you've got mail

Another one.

Pfft.

MOUSES!

And another one?

And ANOTHER?

MOUSES!

Hey Peepers!  Get in here and collect all your mousin' moused-up mail, would ya?

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' this has somethin' to do with all those UNdeleted deleted e-mails I blogged 'bout the other day.

Nope.

Although I am talkin' about e-mails...

However they have not been deleted.

Yet.

MOUSES!

On the other paw...

HEY PEEPERS!  Get in here right now and gather up your stupid mousin' moused-up mail before I start deletin'.

MOUSES!

But what's this now?

THEY'RE SENDIN' HARD COPIES TO HER, NOW, TOO?

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' pals from all over the world are sendin' Peepers cards for Christmas.

Nope.

Thing is, pals from all over the world send ME, Seville the Cat, Christmas cards every year.  Peepers?  Not so much.  Probably on account of Peepers bein' lucky if she gets her cards out to them by Christmas of the FOLLOWIN' year.

Yup, that's just the kind of peep she is: a disorganised procrastinatin' peep, for sure.  What does she think she is?  A cat with nine lives, like me?

MOUSES!

HEY PEEPERS!  GET IN HERE AND GATHER UP THIS MOUSIN' MOUSED-UP MAIL OVER HERE BY MY DESK RIGHT NOW.  ITS PRESENCE IS DISTRACTIN' ME TO NO END.

MOUSES!

So what is all this mail Peepers is gettin', both electronically and via the mailman, you ask?  And who is sendin' her all this stuff?  And why?

Good questions, my friends.  All very good questions, indeed.  The thing is...

The thing is...

The thing is, it's seed catalogue season and apparently every seed company and their dog knows that Peepers sure does love growin' stuff from seed.

'Nough said.

MOUSES!

Wait a minute.  There is ONE MORE thing that needs sayin', for sure.

HEY PEEPERS!  If you're placin' any seed orders - and I know you will be 'cause orderin' seeds is kinda what you do - REMEMBER TO ORDER ME SOME CATNIP SEED WHILE YOU'RE AT IT, AND...

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're babblin' on about now?

SO WHAT if I already have catnip seed on paw.  SO WHAT?  It's not like you've never ordered seeds for stuff you already had.  I happen to know for a fact that you have a whole stash of seed you've never planted.  Yeah, yeah...  You say you'll plant it sometime.  Heard that story before.  Prolly hear it again.  Thing is, you've got a stash of seeds and if you can have a seed stash, so can I.

'Nough said.

NOW.

MOUSES!

And be sure to make my packet of catnip seed a super-duper big one.  The biggest they've got should do.

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.

freak out!

"I thought we had cats," the peep fumed, placing her hands on her hips in a disgruntled fashion.  "I THOUGHT WE HAD CATS."

"What's up, Peepers?" I asked.  "Havin' a bad day, are we?"

The peep narrowed her eyes.  "Since you ask, Seville, the blue jays have been making a mess of my potted lettuce seeds."

I looked over at the plant pots in which the peep had planted her lettuce the day before and sure enough, there was a blue jay struttin' about in one, just like he owned the joint.  The bird looked over at me and nonchalantly gave me the feather.  MOUSES!

"So uh...  What's your point there, Peepers?  What does that there blue jay have to do with us cats?" I asked.

The peep let out a loud sigh.  Loud enough for at least half the world to hear, I'm sure.  "You'd think that in a multi-cat household, the birds would stay away from my plants."

"Well if you don't want the birds to visit," I began, "you should probably stop feeding 'em."

"I'm NOT feeding them," she replied.  "I'm certainly not feeding them lettuce seed."

I screwed up my nose.  "Um..  APPARENTLY, Peepers, you are.  MOUSES!"

"Ugh," and Ol' Peepers spun on her heels and began to head for the house.

"No need to freak out about it!" I called out to her.  Then, turnin' to my fur-sibs, I began clickin' my claws to an upbeat beat.

And now, for a musical interlude from the Back Street Cats.

"Aaahh FREAK OUT!" we sang.  "Le freak, see'est Chic.  FREAK OUT!"

Peep #1 turned back to face us again, staring at my fur-sibs and me with disgust.

"Don't speak, Monique," we sang.

"Who the mouses is Monique?" the peep asked.

"I don't know," I answered, "but whoever she is, her name rhymes with speak."

At that moment, the blue jay dancin' in the plant pots with the lettuce seeds, stopped dancin' and gave me the feather again.

Or maybe he was givin' it to the peep.

MOUSES!

"Freak out!  Peep's seeds, your beak," we continued to sing.

The peep rolled her eyes.

"Plant more, next week," I suggested, all the while keepin' in tune.

The peep threw her arms up in the air.  "HAS THE WHOLE WORLD GONE CRAZY?" she cried out to no one in particular.  She looked like she was about to give up on the conversation.  Either that or...  You know...  Freak out.  I looked over at the bird again who was now actively pecking away at the soil in the plant pot.  Every now and then he'd find a lettuce seed and swallow it whole.

Not that one would not swallow lettuce seeds whole, mind you.   I mean, they are kinda small.  Not worth the bother of cutting 'em up with a knife, for sure.

"Aren't you going to do ANYTHING about that bird?" the peep cried.

I shrugged my shoulders.  "Like what?"

"Like...  Like...  Like scare him off.  Shoo him away.  ACT LIKE CATS, for goodness sake."

I looked at my fur-sibs and my fur-sibs looked right back at me.  We knew exactly what we needed to do.  Huddling together, we formed a plan of action.

And now, for another musical interlude from the Back Street Cats: 

"They'll be swinging, swaying, records playing.  Dancing in the street," we sang.  "Doesn't matter what you wear, even feathers in your hair.  Every cat, grab a bird.  Birds right 'round the world... WILL BE dancin' in the street.  They'll be swinging, swaying, plant pot playing..."

The peep just stood there, her mouth hangin' halfway to the ground.  Gathering her senses, she calmly stated, "You cats are all nuts.  Every single one of you is nuts.  NUTS."

"Nuts?" I questioned.  "Now if you wanna talk nuts, Peepers, we should consult the squirrels.  HEY BIRD!" I called out to the blue jay.  "You know where the squirrels are today?  You seen any of  'em hangin' about?"

The blue jay once again gave me the feather.  Then he went back to struttin' about in the plant pot, lookin' for more lettuce seed.

"Look, Peepers, we tried," I sighed.  "Like I said before: If you don't wanna attract the birds, you've gotta stop feeding 'em.  They seem to really like lettuce seed so uh...  So why don't you start by stop feeding 'em that.  MOUSES!'

the pragmatist

"You're ever the optimist Seville, aren't you."

Are you askin' me a question, there, Mason?  Or are you just callin' me names?  Or are...  Wait a minute.  Callin' me an optimist isn't callin' me names.  Least not in a bad way.  So uh...  Exactly about what am I bein' optimistic, pray tell.

"Well I see you've placed an order to Nip Seeds & Stuff."

Actually, what I really did was place ANOTHER order to Nip Seeds & Stuff.  The first two orders, they messed up.

"They did?  How?"

They sent the seeds to the peep.  MOUSES!

Mason furrowed her brow.  "How was that messing things up?"

You have met the peep, right?  You do know 'bout her lack of nip-growin' skills?  Sendin' nip seeds to the peep is like pushing 'em in front of a firin' squad or somethin'.  Peep #1 has never met a nip seed she couldn't kill.  MOUSES!

Mason nodded in agreement.  "Then why are you placing another order?  Won't she kill those seeds as readily as she killed the others?"

If she gets her paws on 'em, she will.  Thing is, THESE SEEDS, I'm gonna plant myself.  I'm gonna make sure these little babies are planted right.  MOUSES!

"Have you ever actually planted anything before, Seville?  When it comes to gardening, you usually take on more of a supervisory role."

You take that back.  I've gotten my paws dirty MORE than once.  I've dug my fair share of holes in the garden beds, for sure.

Plus, occasionally...  Occasionally I've even been known to assist with the fertilizin', too.  MOUSES!

"FYI Sivvers, the peep doesn't consider what you left amongst the primroses to be fertiliser," Mason scowled.

Poop is poop, Mason.  I don't make the rules.  MOUSES!

But anyway...  Anyway, what else am I supposed to do?  And I'm talkin' about the growin' the seeds myself bit, not that other...  You know...  Other unmentionable thing.  It's not like I can teach the peep how to grow nip. 

Or CAN I...

Hmmm...

Nah, I tried signin' her up for that course or whatever it was on Facebook, but it turned out to be a class in growin' grass, and NOT the kinda cat grass we cats like, but that other kind.  You know...  The pans and skillets type.

"For the love of mouses, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT Seville?  Seriously, sometimes I wonder about you."

And sometimes I wonder 'bout you, too, Mason.  Like how come you can't understand a simple explanation of the facts when I explain 'em to you.  Fact is, I signed the peep up for some kinda Facebook course or event on growin' legalised non-cat cat grass, and she TOTALLY IGNORED it, for sure.  She just clicked the delete button like it had never even been there.  MOUSES!

And that, sister dear, is why I HAVE TO TAKE MATTERS into my own four paws, and grow these babies myself.  MOUSES!

"Whatever."  Mason rolled her eyes.  "Do you have some pots?"

I TOLD YOU, I DON'T NEED NO POTS!

Oh, you mean like flower pots, don't you.  Heheh...  heh...  Uh, yeah.  I have the flower pots the peep used when she killed off the first two batches of seed.  Plus, I have her leftover pottin' mix.  At least I know where it is.  So you see, I'm all set.  As soon as my third nip seed order arrives, I'm good to go.  MOUSES!

"Where are you going, Seville?" Rushton asked as he walked into the room.  "Anywhere nice?"

"Seville is ordering more catnip seed, Rushy," explained Mason.

"You're quite the optimist there, aren't you?" asked Rushton.  "Didn't Peep #1 just kill a bunch of nip seeds?  Are you really going to get her MORE seeds to kill?  Or have you deluded yourself into thinking that THESE ones, she'll manage to grow?"

I just finished explainin' all this stuff to Mason, and I'm not about to explain it all again.

MOUSES!

"Suit yourself," grumbled Rushton, "but I think you're being far too optimistic if you think the peep can learn how to grow catnip.  She has a track record, you know.  And it's not very good."  With that, Rushy turned and left the room.

Maybe I am bein' too optimistic...

Nah, that can't be right.  In fact, I don't think I'm bein' optimistic at all.  If I were bein' optimistic, I'd paw these seeds over to the peep when they arrived, thinkin' she could grow 'em herself.

Maybe what I'm bein' is pessimistic.  Maybe I'm bein' too pessimistic, thinkin' the peep is incapable of ever learnin' how to successfully grow the nip.

Nah, that can't be right, either.  As Rushy said, the peep has a track record.  And it's not very good.  MOUSES!

What I'm really bein' is...

I do believe...

I do believe that what I'm really bein' is a PRAGMATIST.

That's right.  I've accepted the reality of the peep's many failures, and I'm doin' somethin' about it.

MOUSES!