mousin' out loud

For mousin' out loud, Peepers.  You could have turned my computer on for me BEFORE goin' out this mornin', you know.  It's already afternoon and I don't have today's blog post written yet!

MOUSES!

And to think I was gonna blog somethin' nice about you, today.

GONNA.

AS IN PAST TENSE.

MOUSES!

Actually, I had absolutely no intention of bloggin' nice things about the peep, on account of my not havin' any nice things about her to blog.  But let her think she's missed out on somethin' on account of her lousy, good-for-nothin' inconsiderateness.

Might teach her a lesson or two.

MOUSES!

But truth be told, I DID have important stuff about which to blog, today.  Thing is, we're havin' a provincial election here in Nova Scotia.  Yup, the election was called, Saturday, and do you know what?

Well, DO you?

Not a single political party asked me to run.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

MOUSES!

Their mistake, for sure.  I mean, WHO WOULDN'T vote for me?

Well, maybe not dogs, on account of my bein' a cat, and all.

NOT THAT THERE'S ANYTHIN' WRONG with bein' a cat.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  But dogs will be dogs, and very rarely does a dog vote for a cat.

Good thing they can't vote.

MOUSES!

Plus there's that mouse I told off the other day who might refuse to vote for me, EVEN THOUGH that mouse deserved a right tellin' off, for sure.  And mice tend to have big families, you see, and I'm betttin' all those family members of his wouldn't put a little 'x' by my name, either.

Good thing they, too, can't vote.

MOUSES!

But as for peeps, I'm bettin' one hundred percent of the peeps out there would vote for me.  One hundred percent!  Some might even try to vote twice!  If that were allowed, that is.  Hee-hee-hee-hee-hee...

Seriously though, who WOULDN'T vote for me?  After all, I'm a cat.  Cats are smart.  Cats are cute.  Cats are way smarter and way cuter than peeps.  WAY.  It's a fact.

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', we cats often have a skeleton or two in our closets and everyone knows a skeleton in the closet is the end of most political careers.  But do you know what?  IT'S NOT TRUE FOR CATS.   Any skeletons in my closet are the skeletons of mice.

Which is another reason that mouse I told off might not give me his vote.

If he had one.

MOUSES!

But come on...  HONESTLY, if one of the political parties had asked me to run - ANY ONE of those parties in play - I would have had that ridin' locked up.  It would have been mine, ALL mine.  I'd have been a shoe in, for sure.

Even though, as a cat, I don't wear shoes.

But alas, I wasn't asked.

*sighs*

MOUSES!

Oh well, it's their loss.  I'm gonna hold my tail high, knowin' the fact I wasn't ask to run in the provincial election says a whole lot more 'bout them than it does about me.  A whole lot more, for sure.

And then...

And then I'm gonna do what all cats do: gonna go take a nap.

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.

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!

calendar boy

So the new year is almost upon us and I have big plans.  Big plans, I tell you.  Super duper big plans, to be sure.  2016 is gonna be my year, if you know what I mean. MOUSES!

For starters, I'm thinking of publishing my first ever calendar.  Yup, a calendar for the new year. A calendar featuring - you guessed it - me. MOUSES!


Picture it, a calendar with twelve pictures of ME.  I heard that that guy who heads up..,

What's that, Peepers?  It's inappropriate to call the leader of a country the guy who heads up, you say?  Really?  REALLY?  Nah, that can't be right.  I heard what's-his-face calling him that just the other day.  Yup, it was on the news and everything.  MOUSES!

Anyway...

Apparently the President - or Prime Minister or Supreme Leader or whatever he calls himself these days - of some country is doing this calendar...

Hold that thought.

You know, I'm not sure it's such a great idea to go around calling yourself the "Supreme Leader" of a country.  I mean, in all the movies I've ever watched involving aliens, the aliens always say, "Take me to your leader."  You ever think about that?  The aliens always wanna meet up with the leader and when you call yourself the Supreme Leader, well...

Well it's just asking for trouble, if you know what I mean.  Those aliens usually aren't the overly friendly sort.  MOUSES!

Now truth be told, maybe they are a friendly lot when gathered around the holiday table but we never really see them painted in that light, do we.  No, we always see them doing alien stuff like...  Well... Well like...

Well like did you ever see that movie Independence Day?  Did you?  I'm telling you, if the aliens from Independence Day wanted to meet up with all the world leaders and I happened to be one of those world leaders, I'd be pointing my paw over at the guy calling himself the Supreme Leader and saying, "You want that guy.  Eat him first.  He says he's supreme.  I think that means, tasty. MOUSES!"

Of course, not all aliens are mean and stuff.  It would be wrong to judge all aliens by the behaviour of just a few.  That would be like specism or something, I think.

I always liked Mr. Spock, though.  Spock was a kind, peace-loving soul even if he was an alien.  Not overly friendly as in the going-around-hugging-everybody-and-taking-selfies-with-you kind of friendly but hey, even Mr. Spock would admit he really didn't have the hair for that kind of friendliness, if you know what I mean.  MOUSES!

And I never once heard Mr. Spock say, take me to your leader.  Never once saw him eating any peeps, either.  MOUSES!

But I digress.  This here blog post is supposed to be about my calendar.  That's right, I'm gonna be a calendar boy, for sure.

I'm thinking I should be nekkid in the pictures.  Or at least shirtless.  No need to dress me up in costumes or anything.  I mean, I'm a pretty good-looking cat.  Peeps keep telling me so, so it must be true.  Plus, I've seen myself in a mirror.  Peeps who say I'm a cutie aren't lying and that is for sure.

And I'm thinking I should include a few quotes, too.  Heard that guy heading up - whatever - that aforementioned country is including quotes in his calendar.  I should do the same.  MOUSES!

But why stop at calendars?  I'm thinking...  PERFUME.  That's right, a Seville-inspired perfume is a must-do for 2016.

What's that, Peepers?  NO!  Oh my mouses.  Sometimes I really wonder 'bout my peep.

A Seville-inspired perfume will not smell like me as Peep #1 asked for I, Seville the Cat, do not smell at all.  I mean, I can smell, like I can smell but I don't smell, if you know what I mean.

No, a Seville-inspired perfume will smell of nip for what could possibly be more inspiring than the smell of nip?  Of course, it could smell like me if I were to take a bath in the stuff.  You know, bathe in the nip.  Or maybe just roll around in a field of nip or...

OH MY MOUSES!

One of the pictures for the calendar should be just that!  Yup, a picture of me, nekkid, rolling around in a field of nip.  Peeps would pay big bucks for that, to be sure.  MOUSES!

What?  What, Peepers?  What are you talking about now?

Hmmm...  You could be right about that, Peepers.  MOUSES!

The peep has suggested that if I spray nip all over myself, other cats might mistake me for a nip-mouse or something.  Not that I look like a nip-mouse but still...

Peepers, you think Seville-inspired room fresheners and candles might be a better idea?  Something along those lines?

But speaking of rooms, I'm thinking of acquiring some new real estate, too.

The Seville Tower will be the tallest kitty condo in the house.  Floor to ceiling condo.  Gonna make the kitty condo business great again.  Yup, a condo as tall as the walls.  No one - and I mean no one - can climb a wall like me but why climb a wall when you can climb a condo? And that's exactly what I will do.  Climb the condo otherwise to be known as the Seville Tower.

And I shall spray my new Seville-inspired air freshener all over the rooms of my new Seville Tower and I shall lie on the perch of that tower to have my picture taken for future calendars, too.  I can see it now and it will be beautiful.

2016 is gonna be a great year, to be sure.  MOUSES!

psst... CAT!

"Don't mind if I do!" I said, swipin' the piece of cheese out of Rushton's paw and gobbling it down, myself. "You're lactose intolerant, remember? Cheese contains lactose so you're not supposed to eat it.  I'm helpin' you out by takin' that cheese and before you say anything about my bein' lactose intolerant, too, remember that I'm not as intolerant as you."

I watched as my brother stomped away, angrily muttering about degrees of intolerance.  Then it was off' to the family room for me.  Time for a little nip mouse indulgence before bedtime.

"Psst....  CAT!"

"MOUSES!"  Yeah, seriously, right before my eyes there stood a mouse.  There was a mouse in my house.  He was looking at me in a weird kind of way but since he was a mouse, I assumed it to be his natural look.  Rollin' over, I went back to sleep.

"Psst...  CAT!" and I felt someone tugging on my whiskers.  "Wake up, cat.  Your assistance is required."

I opened one eye.  The mouse was still there.  I opened the other eye.  Yup, that mouse wasn't goin' anywhere.  Rising from my favourite napping spot de jour, I let out a big yawn.  The mouse cowered in fear.  Guess he thought I was gonna eat him or somethin'.  Instead, I just asked him what he wanted.

"Do you remember me, Sir?  Nerissa the Cat, Sir?  M1 is my name.  We met last year during all that nastiness regarding the great cheese conspiracy and those issues with the Canadian Cheese Consortium."

I nodded in recollection.  "Yup, I remember that.  You ever deal with that rat, The Big Cheese?"

"He's not a rat," answered M1.  He's really just a mouse like the rest of us although if you were to ask him, he'd probably disagree.  He does think rather highly of himself.  Thinks he's better than the rest of us, you see.  Doesn't realise he's just a mouse like you and me.  Well, like me," and I detected a slight flush of pink spreading across M1's cheeks.

M1 sat down and pulled out a ledger.  Pawing it over, I immediately saw the problem.  "MOUSES! That rat - I mean, mouse - is up to no good.  What's he playin' at now?" I questioned, although truth be told, I already had my answer.  "Take me to The Big Cheese, M1.  He's got some explainin' to do, for sure."

Just as before, M1 led me into my kitchen where space and time had morphed in weird and wonderful ways and the room that had once been the kitchen had turned into a great hall filled with tiny little mouse-sized chairs.  In each chair sat a mouse.  No, wait a minute.  Some of the chairs were empty.  I gazed around the room, counting the empty chairs.  Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen... "MOUSES!" I cried.  "It's true, you are missin' sixteen mice.  Now I just wanna point out that I had nothin' to do with that.  I filled up on cheese before visitin'."

M1 tapped me on the paw.  "Don't worry, Nerissa.  No one is blaming you.  We all know what really happened to the missing mice."

And I knew as well for I had carefully read the ledger M1 had previously shown me.  The missing mice had simply disappeared, one after another.  Some had retired.  Others, resigned.  They all had their reasons for leaving but after leaving, in order to keep the predestined balance of the Consortium...  well...  balanced, those mice should have been replaced.  Apparently, the great hall was experiencing a mouse shortage.  Who knew that was even possible?

I padded softly through the chamber, stopping where I could easily be seen by all.  I flicked my tail and accidentally took out one of the front row seats.  "Sorry 'bout that.  Room's a little small for a cat, if you know what I mean."  A number of mice snickered, nervously.

"Now bring me The Big Cheese," I demanded.

Several mice appeared before me, dragging a gigantic wheel of Gouda.

"Not that big cheese," I cried. "Although...  hold on a minute there.  I'll just have a little bite..."

The mice scattered.

"Not a bite of you.  Mouses you mice are a sensitive lot.  I'll just take a little bite of that cheese."

It was delicious.

Then before me appeared the mouse with the steely blue eyes and exceptionally long tail, otherwise known as The Big Cheese.  He narrowed his eyes and asked, "What do you want, cat?"

"That's Nerissa the Cat, to you, buddy.  We have to have a little talk about the sixteen missing members of the Cheese Consortium.  My question is, why are they missing?"

"You're asking me about missing mice?  Me?  A little ol' mouse?  REALLY?  Shouldn't you be asking your fellow cats where all the mice have gone?"

I lay down before The Big Cheese, striking my very best sphinx pose.  "Cats had nothing to do with those missing mice, my friend.  Don't try playin' cat and mouse games with me.  That's a game that never ends well for the mouse."  I let out a low growl and The Big Cheese looked furtively about the room, looking for somewhere to hide.  I grabbed him by the tail and held on.  The stink of Gorgonzola permeated the air about him.  He seriously needed to start eatin' more Cheddar.

"Now listen up, buddy.  I've seen the ledgers belonging to the Canadian Cheese Consortium and I know what you're doing.  Several of the cheese divisions are lackin' in representation.  I thought you liked appointing members to the Consortium.  Even goin' so far as to appoint mice who weren't even qualified to represent the divisions they were supposed to be representin'."

"That's true, I did.  But that was then and this is now.  Unfortunately, some of the mice I appointed caused some trouble.  So I thought to myself, why appoint any at all?  Things in the Consortium are going very nicely for me.  They're running quite smoothly.  Gorgonzola production is up.  Means of transporting the Gorgonzola are being worked out.  No one here has even tried to stop me.  The Consortium is working exactly as it should."

I narrowed my eyes and stared directly at the little mouse known as The Big Cheese.  "We talked about this the last time I visited, remember?  The Consortium doesn't serve you.  It serves the mice of Mouseland.  All of them.  Not just the Gorgonzola lovers.  Without equal representation, the Consortium cannot possibly work as it should.  It cannot and is not.  Somethin' needs to be done about that."

The Big Cheese narrowed his eyes and peered right at me.  Pompously puffing out his chest he said, "The Consortium is working exactly as I wish for it to work."

That's when I realised that what M1 had said earlier was true.  The Big Cheese had begun to think far too highly of himself.  He was nothin' more than a mouse and yet, for some reason, he thought he was the chosen one or somethin'.  Like he was better than the rest of the mice.  Clearly, The Big Cheese had gone squirrely.  I watched as he stuffed some more Gorgonzola into his mouth.

"Listen up, mouse," I began.  "I'm puttin' you on notice.  That's right, I, Nerissa the Cat, am puttin' you, The Big Cheese, on notice.  Either you make sure that all four divisions of the Canadian Cheese Consortium are represented equally or I will make it happen, myself."

"What are you going to do, cat?  Take over the Consortium?" and The Big Cheese grinned.

"It's a thought," I replied.  Our eyes met.  "If cats were to take over the Canadian Cheese Consortium..."

The Big Cheese tried to step back but I still had hold of his tail.  "Cats can't..." he sputtered.

"Cats can't what, Mr. Cheese?"

The Big Cheese cowered.

"Like I said, either you make sure all four divisions of the Consortium are fairly and equally represented or I will make it happen, for you."  Letting go of his tail, I turned to leave but not before adding, "And do somethin' about your breath, would you?  You're stinkin' of cheese.  MOUSES!"

"Mice," I heard, whispered in unison as those darned grammar mice of the great hall explained, "The plural of mouse, is mice."

MOUSES!

a car and some coupons

It began like any typical day at my house.  Peep #1 started up the coffee pot before dishing out some breakfast for us cats.  Then she refilled our water dishes and topped up the bowls of dry food.  Grabbing a cup of freshly brewed coffee, she headed into my office to turn on the computer for me, allowing me to work on my blog.  I followed behind.

I was busy clickin' the keys with my claws when I heard her.  "Who did this?" she cried.  "Who got into this?"  I continued to work on the computer.  I had just started writing 'bout my next adventure and I didn't want to lose focus.  If I ignored the peep's questions, perhaps she would stop askin' them.  I had work to do and I didn't need a pestering peep slowin' me down.

"Nissy," demanded the first peep, "do you know anything about this?"

I briefly looked up from the keyboard.  There was Peep #1, holdin' the bag of nip from our dear nip-growin' friend a couple of communities away.  This particular friend grows the best nip in the world.  She grows it organically in her special nip-growin' soil and then harvests only the best parts of the nip plants before drying 'em ever so carefully.  Every fall this friend gives us cats a bag of her extra-special, super-duper, especially strong nip.  "Nope, never saw it before in my life," I replied.

"Nissy..."

"Never saw that baggy before, Peepers.  Now stop pesterin' me woman.  I have work to do."  I went back to typing, ignoring the noises emanating from Ol' Peepers.  I concentrated on the computer screen, afraid to look back at the peep in case she made eye contact with my rather guilty lookin' eyes.

Shortly afterwards, my sister Mason came trottin' into my office.  She sat down next to me and whispered in my ear.

MOUSES!  According to Mason, a cat-sized cell phone had been found next to the bag of nip in question.  She didn't know if there were any pictures of the nipped-up cat chewin' and clawing through the bag on that phone but the possibility existed.  Talk around the house was that one of my brothers or sisters had that phone.  Mason swore it wasn't her.  She was just actin' as a go-between.  What would I pay for the phone?

Now, I don't have a lot of money.  I have the money in my froggy bank.  Don't ask.  Long story short, Ol' Peepers doesn't know the difference between a pig and a frog.  Apparently, they don't teach that at peep school.  A kitty sends their peep out to buy 'em a piggy bank and they come back with a frog.  MOUSES!  But that is another story for another day.

But the money in my froggy was ear-marked for an investment in nip futures.  I couldn't use that.  What to do...  What to do...

I knew in an instant what must be done.  I dashed outside into the cold, icy snow.  In the garage, I found what I needed.  I knew it was there.  I found the little toy car I had discovered buried in the ground while helpin' the peep with her gardening last summer.  Every now and then we find stuff buried in the soil.  Usually it's just rocks and whatnot but quite often it's some broken glass, sometimes a not-so-broken glass bottle and once in a blue moon, we find a real treasure like this car.  The peep had tucked it away on a shelf in the garage but I had watched her puttin' it there so I knew exactly where to look.

Okay...  I had a car.  I knew from watchin' the news that when you wanna buy back a possibly incriminatin' phone, you offer the cat with the phone a car and some money but like I said, I didn't want to use the money in my froggy bank.  Hmmm...  COUPONS!  Aren't coupons the next best thing to money?  They have entire television shows 'bout how peeps use 'em in place of money. 

That's when I remembered how that ol' spammy spam-face spammer, Mr. Anonymous Spam had been tryin' to get me to put up a link up on my blog for his site about couponing.  I could go to his site and get some...  Nope.  That's wouldn't work.  I deleted that site address before it ever hit the presses.  MOUSES!

Then I had it.  Sometimes Ol' Peepers cuts out coupons from things and puts 'em up on the shelf in the kitchen.  A jump onto the counter and a swipe of the paw later, I had 'em.  Coupons for cat treats and a bag of oatmeal.  Oatmeal?  Whatever...

I immediately put out the word.  I told Mason I would buy back the phone left beside the half-chewed through bag of extra-special nip.  I had a car and some coupons.  I could offer a car and some coupons in exchange for the phone.  Who would accept my offer?

Mason left the office to tell the other cats.  She never returned.  She never again mentioned the phone.  I have this nagging feelin' that that phone is gonna come back to haunt me one day.  MOUSES!  A cat has just gotta be more careful with his phones.