lies, lies.. all of them, LIES!

Of all the moused-up, mousin', no good for nothin', rascally rascals...

Awww....  MOUSES!

LOCK HIM UP!  I say.

LOCK HIM UP!

That darned, moused-up weasel...

I mean, RODENT.

I MEAN, GROUNDHOG.

LOCK HIM UP.

I'm tellin' ya, that ol' Shubenacadie Sam has some serious answerin' to do.

MOUSES!

It was less than two months ago, when there he was, spoutin' his lies, all over the Internet.  "I didn't see my shadow," he said.  "It's gonna be an early spring, for sure."

Lies, lies...  ALL OF THEM, LIES!

The very ePitome of FaKe News, for sure.

MOUSES!

And now, here we are, at the END of March, well past the official start of spring...

And where is our spring, you ask?

Well I can tell you where it isn't.  It most certainly isn't here.

MOUSES!

But do you know what is?  Do you know what is here, my friends?

I'll tell ya what's here.  I'll tell you what's outside.  I'll tell you what's outside, for sure.


SNOW.

Now in what universe does a kitty associate spring, with snow?

MOUSES!

And not only is there snow, it's even kinda cold outside.

MOUSES!

And what does that rascally rabbit...

I mean, VARMINT...

I MEAN, GROUNDHOG, have to say?  What is Shubenacadie Sam sayin' about his false forecasting 'bout an early spring?

Just because I SAID there'd be an early spring, you didn't have to believe me.

Yup, that's an exact quote, for sure.

I have it on tape, and everythin'.

MOUSES!

Oh how quickly his tune has changed from only a mere few weeks ago.

You believed me because you WANTED to believe me, Seville.  You WANTED an early spring.  Never once did I FORCE you to believe it would actually happen.

MOUSES!

And I CERTAINLY never made you repeat what I said.

Sam, what the mouses do you think the share button is for?

It's like ol' Shubie was sittin' down in his Mama Nature's basement, sluggin' back the nip - or whatever varmints take - just Makin' up FanciFul, Fictional Forecasts for Sale.

MOUSES!


Well!  Well I know what I'll do.  I know what I'll do, for sure.  The NEXT time I want a weather forecast, I'll...

I'll...

I'LL...

Oh for the love of mouses, I honestly don't know WHAT I'll do.  I could listen to the weatherpeeps, I suppose, but they're not really known for havin' accurate forecastin' abilities, either.

MOUSES!

tailgate

"Come on Mason.  Get with with the program, would you?  Get over here, NOW!"

"Don't give me that ol' you-can't-get-past-the-long-haired-marmies routine.  We all know you growl at 'em daily, just for fun."

"Plus, Andy doesn't even have long hair any more.  Not since he got that ol' lion cut.  Peep says it'll grow back eventually. It hasn't yet but..."

"...But what am I talking about?  I don't care if Andy's fur grows back quickly or slowly or even at all.  All I care about right now are those new treats the peep is about to give out.  But she's not giving anyone anything until we're all here in the kitchen. Mason...  COME ON!"

"Well just give 'em the smacky paws like you usually do."

"What's that, Mason?  You say it's not that you can't get past those two brothers of ours because you're scared of 'em but rather, because they're blocking your path?  You say that the doorway between the family room and the kitchen is only so wide and Anderson and Rushton are taking up the entire space?"

"Mason, I know those two long-haired -  I mean, one long-haired and one formerly long-haired on account of his lion cut - boys are big on account of their both being part Coon, but they're not that big.  There's enough room for you to pass between 'em, for sure.  Stop playing games and get in here so the peep will give us our treats."

"Oh, I see..."

"So let me get this straight.  Every time you move to the right to pass, they move to the right, too? And every time you move to the left to pass, they move to the left, too?  And every time you try to pass between 'em, they get up close and personal with one another and you can't get through? MOUSES!"

"Well try jumpin' over them, then.  I've seen you jump over other cats before."

"They did what?  You tried to jump over them and they jumped, too?  To tell you the truth, I didn't know those two boys had it in 'em to jump like that.  MOUSES!"

"Ooohhhh....  Ooohhhh....  OOOHHHH...  The treat bag is being shaken but there are no treats coming out.  Not until we're all here in the kitchen.   Come on, Mason.  Come on in here and sit down."

"For mousin' out loud.  I've had enough of this ol' moused-up tomfoolery and mischief.  Enough is enough and I've had enough of it up to my ears.  The very tips of my ears, for sure. MOUSES!"

And with that, I stomped over to the family room door, walked between Rushton and Andy and grabbed Mason by a paw.  Pulling her forward, I spun on my hind legs and accidentally swiped Tess with my tail.  "Sorry Tess, didn't mean to..." I began.

"Seville assaulted me with his tail!" I heard Tess cry to the peep before she staggered backwards, flopping down on her back like that Lebron guy after takin' an elbow to the face.

"But it was an accident!" I wailed.  "An accident, pure and simple.  I didn't mean to swipe Tess with my tail and I certainly didn't mean to hurt her and truth be told, I don't really think I did.  I mean, my tail just kind of brushed against her and she's one to talk about tails.  She's constantly tripping you peeps up with hers and..."

"What's that, Peepers?  You say I shouldn't have gone off in a rage and grabbed hold of Mason by the paw?"

"BUT SHE NEEDED MY HELP!"

"Peepers, did you not see how those part-Coon marmies were blocking her path?"

"You say that none of this would have happened had I not done what I did?  Well, yeah, but Mason would still be stuck in the family room and we'd still have no treats and come to think of it, we still don't have any treats so what's up with that, Peepers?  We're all here now.  How 'bout dishing out the treats?"

"But I already did apologize.  You heard me.  I said I was sorry to Tess right away."

"And I'm not apologizing to those other two 'cause I know that you know, they were up to no good," and I winked at the peep, knowing she would know exactly what I meant 'cause those two long-haired marmie boys are always wreaking havoc like only long-haired marmie boys can do.  Strange how even with his lion cut, Andy still has the knack for doing such things.

At that very moment, Tess came up to me and gave me a hug.

Okay, maybe there was no hug.  Perhaps that was a tad of an exaggeration on my part but she was within a paw's reach and she didn't growl at me or anything and that, my friends, is saying a lot.

"It's okay, Seville," I heard Tess say.  "I know you didn't mean to hurt me.  I know your swiping me with your tail was purely accidental.  I FORGIVE YOU, not that there was really anything done needing forgiveness in the first place.  And Seville?  I love you because you're my brother and so very intelligent and helpful and kind and..."

Okay, perhaps she stopped right after saying she forgave me.  I might have added the last little bit myself.

"So Peepers, now that that's all settled, you think you can dish out those treats?  Getting the treats was the whole point of this here little exercise, was it not?"

The peep then acquiesced and we all chowed down on some treats which were super yummy and delicious and, I believe, flavoured with cheese. MOUSES!

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

Disclaimer:  The incident now and forever known around the world as 'Tailgate' may or may not have happened exactly as described above.  Literary license may or may not have been taken but if taken, it was done purely by accident, with no harm intended.  MOUSES!

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

And remember to leave a comment on my blog post "out of the batter bowl" by May 29th, for your chance to win an autographed copy of Linda Reilly's book, Out of the Dying Pan.  It's a great book. You'll wanna read it, for sure.  Purrs.

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!

sometimes I wonder...

Sometimes I wonder...

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking I'm gonna say, sometimes I wonder 'bout my peeps.  Well truth be told, I do.  In fact, I wonder about them more than just sometimes.  If we're gonna be honest here, I wonder about them ALL the time.  It's kind of like a full-time job or something!  Those peeps of mine do have a tendency to do an awful lot of crazy stuff that all needs to be wondered about, for sure.  MOUSES!

But this time - this ONE time - I was wondering about someone else.  This time I was wondering about...

Perhaps I should go back to the beginning.

Sometimes I wonder about peeps.  Not my peeps but peeps in general.  MOUSES!

So I was watching a little television this morning, with the peeps, when an advertisement came on.  It was an advertisement for a silver coin.  Apparently the Royal Canadian Mint is selling twenty dollar coins with Superman on 'em or something like that.

Now you might be thinking, so what?  To tell you the truth, the first time I saw this aforementioned advertisement, I thought, so what, too.

But that was the first time.

Today when I saw the ad, I realized that I have seen this particular ad many times before.  Clearly, they're having some trouble selling those coins.

So I did a little kitty math and twenty minutes later, I realized that these coins are basically free. FREE.  FREE!  And they still can't sell 'em.  Can't sell 'em for free!  MOUSES!

Oh, I'm sure they they've sold some.  Well at least I hope they've sold some but they haven't sold 'em all because, like I said, they're still advertising them on TV.  MOUSES!

But let's get back to this business about these coins being free.

These silver - yup, that's right, they're made of silver - coins cost twenty dollars each but they're worth twenty dollars, too.  So if you went to the bank and wanted to deposit one or something, you'd be depositing twenty dollars just as if you were depositing a twenty dollar bill because the twenty dollar coin is worth twenty dollars which is exactly what you paid for it so in other words, it's kind of like it's free.

It's not all that different from taking four five dollar bills to the bank and asking them to give you one twenty dollar bill in their place, when you think about it, except for the fact that in that case you're going from four bills to one instead of one coin to one bill but still, really, you're just switching it up a bit without spending a cent.  Or a dollar.  Or even twenty.

Now you're probably wondering how much it actually costs to get this free twenty dollar coin. Nothing.  Hard to believe but it's true.  There's free shipping and everything.  MOUSES!

But here comes the catch.  You know there always is one.  There's always a catch, especially when we're talking tuna but even when we're not, there's always a catch to be caught.  MOUSES!

These twenty dollar coins might be free to the buyers - who, as explained above, are technically simply exchangers or traders - but they're not exactly free to the Canadian taxpayers and stuff.  Let me explain...

If a peep trades - yeah, trades - a twenty dollar bill for a twenty dollar coin that's worth twenty dollars, the peep still ends up with twenty dollars.  Sure, it's now a silver coin instead of paper but bottom line is, it's still twenty dollars.  Now if that peep is trading rather than buying, the Mint must be trading, too, which means they can't be selling.  They're simply trading the silver for paper.  So even though they're calling it a sale, it's really a trade of two things of equal value which means there's no profit to be made in that there sale, that's really a trade, at all.  MOUSES!

But if you have two happy traders, what's the harm in that?

Well like I said earlier, today was the not the first time I have seen this ad for this twenty dollar coin, worth twenty dollars.  I've seen this ad many times before.  Apparently, the Royal Canadian Mint has been advertising these coins over and over and over again.

This means that the Royal Canadian Mint has been paying money to advertise their selling (which remember, is really trading) of these twenty dollar coins for twenty dollars.  In other words, they've been paying money to make zero profit.

Now I will admit that I, myself, have only seen the ads on CBC Television which is funded by the Canadian government so really, I suppose, money from one arm of the government is simply going to another arm of the government so one could argue that no real money is being spent on these ads unless, of course, you take into account that those advertising slots could have been sold to some other business, independent of the government, that would have PAID good money for them. Perhaps they would have paid using twenty dollar coins or perhaps they would have used twenty dollar bills but it doesn't really matter because as we all know, twenty dollars is still twenty dollars. And if you take that into account, then yeah, advertising revenue has been lost - LOST - assuming, of course, that someone wanted to buy advertising in the first place.  MOUSES!

You know, when you think about it, this buying and selling of advertising slots by different arms of the government is a whole lot like trading, too.  Trading numbers in columns on one arm to columns on another arm which we'll call trading for lack of a better word - because it's not like I'm an accountant or anything who would know such things - as the various columns are all on arms belonging to the same entity...  the government.

And it doesn't end there.  Nope, it sure doesn't.

Remember how I said there was free shipping on all these trades?  Guess the Mint must be paying for not only advertising but for shipping, too, although I suppose this is really simply more trading because I'm assuming they'll be shipping via Canada Post which is another appendage of the Canadian government.  MOUSES!

To tell you the truth, I've confused myself with all this talk of buying and selling that's really trading.  Trading and counting up the various Canadian appendages upon which we can tally said trades.

But if we look really hard - really, REALLY hard - I do believe that somewhere in all this confusion, is the answer as to why Canada can no longer afford to make one cent coins, otherwise known as pennies.

I'll make 'em a trade.  I'll trade the Canadian government one twenty dollar coin for some of my thoughts.  MOUSES!

state of disrepair

"Hum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum...  Hum-de-dum-de-do..." I sang softly, sidling up to Peep #1. "Oh Peepers, have you been in the front hall lately?  I think Mason pooped in your shoe."

"Mason did what?" the peep cried before dropping what she was doing and running into the hall.  In a flash, I was up on the kitchen island and had snagged a brick of cheese.  Heading into the family room, I heard the peep behind me saying, "No one pooped in my shoe, Seville."

"Did I say shoe?" I called back to her.  "I meant litter box.  Sorry," and I waved her off with a paw.

"You told the peep I pooped in her shoe?" Mason cried, paws placed firmly on her hips and looking rather indignant.

"Never mind that, Mason," Anderson told his sister before looking at me to ask, "Seville, did you get the cheese?"

"I got the cheese."

Hearing my answer, Rushton appeared in the room.  "Did someone say cheese?"

The four cats stared down at the brick of cheese before them and began to purr, loudly.

"Gosh that was good," I said, wiping my mouth with a paw.  "Time for a nap, I do believe." Anderson, Rushton and Mason nodded in agreement before heading off to their various favourite sleeping spots.  I, myself, jumped up onto the chesterfield and settled in for a snooze.

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

"Psst...  cat.  Psst...  CAT!  CAT!!!"

I opened one eye to see a little grey mouse before me, holding a clipboard.  "Awww...   MOUSES!" I cried.

"Your assistance is required," I was informed.

"My assistance is required.  My assistance is required?  Of course my assistance is required!" and I flung my front paws up in the air.  "What is it this time?  Someone lose their cheese?" I asked the mouse.

The little grey mouse stared back at me.  "Lose their cheese?" he asked.

"Never mind.  It's just an expression," I explained, rising to my paws.  "Lead the way oh royal mousiness.  Your desire is my command."

Again the little grey mouse stared blankly at me.  "Another expression!" I cried.  "Boy-oh-boy-oh-boy...  MOUSES!"

I watched as the little grey mouse surveyed the family room.  He quickly scribbled some notes on his clipboard and although I tried to get a glimpse of what he was writing, he held that board close to his chest.  Besides, the little I did see told me he was using cursive writing.  Might as well have been in secret code as cursive writing is no longer taught in Nova Scotian schools.  Clearly the Mouseland schools have recognized the shortsightedness of this.

Stopping in my tracks, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was different.  Was it the mouse? No, he looked like all the other Mouseland mice.  Was it the cheese?  Had the cheese I had recently snacked upon been off in some way?  I glanced around the room and saw Mason snoozing peacefully over on a chair.  Nothing had upset her tummy and she had eaten as much cheese as I. Maybe even more.  Clearly, the cheese had been okay.  So why did everything feel different in some way?

"Are you coming?" the mouse asked impatiently and I picked up my pace.  As we rounded the corner, ribbons of light swirled before my eyes as time and space morphed into what I had come to know as the great halls of Mouseland.

I could hear the sounds of construction going on in the back corner of the hall.  Several mice were wielding saws and hammers and goodness knows what else.  The commotion was both annoying and interesting at the same time and I made a mental note to investigate the first chance I got.

A second little grey mouse came running to the side of the mouse who had summoned me and was now whispering in his ear.  Together, they conferred over the notes the first mouse had taken at my house.  The second mouse nodded enthusiastically in agreement.  "Oh yes, yes...  Most definitely yes," I heard the second mouse say.  "That should do nicely."

I stuck my nose between the two mice before asking, "Anyone want to enlighten me as to what's going on?"

The second mouse coughed nervously before saying, "Er-hem...  We're going to need your condominium, Mr. Cat.  It is required."

"IT'S WHAT?" I cried.  "Wait a minute, I don't have a condominium.  I live in a house."  Then it came to me and I knew exactly what the mice were on about.  "You want my kitty condo.  Well no can do, my friends.  That condo belongs not just to me but to my fur-sibs as well.  Besides, moving it requires peep assistance.  No way for cats and mice to move it on their own.  It's too heavy, you see."

I sat back on my haunches, remembering the time Constance had taken a running leap, almost knocking the kitty condo down, thereby moving it without the aid of peeps but quickly decided not to mention that incident to the mice.  That condo was staying in my family room no matter what.

I stared at the mice and they stared right back.  "How come you guys need a condo, anyway?  No condos here in Mouseland?" I asked.

"Our main residence requires repairs," a third mouse answered as he approached.  "It is currently unfit for mouse occupancy."

"That's awful!" I cried.  "Look, I can certainly commiserate with you.  Every mouse needs a house but tell me, how did it get so far gone?  Hurricane?  Tornado?  Flood?  Some other unexpected disaster like a newly purchased high-powered vacuum with cyclonic speed?"

"None of the above," the first mouse sadly shook his head.  "Nothing so unforeseen.  It was simply neglect.  Years upon years of neglect.  Warnings were given.  Warnings were ignored.  Now the residence is practically falling apart.  We're making repairs as fast as we can but," and the mouse pointed to the far corner of the hall where I had noticed construction being done earlier, "as you can see, they won't be completed any time in the near future."

"WOW.  I feel for you, guys.  Really, I do.  Looks like you have a big old mess on our paws but," and I narrowed my eyes, "you're not getting my kitty condo and that's just how it is.  MOUSES!"

The great halls of Mouseland suddenly became deathly quiet and I'd swear you could hear a kitten's whisker fall on a deeply piled rug.

"What can I say, mice?  The condo belongs to us cats.  Besides, I'm not sure if you noticed or anything but it's not in all that great shape, either.  Needs some new carpeting in spots.  Got my paws crossed Santa will take care of that in a couple of months."

"Anyway," and I strode across the hall with an air of determination, "exactly who is to blame for your residence falling apart?  Someone must be.  Someone must be responsible for the neglect.  Make him fix it up.  After all, it's kind of HIS FAULT!"

At that, all the mice began to talk in unison but I couldn't make heads nor tails about what they were saying.  The mice who had been working in the construction area began constructing once more and I crept up behind them.  Suddenly, one turned toward me and put down the hammer he was using.

I peered at this new mouse and licked my lips with a grin.  I even made a sudden move towards him but alas, I couldn't spook him at all.  He stood his ground and smiled back at me, almost knowingly.

This mouse was different from the rest and that was for sure.  He had an air of authority about him and confidence, too, and yet not so overly confident as to be annoying if you know what I mean. He was clearly in charge but not bossing everyone around.

I approached closer, giving the air a good sniff.  "Excuse me, Sir, but you don't smell quite right for a mouse in charge of this place..  I don't smell any of that stinky ol' Gorgonzola cheese at all."  I inhaled even more deeply.  There was a cheesy smell all right but not...  "Cheddar!" I cried.  "You've been snacking on Canadian Cheddar.  Ten...  No...  Twelve-years-old.  Am I right?"

We were nose to nose now, this new mouse and I.  I gazed into his eyes and wondered, could this be The Big Cheese in disguise?

"Of course!" and I slapped a paw to my head.  "You changed your hair.  I should of known.  NICE. Yup, yup...  Very nice hair, indeed."

I turned to the little grey mouse who had summoned me earlier and whispered in his ear, "Get the name of his groomer for me, would you?  I could do with a groomer like that.  He's good."

"So why AM I here?" I asked.  "Anyone know?  Taking my kitty condo is a non-starter but I'll tell you what I will do.  I'll lend a paw with helping to fix up this residence of yours.  What needs to be done first?  Might I suggest you get rid of these Gorgonzola cheese crumbs lying about?"  I picked up a couple crumbs and tossed them out of my way.  "Crumbs like that are gonna stink up the place, for sure."

Grabbing a broom, I started sweeping the area and noticed the mouse with the nice hair heading back to his work, hammering supports together for what I assumed was part of a foundation.  "Seriously, mouse," I cried over to him.  "You really ought to make whoever refused to take care of this mess earlier, fix it up now.  After all, if the place hadn't been neglected for so long, it wouldn't have fallen into this state of disrepair."

And then all of a sudden, just for good measure and kind of on a whim, I cried out at the top of my lungs, the cry of my people.  "MOUSES!" I yelled.  I yelled as loudly as I could.

"Mice," I heard echoing from all four corners of the Mouseland hall.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Nice to hear the Grammar Mice Police are still with us," I smirked to myself.  "I was wondering when they'd make their presence known.  Was even kind of missing them, there, for a moment at least. Thought they might all have gone home."

Then back to work I went, sweeping Gorgonzola cheese crumbs off the Mouseland residence floor, surrounded by mice who were busily repairing damaged floors, walls and ceilings along with goodness knows what else.

kiss it goodbye

"Seville, wake up.  Wake up, Sivvers!"

I awoke with a start and found two long-haired marmies pawing at me, shaking me by my shoulders.  "WHAT THE MOUSES?" I cried. "What is it with you two? I just got to sleep and here you are, waking me up."

Anderson was the first to speak.  "You can kiss that Senate appointment goodbye, dude.  Not gonna happen."

And as if that wasn't enough, Rushton added, "No way you'll ever lead any kind of political life now, Seville."

"WHAT THE MOUSES?" I cried again, louder and more furiously, this time but then I realized, I was never after a Senate appointment in the first place.  "Nissy was the one wanting a Senate appointment, boys, so no fur off my nose.  Now let me get back to sleep.  MOUSES!"

But long-haired marmies being long-haired marmies, they just wouldn't let up.

"Hey Seville," Andy began, "Reporters are at the front door, wanting to ask you some questions."

With the mention of reporters, I was fully awake.  No going back to sleep now.  After all, it's not every day a marmalade cat such as myself has reporters banging down his door.

"They tell you what they want?" I asked my brothers.  I gave myself a good shake, licked a paw and used it to wipe my whiskers in place.  "There, how do I look?  I assume there'll be some picture taking."  Hopping down from the family room chesterfield, I padded towards the kitchen, making my way to the front door.

"Hang on there, Seville!" Rushton cried.  "Don't you want to know why they want to talk to you?"

"I already asked you two that and neither of you answered," was my reply.  "I'm guessing they have questions about...  Hmmm...  About...  Why do they want to talk to me?  Either of you know?"

Anderson coughed into a paw.  "They want to know about the video."

"Video?"  I sat back on my haunches.  "What video is that?"  I make it a point not to allow the peep to take pictures of me of any kind.  Sometimes, she succeeds, but never ever in a million years have I ever allowed her to take video.  Just not in my nature.  "You sure it's me they want to talk to after all?  I haven't made any movies, lately.  Haven't made any at all."

"They say they have you on tape," Rushton explained.  "They've got a tape of you...   Uh... Ummm...  How can I put this nicely...?"

"They've got a tape of you peeing in the water bowl, dude," Anderson interjected.  He turned to Rushton to add, "Sorry for interrupting but let's face it, there is no nice way to describe that. MOUSES!"

"They have a tape of me doing what?  MOUSES!"  I cried.  "When?  How?  When?  I NEVER DID THAT!"

"We don't know exactly when it happened, Seville, but I saw the evidence for myself.  There you are, lifting your tail, squatting and the rest is history.  Right there in your own kitchen, too.  In our own kitchen."  Rushton continued, "And by the way, Seville, let me just add...  I drink out of that water bowl.  What you did was very uncool."

"But I didn't..." I sputtered.

"The evidence doesn't lie," Anderson said.  "Your peeing in the water bowl?  It's a fact."

"Well...  WELL...  WELL I DON'T ACCEPT THAT PARTICULAR RENDITION OF THE FACTS!" I spat.

"Tsk, tsk..." and Rushton looked down at one paw, inspecting his claws.  "Beg to differ."

"Facts are facts, dude," Anderson added.  "Can't dispute them when they're right there, staring you in the face."

"MOUSES!"  I sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, debating my next move.  What to do...  What to do...  "And you've both seen this tape?" I asked my brothers.  They nodded in affirmation.  "And it looks legit?  You sure it's legit?  Could it have been faked or something 'cause seriously, I don't remember doing that."

"Yeah, like peeps go around making fake videos of cats peeing in water bowls," Andy scoffed.

"Peeps.  PEEPS!"  That was my answer.  Peep #1 must have had something to do with this.  "Oh my mouses, what has Peep #1 done to me now?"

Anderson replied, "Word on the street is that Peep #1 set up hidden cameras in the kitchen.  She wanted to catch us on film, doing cute things."

"I think she wanted to post the videos on the Internet or something," Rushton murmured.

"Looks like she got more than she bargained for though," Anderson stated rather matter-of-factly. "What she wanted to post as a cute home-made video turned out to be material for an episode of Cat Shaming Season Three."

I was flabbergasted and not in a good way.  My first big movie and it was of me peeing in a coffee mug.  I mean, water bowl.  MOUSES!

"But how did the reporters get hold of it?" I asked my brothers.  "Peep put it on social media or something?"

"Ummm..." and Rushton pawed at the ground.

"Uhhh..." and Anderson looked up at the ceiling.

"Spit it out, boys." I demanded.  "What exactly did Peep #1 do?"

"Well..." Andy began.

"Peep #1 didn't do anything," Rushton cried, seemingly bursting at the seams.  "It was Andy.  Andy found the video and uploaded it or downloaded it or unloaded it upside down into or onto the computer or something and the next thing we knew, IT WAS ALL OVER THE NEWS!"

Anderson smirked the smirkiest smirk I have ever seen a cat smirk.  "Oh yeah...  every major network in the western world is running it non-stop.  You're a star, bro.  A STAR!  This is going to be the best reality TV show ever and I, Anderson, own all the rights.  You're going to be famous, dude. And I'm going to be rich."

"BUT I ALREADY WAS FAMOUS!  I'M A WORLD FAMOUS BLOGGER, YOU... YOU...  YOU MARMITE!"

"Hey, no need to start calling cats names," Anderson complained, indignantly.  "Don't you see? Today, it's peeing in a water bowl.  Tomorrow, you'll be appearing on late-night TV.  And the next night....  Well, I haven't figured that part out, yet."

"But you probably won't be being appointed to the Senate," Rushton said quietly.  "You'll have to give up on any political aspirations you might have had."

"Yeah, Andy agreed.  "Stuff like this?  All over social media?  Never goes over well with the public."

I stared hard at my two long-haired marmalade brothers, glaring first at one and then the other. Then I closed my eyes and wailed, "I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER PEEING IN THE WATER BOWL!"

"Seville, are you okay?" I heard Peep #1 ask, concern evident in her voice, and felt the soft touch of her hand on the back of my neck.  "Are you having a bad dream, Sivvers?"

I sat up on the family room couch.  On the other side of the room, I saw Rushton and Anderson lying on the floor, sound asleep.  Andy was purring loudly and Rushton, of course, snoring as he so often does.

The peep tickled me under the chin before scooping me up into her arms.  "Come on, sweetie. Want some treats?"  She carried me into the kitchen and I looked all around.  Not a hidden camera in sight.  Of course, hidden cameras wouldn't actually be in sight as they'd be hidden but I was positive that if I knew to be looking for them, I'd be able to see some evidence of their existence.

It had all been a dream.  A very, very bad dream complete with reporters, unexplained bad behaviour on tape and two marmalade brothers.  No wonder I didn't remember peeing in the water bowl.  One can't remember what one has never done.

Still up in Peep #1's arms, I glanced down at the floor.  There, our water bowls lay, innocently.  Leaping from the peep's arms and onto the kitchen island, I nosed the bag of treats that was my favourite.  As she tore it open for me I suggested, "You might want to run our water bowls over there through the dishwasher, Peepers.  Just a suggestion...   One never knows what might get in them. MOUSES!"

stay the course!

"Psst...  CAT!"

I opened one eye. Standing before me was a little grey mouse. "Awww...  Not again. MOUSES!"

"So you're awake, Mr. Cat?"

I opened my other eye. "Well I am now.  Again I say, MOUSES!"

"Good.  Please follow me, Mr. Cat.  You assistance is required."

I stood on all four paws, stretching first my front legs and then my hind ones.  Letting out a big yawn, I glared at the little mouse standing before me, clutching his mouse-sized clipboard. "Seriously mouse, I was having a good dream involving cheesy nip pizzas before you woke me up. You need to stop doing that.  MOUSES!"

The little mouse whom I assumed to be M1 although, truth be told, looked identical to all the other mice of Mouseland, save one, raised an eyebrow.

"Every time I snack on cheese..."  I studied the mouse before me.  "Hmmm...  Maybe I should start snacking on mice instead."

Narrowing his eyes, M1 leaned forward to whisper, "We're not nearly as tasty as you might think. Stick with the cheese, Cat.  MOUSES!"  The little mouse's eyes grew wide as he covered his gaping mouth with both paws.  His mouse-sized clipboard clattered to the ground and off in the distance I heard the whispers of the Grammar Mice correcting him, "Mice.  The plural of mouse, is mice."

"Hah!  Even the mice are using MOUSES! now," I said with a smirk.  "Worth being awakened to hear that.  Lead the way, M1.  What's up?  What's going on in Mouseland now?  Cat got your cheese?  The Big Cheese doing cheesy stuff?  Is he still eating that cheese with the stink?"  M1 ignored my questions as I followed him out of the room.

Turning the corner, the air grew thick and hazy.  Neon-coloured swirls swirled before my eyes and there were flashes of blinding light.  All of a sudden, a wave of icy cold water splashed in my face. "What the mouses?"  I wiped the water away from my face with a paw but it left an odd taste in my mouth.  A taste akin to salt water and Gorgonzola cheese.  "That's new," I sputtered.  "What's up with the cheesy water, mouse?  And -  And are we on some kind of boat or something?  Where's the great hall of Mouseland?"

"We've entered the Gorgonzola Stream!" yelled the mouse, trying to be heard over the sound of waves crashing against a rocky shore.  "Hang on!  We're in for a rough ride."

My paws were slipping and sliding on what appeared to be the oily deck of a trawler of some sort. At the helm, I could see a larger mouse with a suspiciously long tail whom I immediately recognised as The Big Cheese.  "Where are we headed?" I yelled.

M1 was clinging for dear life to the guard rail of the trawler, his clipboard long gone.  "JUST HANG ON!" he cried back to me.  "We're caught in the stream.  If The Big Cheese can't steer us clear, we'll hit the shore!"

I could hear bells ringing in the distance and a deafening fog horn that sounded as if it was getting closer and closer by the minute but even louder than the foghorn was the sound of The Big Cheese's voice yelling, "STAY THE COURSE!  WE HAVE TO STAY THE COURSE!"

"Why did you bring me here, M1?" I yelled at the little grey mouse.  "We're headed towards those rocks.  You couldn't have chosen a worse time for a cruise."

"STAY THE COURSE!" The Big Cheese continued to yell.  I could see the ship's wheel spinning out of control beneath his paws.  M1 was right.  We were caught up in this Gorgonzola Stream - whatever that was - being taken to places unknown.

The foghorn was still blasting its warnings of the rocky shores ahead and bells were incessantly ringing off in the distance.  I desperately wanted to cover my ears with my paws but didn't dare release my grip of the trawler's guard rails.

I looked over my left shoulder.  Off in the distance there appeared to be a series of locks and further beyond that, a peaceful cove where the sun was shining and there was not a storm cloud in sight.  I briefly questioned the logistics of what I was seeing before realising that the laws of physics and whatnot in Mouseland differed from those in the rest of universe.

"Big Cheese!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.  "Steer to the left or the port side or whatever you want to call it.  There are peaceful waters over there."

"He can't hear you," little M1 yelled over to me.  "He hears nothing but the cries of the Gorgonzola Stream."

"Cries of the stream?  What are you talking about M1?  Is the stream alive or something?"

"No, it's just a stream.  A current, actually.  A powerful current of melted Gorgonzola cheese."

I shook my head in dismay and looked longingly over the port side of the ship.  If I could just make it to those locks.  "Are those locks Canadian Cheese Consortium infrastructure?" I asked M1.

"They're not what you think," the little mouse cried back.

"STAY THE COURSE!" the Big Cheese continued to cry.

"It's not water in those locks," little M1 explained.  "They're holding areas for various other cheese streams.  From when the Canadian Cheese Consortium was more diversified.  The Big Cheese has ignored them for ages."

There was no doubt in my mind that we needed out of this stream of Gorgonzola Cheese as its course was clearly unclear.  Dangerous and unacceptable and as The Big Cheese appeared to be either unwilling or incapable to steer us away, I knew I would have to take on the job, myself. Bravely letting go of the trawler's guard rail with one paw, I dug my claws into the oily deck. "It's going take me weeks to clean this mess off my paws," I growled to myself.  I managed to make my way a few feet across the deck before experiencing the sensation of being lifted into the air. Had the trawler collided with the shore?  Was I being tossed overboard?  "CAT OVERBOARD!" I cried, trying to be heard over the ringing of those stupid bells in the distance, the foghorn that was now proving to be quite annoying and the cries of The Big Cheese to stay the course.

"There you are, Seville. Time for bed.  Did you have a bedtime snack?" Peep #1 asked me.

"As a matter of fact, I helped myself to a little cheese earlier in the evening," I explained to the peep.  "Maybe I should have gone for the Temptations."

I glanced over the peep's shoulder and into the kitchen.  All evidence of Mouseland, the raging waters and the ship that was clearly off-course had disappeared but I knew with certainty that not only would the sun rise in the morning but that Mouseland would appear, once more, too.  Probably the next time I snacked on some cheese. MOUSES!

the blame game

Have you heard?  Have you heard about the latest new reality slash television game show?  It's called The Blame Game and it's coming, this fall, to an election near you. MOUSES!

Let's face it, folks, stuff happens and when it does, somebody is gonna be blamed. And if you're going to be blaming peeps, someone needs to take the blame, too. C'est la vie.

You know what they say.  They say, "When in doubt, blame the peep."  Well that's what Nissy used to say, anyway. Truth be told, I've said it, too.  Works like a charm, every time.

As least it works like a charm for us cats but that's because cats, being cats, are natural charmers, for sure.

There's also the fact that peeps really are to blame for most things that go wrong in this world so blaming a peep is kind of like making a sure bet of sorts.  Know what I mean?  MOUSES!

But peeps know how to play this game of blaming, too.  From an early age, peeps learn to blame others for their own mistakes as well as just about anything and everything that doesn't go their way.

Ever had homework?  Ever not finished your homework so you couldn't hand it in?  Ever blame the dog for eating said homework?  Ever blame the dog when you didn't actually have a dog to blame? MOUSES!

But blaming the possibly non-existent family dog is only the start of the peep blaming that is to come.  Peeps will blame anyone or anything if it means they don't have to accept the blame, themselves.

Ever listen to a peep who arrives somewhere late?  They blame the kids, the spouse and even rush-hour traffic.  Like there isn't always a lot of traffic during rush-hour.  They don't call it rush-hour for nothing.  MOUSES!

They might even blame that poor old possibly non-existent family dog.  Sorry I'm late but the dog ate my car keys.  Sound familiar?

Thing is, you can only use the dog-eaten car keys excuse once and get away with it because the more often you use it, the more unbelievable it becomes.

But you can always blame your spouse or your kids.  Kids have been known to eat a key or two, I am sure.  They say some kids will eat just about anything.  MOUSES!

Bottom line is, when things go wrong, peeps really like blaming just about everything and everyone but themselves.  They blame global warming on the planet or other countries or the peeps down the street.  They blame the state of the economy on the price of oil or other countries or the peeps down the street.  They blame the mess in the Senate on the Senate itself or...  Need I go on? MOUSES!

But speaking of politicians, they play The Blame Game better than anyone else.  Have you ever heard a politician blame themselves?  Have you ever heard a politician say, "It's my fault."  Ever? Never?  MOUSES!

Oh sure, sometimes they'll accept responsibility in a roundabout way but the words,"It's my fault," have you ever heard them say those words?  Just like that?

And more often than not, they'll try to convince you there isn't really a problem at all.  It's all in your imagination.  All in your head.  By gosh, according to some politicians, my head must be a very crowded place.  MOUSES!

I remember way back when, when I peed on the peep.  As you can imagine, it didn't go over very well.  Let's just say, there were complaints.  But did I try to blame the peep for my having peed upon her?  Did I...

Uh actually...  That might not be the best of examples because truth be told, I did blame the peep for that.  Wouldn't have peed on her had she not been standing in my way.

And let me tell you something.  You pee on a peep - once - and they never let you forget it. MOUSES!

Well the peep wasn't accepting any of the blame for that little incident.  Never has and probably never will.  Not even an ounce.  Not even for a minute.

What I should have done was find some other peep to blame and in fact, if I were to pee on the peep today, that's exactly what I would do.

That's just how it is, you know?  When stuff goes wrong, somebody needs to take the blame.  You can accept blame yourself or you can find a patsy to accept it for you.  Delegate the blame, so to speak.  It's the way of the world, my friends.  The way of the world.

Take today, for instance.  This here blog post is going up late.  I was late in writing it because I hadn't finished the pictures for what I had originally intended to post but it's not my fault.  It's all the weather's fault for being stormy and preventing me from working on-line, yesterday, during the thunderstorms.  Yup, I'm blaming the weather.  Blaming some guy named Nigel, too.  Yup, I'm blaming them both, for sure.

What's that, Peepers?  Something wrong? You didn't get what done?

Don't fret, Peepers.  Do you know what you should do?  You should come on dawn and play THE BLAME GAME!

Peepers, you should blame Nigel. Everyone's doing it and word on the street is, this dude is willing to accept the blame for pretty much EVERYTHING.  Even stuff he couldn't possibly have done and wasn't really his fault.  Even has his own hashtag, BlameNigel, now.  Blaming him appears to be the True North Canadian thing to do and after all, Peepers, you are a Canadian peep.  You should blame him, for sure. MOUSES!

the price of nip

"Peepers...  I need a calculator.  You have a calculator on paw?"

"What's that you say? Ask my sister, Mason? Ask her what?  Ask her if she has a calculator? When did Mason get a calculator?  Where did mason get a calculator? Did she borrow yours?"

"Oh...  You mean I should ask her for help with this math stuff.  Okay, that makes sense.  Thanks Peepers!  Forgot about those thumbs of hers."

Yeah, Mason is a polydactyl cat and has thumbs on both her front paws which she puts to use, counting and stuff.

Knitting, you ask?  No, she hasn't attempted knitting, as of yet.  Don't know why because with those thumbs, I bet she could knit if she tried.  MOUSES!

And speaking of knitting, knitting up a few nip mice would be an excellent thing for Mason to do but first things first.  Before there is any knitting done, I have some calculating to do.

"Oh Mason...  Wanna come here and calculate some stuff for me?  Here are the numbers I need you to crunch."

I handed Mason the numbers and watched her crunch them.  She handed the crunched up paper back to me and I examined her figures.

MOUSES!  Just as I thought.  I had a problem of monumental proportions.  A problem that could not be solved with any amount of crunching but just to be on the safe side, I asked Mason to crunch the numbers once more.

"Mason, those figures don't work for me.  Wanna try that again? Try adding them up differently.  Maybe you'll get a better result this time."

Mason scowled at me like only a Mason can do.  She pawed at the numbers, rolling up the paper they were on into a ball and crunching that ball really well.  She sat on it.  She spat on it.  She even gave it a lick or two before performing a few figure eights and batting the paper ball back to me.

Same figures as before.  "Mason," I said, "try a few more figure eights.  See if that makes a difference," but Mason simply threw up her paws before leaving the room in disgust.  MOUSES!

What to do?  What to do?  I examined the numbers once more.  Nope, these calculations weren't working for me at all.

I had discovered, you see, a problem with my latest endeavour.  The whole nip farm thing wasn't working quite the way I wanted it to work.  MOUSES!

I had such hopes.  Such dreams.  I, Seville the Cat, had planned on becoming a gentleman nip farmer, you see.

But yesterday, I discovered the most horrible of horrible things.  The price of nip has gone down.  MOUSES!

I'm not sure how this all came about although I suspect it has something to do with weasels.  Bad things usually do.

This is a catastrophe of catastrophic proportions, for sure.  MOUSES!

I wouldn't put it past that old Weasel Syndicate to be messing around with nip futures and manipulating stock prices and whatever else weasels might do.  On the other paw, maybe they've just flooded the market with the stuff.  That would lower prices, too.

I know what you're thinking.  Lower nip prices are good for cats who consume.   Well of course nipheads are going to like lower nip prices for then they can get nipped for far less.

But what future is there in nip farming if the price of nip is too low?  MOUSES!

If my numbers are correct, it'll cost more for me to get the nip out of the ground than what I can sell it for.  This is not good.  This is not good at all.  Negative profit isn't really profit at all.  MOUSES!

"Mason, come crunch these numbers once more.  See if you can make the numbers acceptable. Please?"

Darn, she says the numbers will remain the same no matter how much crunching we do.

Looks like every dollar of nip sold will cost two dollars to grow and harvest.  MOUSES!

As I see it, I have two options.  I can leave the nip in the ground and come up with some other product to sell or I can grow and harvest it at a loss.

On the other paw...

On the other paw, I can easily convince the peeps to pay for the growing and harvesting of the nip. Peep #1 has to look after the garden anyway, right?  Well while she's looking after the garden, she can look after my nip, too.  If she's watering the garden, she can water my nip as well.  If she's weeding - which, believe me, she very rarely does - she can head on over to my nip plants and do a little weeding there as necessary.  If she's buying manure for her flowers, she can buy a little extra for my nip.  And as for harvesting, why pay for peeps to harvest nip when I can get my peeps to harvest it for free?  I'll call it an internship or something like that.  MOUSES!

So if the peeps pay for the growing costs and I get them to harvest the nip for free, I'll have zero operating costs.  That means I can sell the nip with a hundred percent profit.  Hundred percent profit works for me!

Way better than that negative profit thingy, for sure.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking I'm fudging the books.  Well I'm not.  When you think about it, I'm actually doing the peeps a favour.  I'm uh...  Ummm...  I'm...

Awww....  MOUSES!

Okay, look at it this way.  What's wrong with a little fudge on some books?  Peep #1 loves books and she kind of likes fudge, too, so I'm thinking fudging the books isn't such a bad thing to do and I'll challenge anyone to tell me differently.  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!"

they want to do WHAT?

They want to do what?

And these peeps got elected?  Really? ON PURPOSE?

Wow.  Peeps will elect just about anyone these days and yet my brother, Nissy, never got his appointment to the Canadian Senate.  MOUSES!

If you've been on-line in the last few days, you've probably heard the big news.  It's all over the net.  It's everywhere.  There are on-line petitions about it and everything. Cats and peeps from around the world are all talking about David Cameron's government introducing the Psychoactive Substances Bill in the House of Lords on May 28th.  A bill to apply across the United Kingdom.  A bill that has the potential to ban catnip.  That's right folks, the UK government wants to ban the nip.

WHAT ARE THEY SMOKING?

Turns out, they may have been smoking the nip.  MOUSES!

Panic was raging across the Internet.  What, no nip for cats who are Brits?  When a moggy can't get his paws on a little nip, the world has gone to you-know-where in a hand basket.  And what is a hand basket, anyway?  Perhaps it's a basket in which to carry your nip.

Terror was rising across the land for fear that the country had gone all to pot.  Would backyard nip growers have their nip plants confiscated?  Would Scotland Yard coppers be racing around the British Isles, breaking down garden fences and ripping out home-grown nip plants with their bare paws?  I mean, hands?  Would British prisons be filled to the brim with little old ladies who had been caught supplying knitted nip mice to local church bazaars?  Would peeps really be doing time at Her Majesty's Pleasure for doing nothing more than growing a little catnip for their feline friends?  And would their feline friends ever come to visit them in prison?  MOUSES!

The Psychoactive Substances Bill will prohibit the production, distribution and sale of new psychoactive substances such as...  wait for it...  NIP.

According to several Internet sources, it has been confirmed that the term psychoactive substance does apply to Nepeta cataria.  I can't track down exactly who confirmed this but word on the street is that it was someone in a governmental position.  My question is this...  What was he smoking because I'm pretty sure it was a whole lot stronger than the nip.

Have they all gone off their trolly?

Or maybe it's all a ploy made by politicians to get some international late-night television coverage. I can see it now...  You can't prove it was nip in that pipe.  Okay, fine.  I smoked a little nip, once, way back in college, but I NEVER inhaled.  MOUSES!

As you can imagine, the moment I heard about this catastrophe in the making, I got right on it.  I did a little digging.  No, not in the litter box.  I dug around on the net.  The Internet, to be exact.  I read a whole bunch of stuff including the entire Psychoactive Substances Bill.  All forty-eight pages of it and let me tell you, it nearly put me to sleep.

But reading the Psychoactive Substances Bill confirmed my worst fears.  Indeed, it will be "an offence to  produce, supply, offer to supply, possess with intent to supply, import or export psychoactive substances."  Breaking the law will result in stiff fines and up to seven years in prison.  Seven years.  Do you have any idea how long that is in cat years?  MOUSES!

No production means saying goodbye to having a little patch of the nip growing up against your garden wall. And no sales means that pet stores can't stock nip on their shelves.  Gosh, you won't even be able find knitted nip mice at local car boot sales.

Thankfully, simple possession of the nip is not covered by the bill.  Guess they don't want to throw a bunch of nipped-up moggies in prison with hardened criminals like...  you know... WEASELS.

But I couldn't get rid of this nagging feeling.  The feeling that considering nip to be a psychoactive substance was as barmy as barmy can be.  CRAZY.  Nissy would have said it was crazier than a squirrel making nut pies kind of crazy and I have to agree.  MOUSES!

Now urban legend does say that catnip can make a peep high.  Not high as in up on the cupboard shelves kind of high but rather, high as in being nipped.  But this, my friends, is nothing more than an urban legend.  Apparently, peeps once believed that smoking banana peels would do the same thing which caused a brief shortage of bananas in Berkley, California, back in the day.  Need I say it?  MOUSES!

On the other paw, consuming nutmeg and poppy seeds, can make peeps high.  Oh yeah, they don't want catnip on pet store shelves but will they get rid of eggnog and poppy seed bagels?  Probably not.  Peeps are a very hypocritical species, you see.

Catnip is never going to make a peep high but it can affect how they feel.  The active ingredient in nip is nepetalactone which can act as a sedative.  A very mild sedative.  Like drinking a glass of warm milk.  Or reading the entire forty-eight pages of the Psychoactive Substances Bill all at one go.  Believe me, I know.

Are they going to outlaw warm milk and government bills, too?

According to the Psychoactive Substances Bill, a psychoactive substance is anything that when consumed by a peep, affects them "by stimulating or depressing the person's central nervous system."

Now this is interesting because if that makes nip a psychoactive substance, surely chocolate and coffee are as well.  I know first paw that my first peep without coffee in the morning is a very scary peep, indeed.  But pour a pot of the brew down her throat and all of a sudden, she's Little Miss Cheerful.  And as for chocolate?  Never seen a happier peep than a peep who just ate a chocolate bar.  MOUSES!

So I dug a little deeper and I think, my British feline friends, you're going to be okay.  Apparently there are exceptions.  So-called legitimate things that may very well be psychoactive substances but will not be made illegal so as to allow peeps access to their coffee and chocolate, not to mention alcohol, baccy and a few dodgy things.

Currently, catnip is not listed as an exception.  At least not specifically.  I suggest you bombard David Cameron with phone calls and e-mails, demanding that catnip be added to this exceptional  list of exceptions for if peeps can have their nutmeg-laced eggnog and poppy seed bagels, surely a moggy can have a little nip.

After all, it's not your fault that some peeps think smoking the stuff is going to make them high.  I mean, some peeps still think the Earth is flat and others think that the moon is made of cheese. Cheese...  Mmm....  MOUSES!

In other words, some peeps are just naturally nipped and have managed to get themselves nipped without imbibing in catnip at all.

On the other paw, perhaps they were smoking bananas.  MOUSES!