terrible twos

Peepers walked into my office, wanting to know what Rushy and I were up to.  She looked over at my brother, concern written all over her face.  "Rushton, why are your cheeks puffed out like that?  Do you have a sore tooth?"

Gasping for air, Rushy fell to the floor.  "No.  NO!  No, no dental.  No dental required," he wheezed, limply holding one front paw in the air.  "I was only holding my breath," and he wheezed some more.

The peep narrowed eyes.  "Why?" she asked, suspiciously.

Not that the peep asked why in a suspicious manner, but rather, she WAS suspicious when she was doin' the asking.

"Can't talk now!" and Rushy took a giant gulp of air in preparation to hold his breath once more.

Well he must have swallowed that air 'cause then came the hiccups.  MOUSES!
 
Yup, saw that one comin' a mile away.

I stopped typing long enough to turn around in my chair and look at the peep.  "Peepers, he's threatening to hold his breath until he passes out unless I promise to stop blogging about him.  Or at least, until I promise to stop writing embarrassing things about him on Nerissa's Life."

The peep and I locked eyes.

"You wanna tell him, or shall I?" I asked her.

Scooping my long-haired freak of a brother up in her arms, Peepers said, "Rushton, stop that right now.  Take a breath for goodness sake.  You NEED to breathe."

Moments before again almost passing out, Rushton obliged and took a deep breath.

The peep sighed and gave Rushy a scratch under his chin.  "Yeah, that's not going to work," she whispered in his ear.

"TOLD YOU!" I cried, looking up from the computer screen.  "Told you your threats weren't gonna work, Rushy.  You should have listened to me in the first place."

"Rushy," began the peep, "you can't use the threat of doing something that will hurt you more than it will hurt the person - or in this case cat - you're threatening."  She held up a paw...  I mean, hand.  "Not that I want you doing anything to hurt Seville.  I don't want you to do anything where you'll hurt yourself, either.  Rushton, threatening to hold your breath until you pass out can only hurt you, so Seville isn't going to feel very threatened by your...  Well...  Threat."

Rushy appeared to mull over the peep's words for a bit before saying, "But I've watched people do exactly that on TV.  More than once, too!"

Peepers furrowed her brow.  "What have you been watching?  Shows on parenting?  Programs about dealing with the terrible twos?"

Rushy shook his head back and forth.  "No, I've been watching the news.  Politics, I think."

The peep rolled her eyes and under her breath, muttered, "Oh."

Still sitting at the computer, I shook my head in disgust.  "Tsk tsk."

"But Peepers..." Rushy whined like a toddler on catnip, "I watched on TV where some guy was ranting and raving and flinging his arms in the air and making all sorts of threats just to get what he wanted, and..."

"DID he get what he wanted?" the peep asked.

Rushy pondered the peep's question.  "I think we find that out in season two."

I imagined the peep was rolling her eyes again but didn't turn 'round to look, on account of my busily typing.  "Rushy, what was that you said, again?  Can you repeat that last line?  I want to make sure I use your exact words so that..."

"THAT DOES IT!" yelled my brother.  "See what he's doing, Peepers?  He's writing about me on his blog again!  He's making me look bad."

"Not bad," I denied.  "Silly, perhaps, but not bad.  At least not in an evil kinda way.  But seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried."

"PEEPERS..." wailed Rushy.

"PEEPERS..." I furiously typed.

"PEEPERS..." Rushy cried again, this time more loudly.

At that point I turned 'round.  "Rushton, your dialogue is gettin' a little repetitive.  You wanna come up with...."

BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP BEEP BEEP!  BEEP!

"An expletive or two?  That'll do.  Mouses Rushy, I didn't even know you knew words like that."

The peep suddenly appeared by my side, her paw...  I mean, hand, hoverin' over the keyboard.  "I think that's enough blogging for today, Seville."  Her words were quiet but firm.  She obviously meant business.  MOUSES!

"FINE," and I started to shut down the computer.  "But since I'm apparently done writing for the day, you think you could rustle up some snacks for your two favourite kitties?"

"You're pushing it, Seville, but okay."

Leaving my office with the peep trailing behind, I elbowed Rushton in his side.  "Hey Rushy, I dare you to eat whatever Peepers gives us in like...  Uh...  One minute.  Yeah, I dare you to scarf it all done."

"Okay Sivvers, but eating that quickly, I'll likely hork it right back up."

I smiled to myself.  Next week's blog post was practically writing itself.

MOUSES!

in the news

MOUSES!  MOUSES!!  MOUSES!!!

Sometimes the day is just rotten, you know?  MOUSES!

So I was listening to the news on TV and there were these reporters complaining that the Prime Minister wasn't allowing National reporters to ask him any questions at some...  some...  some thing he was doing.  An appearance of some sort.  He was only letting local reporters ask questions and even they weren't getting to ask very many.  Hearing this, I thought to myself, this could be a problem for me.

After all, I'm not just national.  I'm far bigger than that.  I'm INTER-national! Nerissa's Life has a global audience, you see.

And then there's the bit about my being a cat.  Something tells me the Prime Minister has never answered any questions from a feline reporter, before.  He never once answered any of Nissy's tweets and Nissy was the best darned tootin' reporter the world has ever seen.  Bet the PM didn't answer his tweets on account of his being a cat.  That's specism, that is.  MOUSES!

Thing is, I'm a cat, too.

Not that I'd want to be anything else.  Being a cat is the best.  I should know because...  Because I am one.

But I'm thinking that I might have to disguise myself as a peep if I'm going to be allowed to ask the Prime Minister questions.  A local peep.  A local peep who is willing to ask the right kind of questions.  You know, the kind of questions the PM likes to answer.  That sort of thing.  MOUSES!

But if I ask only the questions I'm allowed to ask, will I still be a good reporting kitty like Nissy? I think not.  Reporters have to ask the hard stuff and be willing to dig in the dirt.  You know what I mean?

Good thing the letter I'm in the midst of writing is to the Premier and not the Prime Minister.  I'm betting he'll answer my questions.  Bet he'll answer them all.  MOUSES!

So that was the start of my day.  A shock to my system about the question asking thing, for sure. And that was on top of the fact that it was a publishing day for my blog and I didn't have a thing about which to write.  MOUSES!

Then came my conversation with Rushton.  He came into my office while I was pouring through newspapers and stuff, looking for things in the news.  Looking for inspiration.  Something I could write about for today's blog post.  I explained this to Rushy and he immediately told me that he knew of some news I could use.

Rushton:  Peep #1 made a sandwich.
Me:  That's not news.
Rushton:  She made one for the second peep, too.
Me:  Again, not news.
Rushton:  She made one for Andy.
Me:  Nope, that's stupid but not newsworthy.  She's just kooky enough to do something like that.
Rushton:  Andy ate it.
Me:  Now that IS news!
Rushton:  I knew it!!!  Too bad it isn't true.

MOUSES!!!

So I went back to pouring through the local paper, all the while thinking to myself, I bet the reporters writing for this paper would be allowed to ask the Prime Minister questions on account of their being local, not to mention the fact that they're peeps.

I read in the police blotter report kind of thingy in one local paper that some armoured guards had to call the police on account of their accidentally locking themselves inside the bank* or something like that.  It occurred to me that that's just the kind of thing that could happen to my Peep #1 if she were an armoured guard but since she isn't, it probably wasn't her.  MOUSES!

Actually, I'm pretty glad it wasn't my peep on account of such an incident being really embarrassing.  I don't know how a kitty can face the neighbourhood kitties after their peep does something silly like that.  It's enough to make a kitty the laughing stock of the neighbourhood, for sure.

At some point later on, Anderson came into the room looking for his copy of the book he, Rushton and I are reading for our Kitty Lit. 101 course.  The book we're supposed to be reading.  Andy hasn't started reading his yet.  I, on the other paw, am almost finished mine.  Unfortunately, Andy's slacking wasn't news, either.

I tossed Andy's book at him and he caught it, mid-air.  He then trotted out of my office like a puppy carrying a prize.

I gazed out my office window, hoping inspiration would hit me.

That's when Rushton came running in, skidded to a stop and slapped me on the back of my head.  I momentarily wondered if Rushton was, in fact, inspiration herself.  Momentarily, mind you.   I came to my senses quickly enough.  Rushy is a boy and I'm pretty sure Inspiration is a lady.

"I know what you can blog about!" Rushton cried.  "You can blog about our doctor's appointment last week."

I peered at my brother and narrowed my eyes.  "You sure you want me to tell the world what you weigh?  The nurse weighed you, remember?  And remember the look on the doctor's face when she saw it written down?  Before she realised that was including the carrier, that is.

Rushton and I decided that blogging about our doctor's appointment would not be news after all even though we were both very good and no peeps were harmed during the visit.  And I'd just like to point out that Rushy weighs a whole pound more than I.  He's claiming it's all floof but I have other suspicions.

Needless to say, I overheard the peeps talking about encouraging Rushy to go for more walks with them around and about in the yard.  MOUSES!

I closed my eyes and scrunched up my nose.  About what could I blog?  What?  WHAT?  I had nothing on paw.

Peep #1's sweet peas are blooming.  Nothing newsworthy about that.  It's raining again.  Pouring, in fact.  Most definitely nothing newsy about that.  Constance ate a mosquito.  Hmm...  Could I write a blog post about a mosquito eating cat?

Nah, I had nothing.  NOTHING.  Nadda.  Not a thing.  My mind was as blank as the computer screen before me.  MOUSES!  What was I going to do?  Was I going to write about nothing at all?

Could one write a blog post about absolutely nothing?  Hmmm...

And that's when it hit me.  Inspiration, that is.  Not Rushton re-entering the room.

Yup, Inspiration whacked me on the side of my head on her way out.  She whacked me in the head as she walked out of my office, muttering something about checking out Vegas with Old Lady Luck.  MOUSES!

It occurred to me then that I could offer my teleportation services for a small, modest fee.  "You need transportation to Vegas, ladies?  I'll teleport you over for a mere fifteen percent cut!  Twelve? Ten?  Nine?  Awww...   MOUSES!"

So that's my blog post for today, my friends.  A post about nothing.  Nothing at all.  I'm hoping to do better on Wednesday.  MOUSES!



* Crime Report by Heather Killam, The Annapolis County Spectator, Nova Scotia.