat at all," The Big Cheese sneered.  "This is normal for this time of year.  It's always warm in summer.  NOTHING to do with any kind of warming trend.  The globe is not warming at all.  In fact, I forbid you to even talk about such things!"

I rolled my eyes.  "You're in some kind of state of denial," I told him.  "If it wasn't so hot in here, you wouldn't be chilling your soft cheeses like that," and I pointed to the little refrigerator, still chugging away, trying its might to spew out cold air.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Cat," and The Big Cheese wiped a stream of melted cheese from his mouth.  "Like I said, there's nothing wrong with the temperature in this room.  Nothing wrong with Consortium profits, either.  In fact, I'm predicting we'll have a surplus of profits by year-end."

"A surplus of profits?" I questioned.  "That doesn't sound quite right, Mr. Cheese."

There was a commotion in the hall and I looked outside.  Several little mice wearing ragtag clothing wandered past, carrying slips of pink paper in their paws.

The Big Cheese motioned to the little grey mouse who had summoned me.  "Close that door," he ordered.

I glared at The Big Cheese.  "Who were those mice?" I demanded.  "Clearly, there are mice in Mouseland who can barely afford to clothe themselves.  And they looked so thin.  They work - or worked - for the Canadian Cheese Consortium but they look like they don't have even enough cheese to eat, themselves."

"Then let them eat cake.  CHEESECAKE!" The Big Cheese cried with a flourish, before stuffing another paw full of soft cheese into his mouth.

I stared at The Big Cheese in disbelief.  There was simply no way to reason with the mouse. Whether he was truly oblivious to the facts before him or simply refusing to admit things were not going as planned, he was determined to ignore the state of affairs the Canadian Cheese Consortium was in.  I turned to the little grey mouse who had summoned me.  "There's nothing I can do with him," I declared.

"But Mr. Cat, we need you to reason with him," the little mouse said in a low voice.  "Get him to address the issues at paw instead of pretending all is well in the Canadian Cheese Consortium.  The mice of Mouseland are counting on you."

"I'm sorry little guy, there's nothing I can..."

Then all of a sudden, I felt myself being lifted up.  The air around me cooled and the smell of melting cheese and mouse breath disappeared.  "I'm heading up to bed, Seville," I heard Peep #1 say. "And I'm turning off the fan down here so why don't you come upstairs, too."

I looked into the peep's eyes.  "Awww... MOUSES!" I cried.

"Were you dreaming about chasing cute little mice through fields?" the peep asked me with a smile.

"Not exactly, Peepers.  I was... Uh...  Never mind.  You probably wouldn't understand, anyway.  MOUSES!"

when birds sing

What a WONDERFUL day!  It's glorious out there, for sure.  The sun is shining, the breeze is soft and the birds are singing their songs. Ahhh...

Do you know that song? The one that goes like... uh...  Oh, what a beautiful morning.  Oh what a beautiful day. You know that one? Surely you do.  Well let me tell you, that song was written about  a day like today.  Today is pretty much perfect.

Now if any of you haven't heard that song, you don't want to hear Peep #1 sing it.  There's nothing beautiful about that at all.  MOUSES!

And speaking of singing, I can tell you who does sing well.  Birds.  Yup, birds...  they were made for singing.

But speaking of birds, have you ever noticed how many bird haters there are out there?  How many peeps who really and truly hate birds?  Especially songbirds.  What did a songbird ever do to them?

I have to admit, sometimes the bird haters are hard to spot.  They're tricky, you see.  Tricky and conniving.  Kind of like weasels.  MOUSES!

Now here's the thing.  Most of the bird haters pretend to like birds.  PRETEND.  And they're good pretenders.  That's why they're so difficult to spot.

These bird haters join various groups and societies and purport to be the PROTECTORS OF SONGBIRDS  everywhere.  They tell everyone who will listen that they like birds.  LOVE birds!  Especially the songbirds.  And because songbirds are beautiful, it's difficult to imagine anyone disliking or hating them, so of course, other people believe that these so-called bird lovers are, in fact, on the side of the birds. They believe that they're on the up-and-up but you and I know better.  We can see through their feathers as if they were gossamer wings.  MOUSES!

These so-called bird lovers write long diatribes about songbirds being killed by the thousands, if not millions, by cats.  They write to newspapers and magazines and when on-line, comment on each and every like-minded Facebook posting they can find.  They often exhibit almost troll-like behaviour.  Some even do 'studies' although, IF we were to study those doing the studies...

Hmm...  Well let's see...  Why not?  Why not study the bird haters, themselves.  Let's put them under the microscope for a change.

Unfortunately, none of them will actually fit under my microscope as it's less than one foot tall. MOUSES!

But we can still study their behaviour so that cats and peeps out there can see the bird haters for what they are.

These bird haters claim - as loudly as they can - that the number one cause of death to songbirds is cats.  Either house cats who are allowed out or feral cats who live outside.  They pull various statistics out of their hats and if not wearing hats at the time, ears, and complain bitterly about the atrocities being committed by cats.

Now let me tell you, I have NEVER ONCE seen or even heard of a cat committing an atrocity.  People on the other paw...  MOUSES!

What the bird haters fail to mention are all of the other studies.  Studies done by very reputable scientists.  Studies that have found that the use of chemicals such as pesticides, habitat loss, pollution and global warming, to name a few, play huge roles in the demise of the songbird.  HUGE roles, for sure.

I have proof of this in my very own garden.  Proof.  PROOF POSITIVE, for sure.

My peeps don't use any chemicals in the garden.  Not a single one.  No chemical fertilisers or herbicides and there is not a pesticide to be found.  In other words, my peeps aren't poisoning the birds directly with chemicals, nor are they starving them to death by killing all the insects that insect-eating songbirds need to survive.  MOUSES!

And for the birds who prefer to eat seeds or fruit, Peep #1 plants things that will feed them, too. There are crabapple trees and roses and russian olives for fruit.  Then that hedge thingy she calls a ladybug bush because she doesn't know it's real name but the ladybugs like it a lot.  It was there when the peeps moved in and spreads like a weed but produces tonnes for seed for the chickadees. She even grows honeysuckle for the hummers.  MOUSES!

Birds need shelter, too, so my peeps make sure there are plenty of shrubs and trees.  Some really high and some not so high, so as to provide a little variety.

Now here's the proof part.  Even though I live in a multi-cat household and we cats are all allowed outside in our own garden, our yard is FILLED WITH BIRDS.  You should hear them when they're all in song.  It's like a symphony.  A symphony of song. Peep #1 says she hears way more birds in my yard than in any of the other yards around.  MOUSES!

So how can this be?  The evidence in my own backyard flies in the faces of the bird haters and their so-called studies they enjoy bandying about. FLIES IN THEIR FACES!!!

If it's true that cats are the number one killer of songbirds, then my backyard is an impossibility. The bird haters say you can't have both birds and cats at the same time and yet, WE DO. MOUSES!

There are, however, no mice.

The reason why my yard is possible is because my peeps have managed to eliminate two of the real killers of songbirds, pesticides and habitat loss.  She provides homes for the songbirds with trees, grows food for them, doesn't kill off the insects that are a necessary food source for many and doesn't poison the birds, either.  Take away those two real bird killers and she has created a garden filled with song.

But peeps, as a species, tend to want to do the easiest thing possible and they NEVER want to accept responsibility, especially when it might adversely affect their own behaviour.  Thus, their tendency to blame cats.

IT IS MUCH EASIER FOR PEEPS TO BLAME CATS FOR THE DEATH OF SONGBIRDS THAN TO CHANGE THEIR OWN WAYS.

And this is why I believe these so-called bird lovers are really bird haters, in disguise.  By blaming cats, people have no reason to change their own behaviours even though the behaviours in question are the TRUE KILLERS of birds. But if peeps don't make the necessary changes in their habits and practises, THE SONGBIRDS WILL DIE.  You cannot find a solution without first identifying the problem and the real problem is people, not cats.

Some people must really hate birds a lot to allow them all to die simply so that they can continue to live as they please.  To continue to pollute the environment, cut down all the trees, use tonnes of chemicals in their yards and not put a stop to global warming.  How selfish, indeed.  MOUSES!

muzzled

"What to do, what to do..."  Lying on the floor of the sunroom, Seville busied himself by counting dust bunnies under a wicker chair. After running out of claws upon which to count them, he gazed about the room, looking for something else to occupy his time.  He watched a lone spider cross the floor in front of him and brought a heavy paw down on top of it, smiling with satisfaction.

"Oh great, Seville," commented Mason as she passed by the room.  "Now it's going to rain."

"Been raining since Sunday, Mason," Seville called after her.  "DON'T THINK KILLING ONE LITTLE SPIDER WILL MAKE A DIFFERENCE!"

Bored with dust bunny counting and spider hunting, Seville headed into the kitchen to see if there were any snacks lying about.  Finding nothing but dry kibble in the dishes, he jumped up onto the kitchen island.  "Maybe the peeps left something tasty up here," he thought aloud.

As luck would have it, Seville found a container of grated Parmesan cheese.  He flipped open the lid and knocked it on its side, causing its contents to spill out.  Licking a paw, he touched it to the cheese on the counter before drawing it up to his nose.  He breathed in heavily.  "Mmm...  reminds me a bit of Valerian Root," he whispered.

"Someone mention Valerian Root?" Mason called from the family room.

Seville ignored his sister.  Mason might have the hearing of a parabolic microphone but she also had the memory of a sieve.  She'd forget about the mention of Valerian Root soon enough.

Seville tasted the Parmesan cheese on his paw.  "Delicious," and with that, he licked up all that had spilt onto the island counter.

He then trotted into the family room and hopped up onto the kitty condo.  He would have liked to have taken a nap on the big chair but said chair was occupied by Anderson, who lay there, sound asleep and snoring like a bear.  Peep #1 was on the couch reading and the television droned on in the background.  Seville doubted he'd be able to nap with the noise of Andy's snores and the television but thought he'd give it a try, anyway.

"Er-hm."

Seville batted a paw at his ear.

"ER-HM."

He batted at his ear again and this time, opened one eye.  Before him stood a little grey mouse, clutching a clipboard to his chest.  Seville stared at the mouse.  The mouse stared back.

"Excuse me, Mr uh...  um...  Mr. Seville?  Is that your name?  You're Seville the Cat, brother of Nerissa?  Nerissa the Cat?  Is that correct?"

"I.  Don't.  Believe.  It."

The little grey mouse held out a paw.  "M1 is the name.  I'm here to brief you on the latest happenings in Mouseland.  Please follow me.  Your presence is required."

The mouse then turned on his heal, jumped down from the kitty condo and onto the arm of the big chair, walked right past Anderson who was still snoring, completely unaware of the presence of a mouse in the house, and then down to the floor, where he scampered across the room and into the kitchen.  Seville followed, obligingly.

"Whoa!" Seville cried, stopping dead in his tracks.  The air in what should have been the kitchen had turned thick with smoke and haze.  Coloured threads appeared before his eyes.  They swirled about his head, this way and that.  "Is this some sort of spacial-time distortion?  Like a wormhole?" he asked M1.

"Mouse hole, actually," answered M1.  "Please follow me.  I'm on a tight schedule."

"Mouse hole,  Makes sense," shrugged Seville.  "Then uh...  you must be from the Canadian Cheese Consortium, huh? Nissy told me all about the consortium and all the troubles you've been having with The Big Cheese and stuff." Seville paused for a moment before adding, "I never really believed in any of it before but now..."

"Oh, you can believe it, all right," said M1.  "We're here now.  Please take your muzzle and come this way."

"MUZZLE!" Seville cried with indignation.  "Muzzles are for dogs! MOUSES!"

"Mice," several mice cried, seemingly out of nowhere.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Grammar Mice.  Heard about them from Nissy, too.  MOUSES!" and he held up a paw before the Grammar Mice could reply.  "I know...  I know...  MICES!  No such word though, mice.  The word at paw is mouses.  MOUSES!"

The mice sitting in the great hall which Seville and M1 had entered looked at one another, obviously confused by the conversation.

"So what's with the muzzle?" Seville asked M1.

"The Big Cheese has informed us that all scientists, Consortium employees and um... Oh, I have the list somewhere here."  M1 glanced down at his clipboard and started flipping through papers. "All...  Well it doesn't really matter," explained M1.  "Bottom line is, you need to hold onto the muzzle."

"Scientists, huh?  Is this because of my research into Eggbeater-Whisk Time Travelling-Teleportation Physics?" Seville asked of M1.  "But Nissy worked on that, too, and Nissy never said NOTHIN' about wearing no muzzles."

Gasps could be heard from about the hall as Grammar Mice squeaked out cries of "Double negative!" and "He's using Fleaspeak!  HE'S USING FLEASPEAK!"  Seville rolled his eyes.

M1 looked sternly at Seville.  "There's no need for that kind of language here, Mr. Cat."

Seville looked down at his paws.  "FINE.  But I'm not wearing this muzzle and there's no way you can make me."

The little grey mouse nodded in agreement before adding, "The muzzle isn't required to be worn.  It's merely a symbol.  And it's not because of your teleportation physics thing.  It's because the last time Nerissa the Cat was here, he used the words..."

M1 scampered right over to Seville and climbed up on one of the big cat's paws.  Standing as high on his tippy-toes that a little mouse could stand, M1 beckoned for Seville to lower his head.

Seville eyed the mouse.  Was this some sort of trick?  Some sort of mousicidal entrapment?  An attempt to tempt him with a mousy snack?  He lowered his head while forcibly clamping his jaw firmly shut as to avoid temptation..

"Global Warming," M1 whispered under his breath.  "We are forbidden to use those words here or anywhere else within the Big Cheese's control."  M1's eyes darted back and forth, making sure no one had heard him but Seville.

Then all of a sudden, loud noises could be heard at the other end of the hall.  The Big Cheese was making an appearance.  Wearing a long golden robe, he glided down the centre of the hall, majestically.  Scurrying alongside him were two smaller mice, Masters Pomp and Circumstance, according to the name tags they wore.

Seville used his free front paw to lift M1 by the tail, up and off his other paw.  Setting him down on the floor he whispered, "What's going on?  What's with the...  the...  the whatever is going on over there?"

"Just watch and listen, Mr. Cat," said little M1.  "And remember.  Remember all that you see here today for sometime in the near future, you'll need to draw upon this information to solve the greatest unsolved mystery this land has ever known."

Seville's eyes grew wide in amazement.  "You mean, who let the dogs out?"

M1 slapped a paw to his forehead.  "Not that, cat.  I'm talking about the case your brother was working on.  The conspiracies at play in the Canadian Cheese Consortium.  Watch and listen, cat. One more piece of the puzzle lies before you."

The Big Cheese was less than a tail's length away from him now.  Seville could smell ripe cheese on his breath.  He wondered how Nissy had been able to resist the temptation to...

"THERE you are," and Peep #1 scooped Seville up and into her arms.  The kitchen lights shone brightly, causing him to squint his eyes.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this empty container of Parmesan cheese on the kitchen counter, would you?" the peep asked.

Seville blinked slowly and looked around.  The mice were all gone.  M1 and The Big Cheese were nowhere to be seen.  No sign of the Grammar Mice, either.

Pushing his head up against the peep's chin, Seville began to purr loudly.  He needed some time to think.  Think about all that he had seen in Mouseland and also to come up with an excuse for having eaten an entire container of Parmesan cheese.  An excuse or better yet, someone else to blame.  Hmmm... If he could track down just one of those mice...  Mice were known for their love of cheese.  Brilliant. "MOUSES!" he squealed with delight.

And as if coming from inside the walls of the house, Seville could hear cries of, "Mice.  The plural of mouse, is mice."

"Darned Grammar Mice," Seville muttered under his breath.  Luckily for him, the peep hadn't heard the mice over the loud noise of his purr.

run for your life!

Run Peepers!  RUN! RUN!!!  Run for your life, Peepers!  Run for all nine of them!

Oh yeah, you're just a peep.  You only have the one life.  Means you have to run all the harder.  Run!  RUN!  Run like you've never run before!!!

Earlier that day...

Earlier that day, I spotted Peep #1 waving her arms around in the air and making weird sounds of distress.  "Arr!  Arrgh!  Grrrr!  MOUSES!"  Stuff like that.  Not her normal speech patterns at all. Oddly enough, I couldn't see who the recipient of the weird peep grunts and growls was. The peep appeared to be all alone.  All alone with arms flailing while making weird noises.  MOUSES!

Of course, I assumed the obvious.  The peep had finally gone over the edge.

And they said that WE CATS would be the ones to drive her over the edge.  Nothing doing. There wasn't a cat in sight.  Besides, none of us have an actual driver's licence so clearly, we can't drive her anywhere let alone over some fictitious edge.  MOUSES!

Unable to see anyone hanging around, ready to dress up the peep in a straight jacket, I then assumed that she was doing some sort of dance.  Perhaps Peep #1 was thinking of auditioning for one of those television dancing shows.  Dancing with the Peeps or something like that.

Of course, any delusions the peep may have had of being able to make it onto Dancing with the Peeps would be confirmation of the need for that straight jacket, for sure.

Then I thought...  RAIN DANCE.  Actually, that could still be a possibility as today...  well...  it rained.  MOUSES!

Did I say rain?  Actually, it poured but that's beside the point, I think.  Or is it?  Perhaps it was a very successful dance.  Nah, it didn't look very successful to me.

Anyway, the peep was doing her thing, looking all weird and stuff and making silly noises when eventually she gave up on the dancing and came inside.  "Those **** bugs!" she cried.

Ahhh...  of course.  Bug season.  She had been swatting the bugs.  Grunting and growling at them, too.  Not sure what good grunting and growling does though.  Do bugs have ears?  I don't know.  Do you?

"I have some stuff I can dab on the back of your neck, Peepers," I said.  "Works for fleas and ticks.  Might work for skeeters, too."

The peep just looked at me as if I was talking nonsense.  MOUSES!

"Where's that candle..." she muttered.

"Candle!" I cried.  "Candles are for decorating and sealing important letters.  Why would you want that?"

"I bought a citronella candle last week..." and the peep started searching through my office.

Clearly, I needed to do something about this.  Citronella sounded suspiciously like citrus and I, as a cat, have an aversion to lemons and oranges and the like.  I don't like them one bit.  No way was I going to have the peep stinking up the house with citrus!

"What you need, Peepers, is some nip," I suggested.  "I've heard that by growing vast fields of nip all over the place, you can keep those skeeters at bay."

The peep stared blankly ahead as if she hadn't heard me at all.  Was there something wrong with her hearing?  MOUSES!

"Aha!" cried the peep with satisfaction.  "Now where are those matches?"

I watched Peep #1 head out the door with her lit Citronella candle in tow.  Well at least she was taking it outside, I thought to myself.  At least she's not stinking up the house with that thing.

Shortly afterwards, the peep returned with her precious candle, it's flame extinguished.  I peered inside the glass container only to see a dead skeeter.  The darned things apparently liked the smell of citronella and were drawn to it like moths to a.... Interesting.  Moths to a flame.  MOUSES!

I looked up at the peep.  She was looking kind of blotchy and stuff.  Either she was allergic to that smelly candle or she had been exerting herself too much by flailing her arms about at those mosquitoes.  Either way, she didn't look good.

"Do you know what you really need, Peepers?  What you really need is a space suit," I suggested. "Those bugs will never get through that.  You have a space suit on paw?"

And once again the peep behaved as if she hadn't heard me.  Was she being rude or were those little red bumps on her face causing her ear canals to swell?  Skeeter bites, I muttered under my breath.

"You know, you really shouldn't let the mosquitoes bite you like that," I told her but it was like I was talking to deaf ears.  MOUSES!

"Yeah, Peepers, you REALLY need a space suit and while you're at it, how about getting some make-up or something.  I saw this show on television once where make-up artists made people up to look like aliens and monsters and..."

That got her attention.  She looked at me quizzically.

"I'm not suggesting you get them to make you look like an alien, Peepers," I continued.  "I just think that if they can do stuff like that, they can certainly hide that shiner of yours."

The peep appeared bewildered.  Not the first time I've seen her looking like that. Probably won't be the last, either.

"The shiner.  Your shiner.  You look like you have a black eye.  Not a good look, Peepers. Actually, it's kind of gross.  You need to do something about that.  Cover it up or something. That's why I'm suggesting the make-up."

Clearly the peep was unaware that one of those mosquitoes had bitten her just under the eye and left a  bit of a bruise.  MOUSES!

And that's when I saw the peep grabbing the garden secateurs.   "YOU CAN'T FIGHT SKEETERS WITH SECATEURS!" I hollered after her as she ignored me and headed out the door.

I watched from the window while Peep #1 walked over to a lilac bush and started cutting a bouquet of lilacs to bring into the house.  Silly peep.  Would she survive?  Would I ever see her again?

Within minutes, Peep #1 was frantically waving her arms about in the air.  Lilacs in one hand, secateurs in the other and the arm flailing was growing more and more frenzied.  This was not good. One wrong move with those secateurs and...  I closed my eyes, too scared to watch.

I dared to open one eye to take a peek.  The peep was jumping up and down, doing the dance of all dances.  I didn't know if I should laugh or cry.  And that's when it hit me.  I decided that my best plan of action was to TAKE NOTES!

So I did my duty and called out to the peep to run away from the skeeters before sitting down at the computer and starting to type.

Large swarms of killer mosquitoes attacking silly peeps who think they can ward them off with smelly candles after an unusually long winter with record high snowfalls.  All I needed to add was some government official forbidding anyone to utter the words climate change or global warming.  You know, thereby encouraging the public to believe that all is well with the world even though it really isn't.  And a love interest!  These movies always have a love interest of some sort. Someone from the past.  Not time travelling past.  Just someone the peep hasn't seen in a few years.  And, of course, a major character or two will need to be killed off about two thirds in.  Hmm...  which neighbours do I like the least?

Oh my goodness,  I've got the makings of a major prime-time, made-for-television, ratings-making movie here, for sure.  MOUSES!

in the news

HOLY FLYIN' FRYIN' PANS!  Is that a robin I see?  Out there in the garden?  With snow still on the ground? MOUSES!

Unfortunately, the robins are out and about, here in Nova Scotia.  I feel really sorry for the little guys 'cause they must be starvin', for sure.  We still have a couple of feet of snow and there isn't a worm to be found.  With all this wonky winter weather most likely caused by global warming, the early bird can no longer get his or her worm.  MOUSES!

But speakin' of things that fly, did you hear 'bout the new Amazon drones bein' tested right here in Canada?  Well not right here at my house or anythin' like that.  In fact, they're testin' them on the other coast but up here in Canada, nonetheless.  MOUSES!

One day in the not-too-distant future, we'll be able to order somethin' from Amazon and have it delivered right to our doorstep in thirty minutes or less.  That's right, they're sayin' that small items will be flown in by drone right to your kitty condo door.  Talk about customer service!  We're livin' in the future, for sure.

You know, you expect stuff like that in science fiction and Harry Potter but in reality?  Never thought I'd see the day.  Imagine bein' able to order up a copy of Rescued: The Stories of 12 Cats, Through Their Eyes and with a little click here and a little click there, find that very same book sittin' on your doorstep, thirty minutes later.  Wow.  Currently, we have to wait at least twenty-four hours.

And speakin' of Rescued:  The Stories of 12 Cats, Through Their Eyes, do you have your copy as of yet?

But back to the drones.  I'm wonderin' if the peeps runnin' Amazon might be interested in usin' eggbeater teleportation technology with their new endeavour.  It, too, is the technology of the future, for sure.  MOUSES!

You know, I'm just itchin' to go on another adventure.  Itchin' and itchin' and ITCHIN'!  What's that, Peepers?  No, I do not have fleas.  It's a different kind of itchin', you see.  MOUSES!

Don't tell the peep but word on the street is that Silver and Savvy and I have an upcoming adventure up our sleeves.  Yup, tucked right up there in our sleeves.  We're plannin' somethin' super big, for sure.

Note to self:  Buy a cat-sized sweater or somethin' with sleeves.  MOUSES!

And did you hear about my birthday?  I'M GONNA BE TWELVE.  It's true, exactly one week from today, I'll be turnin' the big one-two.  I'm hopin' they'll be some nip.

Of course, with my recently diagnosed medical condition, things here have been a little touch and go.  For a while there, the peeps were wonderin' if I'd make it to my birthday.  At my weigh-in last night, it was discovered that I've lost a little more weight and Peep #1 says I can't afford to lose even one more ounce.  But she received some good news today.  There's nothin' definite or anythin' but suffice it to say, there's a glimmer of hope shinin' in.  Things are lookin' up, I do believe.

One of the problems at paw has been gettin' an appropriate medication for my condition.  There's stuff available in the United States which is bein' used quite successfully, too, but a kitty can't get his paws on it up here in Canada.  The Canadian government can be a real stickler 'bout these things, you see. Not fair, really.  Canadian kitties need medicine, too!

This is just one more reason why I, Nerissa the Cat, should be appointed to the Canadian Senate.  Once appointed, I'll make sure that appropriate rules and regulations are kept but that life-saving medicines are available to all.  MOUSES!

#Niss4Senate - Tell the Prime Minister, today!  Seriously.  Tweet him, call him up, write him a letter...  He'll love hearin' from you, for sure.

And speakin' of the Senate.  Lots of Senate-related stuff is currently in the news but don't you worry, my friends.  I, Nerissa the Cat, am watchin' like a hawk and compiling the facts.  I'll have things to report, for sure.  In fact, I'm feelin' a cheese-snackin' induced dream comin' on and I wouldn't be at all surprised to find myself bein' called in by the Royal Canadian Mouseland Police.

And speakin' of cheese, there's more good news!  Now that the peep understands exactly how my medicine works, I might be able to indulge in a little snackin'.  Not too much but just a little somethin' to make my life worth livin', you know?  Just a little nibble or two.

There's just one thing more I feel the need to say.  A little reminder of sorts.  Bear with me, if you will.

You ever notice how some peeps wanna be right 'bout stuff at all costs?  That's right, they don't care what the cost as long as they're right.  Basically, they're investin' in the wrong stuff and investin' in the wrong stuff almost always proves to be costly.  MOUSES!

Sometimes, peeps come up with a plan.  The plan makes sense and the plan's goal, off on the horizon, is a good goal, for sure.  So those peeps set their eyes on that goal, forging ahead.

But then somewhere along the way, they encounter an obstacle or two and that path that was paved with only the best of intentions, becomes a little rocky.  The path slowly bends and a corner is cut here and another is cut there.  The goal is still off on the horizon and still very much in view and yet somehow, its importance becomes secondary to somethin' else.  The peeps on the path start payin' more attention to the stones paving the path than the destination, itself.  And that path becomes their goal.

And because of all the hard work put into pavin' the path, the peeps wanna prove that pavin' it was worthwhile.  They've invested their hearts and souls into that path and its success becomes the most important thing of all and eventually, there's nothin' else in sight.

To admit that the path isn't leadin' them to where they originally wanted to be led, would be the same as admittin' defeat.

So it's important to remember that sometimes things just don't work out as planned.  Even with the best of intentions, things can fail.  And when somethin' fails, there's nothin' wrong with admitting that failure.  In fact, admitting such things is one of the most courageous things one can ever do.

There's importance in bein' earnest.  In bein' truthful to oneself and everyone else.  Being right at all costs is not bein' earnest at all.

In other words, when things don't work out as planned, ADMIT IT.  Admit it to yourself and everyone else. Accept responsibility for whatever happened and start repairing any damages so that once more, your original goal can come back into sight.

Of course, this advice applies mainly to peeps and not to us cats 'cause cats are almost always right 'cause you know, we're cats.  It's in our nature to be right, you see.  And on the rare occasion when we might happen to be wrong, we stop whatever we're doin' and start washin' our tails, remindin' the world that we didn't go adrift at all but rather, simply changed our minds, mid-stream.  Once again I must say, MOUSES!

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

Please remember that throughout the month of April, a portion of all sales of the book Rescued: The Stories of 12 Cats, Through Their Eyes will go to the wonderful Anjellicle Cats Rescue of New York, helpin' them to help save cats' lives.  You can purchase your very own copy at your local book store or on Amazon by clicking right HERE.  You'll wanna stock up for holiday gift-giving, for sure.  PURRS.

I'm BEGGING you here!

MOUSES!  MOUSES!!  MOUSES!!!

Hmmm...   Did I happen to mention, MOUSES?

You're probably wonderin' what has got my fur all ruffled especially, since as a short-haired kitty, my fur very rarely ruffles.

Well last Saturday morning, Ol' Peepers here went to hang out her laundry.  As a peep, she does her laundry usin' soap and water unlike us cats who use spit and polish but I digress...

Peep #1 was all set to hang up her laundry when she discovered that someone in our neighbourhood was burnin' brush.  BURNIN' BRUSH ON LAUNDRY DAY?  Well let me tell you, I had one cranky peep on my paws, for sure.

There was my peep, tryin' to do the right thing by hangin' her laundry on the line instead of usin' a power-suckin' and carbon-emittin' clothes dryer, bein' thwarted by some other peep who decided to burn yard waste instead of compostin' it.  So what was my peep gonna do?  Was she gonna hang out her laundry on the line?  No way!  She wasn't gonna hang it out and have it come in stinkin' of smoke.  It's a pretty sad thing when your laundry is dirtier and stinkier AFTER bein' washed, you know.  Yes, a pretty sad thing, indeed.

Had the peep hung out her laundry, she would have had to have re-washed it when it came in to get rid of the stench of the smoke.  That would have used more water and even more electricity and then, in the end, she would have ended up puttin' it in the dryer after all.  MOUSES!

DOES NO ONE CARE ABOUT OUR PLANET?

Of course, bein' a considerate cat, I allowed the peep to give me some chin tickles and tummy rubs until she calmed down and felt better.

After calmin' the peep, I went to work investigatin' the crime at paw.  You heard me correctly... CRIME.  'Cause what I had just witnessed was a crime against nature and the environment, for sure. It's no wonder Mother Nature has been dishin' out such nasty weather lately.  She's probably feelin' pretty cranky, too.  Just like my peep.  MOUSES!

Turns out, the people down the street who were burnin' brush last Saturday mornin' were doin' so illegally.  Turns out, NO DOMESTIC BURNIN' is allowed anywhere in the Province of Nova Scotia durin' the hours of 8am and 2pm.  Nowhere, not under any circumstances.  I have to admit, I was quite proud of my province after findin' out about that.

But then I got to thinkin'...  Why can they burn brush in the afternoons?  Hmmm...  This required more investigatin' on my part, for sure.

No one really needs to burn brush or leaves.  It's simply not necessary.  Leaves, of course, can be composted.  They should be composted.  No doubt about that.  My peep composts leaves all the time and uses them as mulch, too.  They make great mulch for the primroses and whatnot growin' in my garden.

As for brush, there are other ways to get rid of it. Peep #1 has never in her life burned brush.  She has two little brush piles for the wildlife that appreciates such things and when she needs to get rid of stuff that can't go in those piles - like the bramble canes that scratched her to bits last week - she puts it in the green bin where it'll be taken away for composting.  Sure, she's limited by what she can fit into the bin but what doesn't fit one week, will surely fit the next time around.  Kind of goes without sayin', I should think.

Now I know, some peeps out there just like to burn things.  Strange but true, unfortunately.

But why do they have to burn stuff in the afternoon? Why can't they burn stuff startin' in the evening? When it won't interfere with peeps tryin' to do laundry or openin' their windows to let fresh air into the house or just enjoyin' the great outdoors?

It seems to me that it would be far better to PROHIBIT ALL DOMESTIC BURNIN' during the hours of 8am to to 7pm, no matter what the weather.  As it is, dependin' on the weather and the forest fire probability, there are already some days when this occurs.  Why not every day?  Then, if peeps have their hearts set on lighting a fire, they can do so in the evenin' and throughout the night.  They can still burn their brush - no matter how unnecessarily - but do so without interferin' with everyone else.

But what about camp fires?  Could you roast veggie dogs and tofu burgers on a camp fire for lunch if burnin' was prohibited durin' the day?  Peeps are gonna wanna know 'bout that.

Unfortunately, the answer to that question would be no but...  BUT THERE'S A WAY TO FIX THAT. Seriously, when makin' these regulations someone should have consulted a cat.  You know, to work out the kinks and whatnot.

Currently, a camp fire is considered an open fire just like a burnin' pile of brush.  Why not EXCLUDE camp fires bein' used for the purpose of cookin' food?  All it takes is a simple little clause statin' that during the hours of 2pm and 7pm, camp fires used for cookin' food can be lit providing that it's a day where burnin' will be allowed after 7pm.  MOUSES that was easy.  Why can't peeps think of stuff like that?

But back to the peep's dirty laundry and the welfare of the planet.

When someone burns brush, they pollute the air.  The burnin' of brush sends carbon emissions up the wazoo and into the atmosphere.  You're thinkin', it's just one little brush fire but no, it's not.  It's not 'cause rest assured, if one person is burnin' brush, so is another one on the next street over and another on the street beyond that.  All those little brush fires add up to one monstrously big one. MOUSES!

If an ocean is made up of tiny drops of water, the mother of all mother-carbon-emitting brush fires is made up of small little fires scattered around the neighbourhood.  Again I say...  MOUSES!

What's more, as a result of one person burnin' brush, a whole lot of other people are gonna be puttin' their wet clothes in the dryer instead of using a clothes line.  And instead of openin' their windows to allow fresh breezes to cool down their houses, they're gonna keep those windows closed 'cause of the smoke and instead, turn on their air conditioners.  With all those clothes dryers and air conditioners runnin' on high, the carbon emissions are addin' up even more.  They're addin' up EXPONENTIALLY!

It seems to me that the issue at paw is this.  Currently, the burnin' of brush is bein' handled solely by the Department of Natural Resources and it's all about forest safety.  But burnin' brush shouldn't just concern them.  There's more at stake here than the forests.  THERE'S THE PLANET!

The peeps workin' in the Department of Natural Resources are tryin' to keep our forests safe from wildfires.  That's their job but it's high time that the Department of Environment weighed in on this matter to keep the planet safe, too.

I, Nerissa the Cat, am personally imploring the Nova Scotia Minister of Environment to put his head together with the Minister of Natural Resources and to come up with a plan - TOGETHER - that will keep both our forests and our planet safe.  I'm BEGGING you here and as a cat, I very rarely beg.  What do you think I am?  A dog???

It seems to me that all the little bits we can do to help the environment add up to one big bit.  Remember those oceans.  One drop at a time, does an ocean make.  One drop at a time...

Ban all burnin' of brush from 8am 'til 7pm every day with the exception of allowin' small, open fires for the purpose of cookin' food between select hours.  Easy peasy, if you ask me but then, I'm a cat and you know...  cats are smart.  Certainly smarter than your average peep.

'Nough said.  MOUSES!