fly in my soup

Excusez moi mademoiselle, but there's a fly in my soup.

Okay, so it's not a fly.

Not soup, either.

And you, Missy, ain't no mademoiselle, for sure.

MOUSES!

We'll start again.

Excuse me Peepers, but there's a hair in my kibble.

Right there.

There.

THERE!

For mousin' out loud woman, ARE YOU BLIND?

Oh.  Heh-heh...  Uh...  Never mind.

MOUSES!

Okay, so the hair was actually fur, and it was kinda...

Well...

Orange.

MOUSES!

With spring just around the corner and the days gettin' longer, my fur IS shedding all over the place.  It's hard to keep track of it all, you know?  Hard to keep track of where I might be dropping said shed fur.  It's also hard to keep track of what might be my fur, and what might be some peep's hair.

Of course, in this particular case, the orange did kinda give it away.

I suppose.

Yeah okay, so it most definitely was orange fur in my kibble this morning, and not ol' Peeper's stupid ol' hair.

BUT HOW DO I KNOW SHE hasn't been shedding her hair, elsewhere?  Do the longer days of spring make peeps shed, too?  Inquirin' minds are gonna wanna know, for sure.

MOUSES!

And speaking of shedding, I, Seville the Cat, am NOT taking responsibility for the fur covering the peep's black jacket.  Nope.  No way.  No how.  I'm not the only cat living in this here house, you know.

Okay, so Rushy never really sheds and Mason doesn't like being picked up, so maybe I AM the only kitty with access to the jacket in question, but still...

But still, I'm not taking responsibility for the fur on that jacket on account of my knowing that the last time the peep took that jacket in to be cleaned - you know, to get rid of SOME kitty's fur - most of some kitty's fur wouldn't come off.

Yeah, I'm tellin' ya, it was like MISSION IMPOSSIBLE, the dry cleaner said.  Would make a good movie, I think.  If you're into that kinda thing.

MOUSES!

But anyway...

Now where was I?

Oh yeah.

Hey Peepers!  This strand of orange stuff might be fur and not hair, but it IS in my kibble, so...

So what are you gonna do about it, Peepers?  WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?  Enquirin' minds wanna know.


MOUSES!

way to go, bro

Dum de dum de dum de dummm...  Dum de dum de dooo...  Hmm, I think I'll spend some time in the living room this afternoon.  Maybe curl up with a good nip mouse or...

Who am I kidding?  ALL nip mice are good. MOUSES!

Well maybe not a nip mouse a fur-sib has slobbered all over.  Heck, I'm not even partial to nip mice I've slobbered all over, never mind someone else.  Always best to let your nip mice dry out between slobberings, I should think. MOUSES!

But back to the topic on paw.  I think I'll curl up with an unslobbered upon nip mouse and have a little nap in the living room this afternoon.  Ah yes, that sounds just about perf...

BOINNNGGGGG!!!!!

What?  What the mouses?  PEEPERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Peepers, what is the meaning of this?  Why is this living room door closed?  I banged into the closed door, bumping my head and everything.  Ouch, that hurt.  What is this insanity that is before me?  MOUSES!

What?  WHAT?  Are you kidding me?  Really?  REALLY?  Awww...  MOUSES!

Way to go, bro.  MOUSES!

As you may remember, my last blog post was about how unfair it was that whenever I get into mischief, I get caught on account of the shedding of my gorgeous ginger fur even though my two long-haired marmie brothers get away with almost everything on account of their lack of shedding of fur.  It's true, I shed you not.  Yeah, I wrote all about it on Sunday and entitled the post, "I shed you not," and everything.  MOUSES!

Anyway, as unfair as that may sound - AND IS, something even more unfair has happened and yes, this additional unfairness with which I have been plagued is due to a long-haired marmie feline brother, too.    Like I said earlier, way to go, bro.  MOUSES!

Apparently, Peep #2 was walking past the living room door and heard the unmistakable sound of claws on furniture and saw the unmistakable sight of a long-haired marmalade cat named Anderson, making that unmistakable sound on the furniture that resides in the living room.  As a result of these unmistakable sounds and sights, the living room has been placed off limits to cats.  MOUSES!

Truth be told, the living room is often off limits to us cats on account of...  well...  scratching and stuff but this year, we've had FREE ACCESS since before Christmas.  It's true!  Both living room doors have been left open since the Christmas tree went up in December and closed only briefly on Christmas Eve so that Santa could leave our prezzies without any of us getting in there and opening them all up before Christmas morning - which, by the way, is something most all of us would have done, given the chance. The Christmas tree is still...

Oh yeah, did I not mention that?  The Christmas tree is still up.  January 27th and it's still up.  Can you believe it?  Peep #1 said something about trying to get it down by Valentine's so she still has another couple of weeks.  MOUSES!

Anyway, like I was saying, we cats have had free access to the living room since before Christmas and let me tell you, we've been enjoying it a lot.  Until today.  Until today when Andy got caught scratching on the furniture and the doors were shut up tight.  Well tightly, but you get the picture, I am sure.  And, of course, that was why I bumped my head on one of those closed doors.  I never expected it to be closed or anything.  Why, it's been open since before Christmas!  MOUSES!

You know, just because you're a long-haired marmalade cat who can almost always get away with mischief-making on account of not leaving any evidence in the form of fur that has been shed because for some weird and wacky reason your fur never sheds, it doesn't mean you don't have to be careful.  It doesn't mean you can get all wild and willy and go on a furniture-scratching crime spree.  You still have to be careful not to actually be caught in the act of doing said mischief. Peeps don't need to look for trace evidence if you're caught in the act.  Peeps around here think nothing of using eye-witness testimony, especially when the eye witness testimony is coming from the peeps.  MOUSES!

And now, all because Anderson wasn't careful enough not to be caught committing his crimes, we're all locked out of the living room.  He did the crime and WE'RE ALL doing the time.

We will not, however, be doing said time in the living room.

Had that been the case, I wouldn't have minded one bit.  'Cept, of course, for this bump on my forehead on account of my slamming into that closed living room door.  Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark, for sure.  Luckily for me, my lovely short ginger fur covers it up quite
                                                                                       nicely.  MOUSES!

I shed you not

Some things in life just aren't fair.  MOUSES!

The other day, someone got into the peep's plants in the sunroom and by someone, I mean a someone with four paws. Yup, someone got right in there and knocked some stuff about.

Boy-oh-boy, the peep was annoyed.  "Who?  What? Why?"  All those words were used although not necessarily in that order and not necessarily alone.  Let's just say they were flavoured with a few mouses.  MOUSES!

"Who in the mouses?  What the mouses?  Why in the mouses?"  Stuff like that, you know?  Like I said, there were a lot of mouses.

Luckily for me, I was in the clear...  this time.  That's right, I was exonerated, to be sure, but this brings me to the what in my life that is so very unfair.

The thing is, I have been told that apparently, when I get into mischief about the house, I have a tendency to leave behind evidence.

Now you might be thinking along the lines of paw prints and stuff like that and to be perfectly honest, at times, that might be correct.  But unfortunately for me, sometimes, the peep doesn't have to get out her paw print identification gear and...

Not that the peep actually has paw print identification gear or anything high-tech like that.  Woman doesn't even have a magnifying glass or working flashlight that I know of.  You see, when it comes to really important investigative work around the house, that kind of stuff is usually left up to me. MOUSES!

Anyway, as I was saying, when the mischief occurred, the peep started sniffing about.

Not that the peep has a good sniffer like a crime-sniffing dog's sniffer or anything like that.  Oh sure, she has a nose.  It's sitting right there in the middle of her face.  Yeah, she has a nose all right but seriously, it's not up to snuff when it comes to sniffing out clues.  Not like mine, which by the way, is not a dog's sniffer at all but rather, a cat's, which is just as good if not better than a dog's, although you have to admit, it is a whole lot cuter.

Perhaps I should mention that we cats aren't as likely as dogs to volunteer for sniffing out crime but it's not because we can't.  It's just because we don't wanna.  MOUSES!

And to be perfectly honest, we cats are more likely to be perpetrating than solving the crimes, if you know what I mean.

And you know what they say.  They say, if you can't do the time, don't do the crime.

Wait a minute.  Maybe that's not the best of sayings to be using for this particular blog post.  MOUSES!

Not that I was doing any crime... THIS TIME.  MOUSES!

Anyway, as I was saying...

What was I saying?

Oh yeah, some plants were knocked about in the sunroom and the peep went straight into investigative mode, such as she can, which isn't all that great but she tried her best anyway.

Well it turned out to be Rushy.  Yup, Rushy did the crime although Rushy did not have to do any time on account of the peep forgiving him and stuff.  MOUSES!

Now you might be thinking that this is what is unfair when it comes to my life.  That my brother Rushton got caught red-pawed, or rather ginger-pawed as he's a marmalade cat, and got away with it.  And that is kind of unfair although I'm sure Rushy would disagree.  But that's not it.  What is really unfair is this.  Rushy got caught because he left a clump of ginger-coloured fur on one of the sticks sticking out, holding up one of the plants he had been knocking about.

No, scratch that.  What is REALLY unfair is that although - this time - Rushy left a clump of ginger-coloured fur as evidence, usually, he does not.  Usually he gets away with his crimes, scot free. MOUSES!

Nah, scratch that, too.  What is REALLY AND TRULY unfair is that when I do the crime, I do have to do the time because I, Seville the Cat, never get away scot free.  That's on account of the evidence I tend to leave behind.

The thing is, I shed.  That's right, I shed you not!  I, Seville the Cat, am a shedder.

Can't help myself, really.  Everywhere I go, I leave behind what we investigative cats call, trace evidence.  Yup, traces of evidence that look suspiciously like ginger-coloured fur.  MOUSES!

Now I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that if Rushy is ginger-coloured and I'm ginger-coloured, how can the peep tell the ginger-coloured trace evidence fur is mine?  Well the thing is, my ginger fur is short and Rushy's is long and that, my friends, is apparently all it takes.

What's more, although Rushy did leave behind a clump of his fur the other day, that was quite unusual for my brother to do.  Typically, the boy never sheds!  Same thing with Anderson, too. Those long-haired marmies may get their fur tangled up at times, even getting it into mats and stuff, but they almost never, ever shed!  MOUSES!

I, on the other paw, shed like it's going out of style.  I can't brush up against a wall or a piece of furniture or a plant or a peep without shedding and leaving my lovely ginger fur behind.  My gosh, I breath and I shed.  This is why, my friends, the peep always knows where I have been.  MOUSES!

Now this is what is so terribly unfair.  Under normal circumstances, those two long-haired marmie boys can get up to all sorts of hijinks and mischief without ever being caught but I do one little thing that I shouldn't be doing and all mouses break out.

Seriously, I've seen mouses breaking out of their houses and everything.

Of course I mean mice but mice doesn't rhyme with houses so I'm taking some artistic licence and hoping none of you mind.

Anyway, like I was saying...  I CAN'T GET AWAY WITH ANYTHING!  I can't but those two long-haired marmies sure can and that, my friends, is what is so unfair.

Mason has suggested I shave off my fur so as not to leave trace evidence behind but seriously, I am not into that look and besides, it's winter and this is Canada and...

What am I saying?  I don't care what time of year it is or about the weather, shaving my fur is simply not on the agenda.

Bottom line is, I can't help myself and I shed and therefore, get caught doing hijinks and mischief and stuff but those two brothers of mine?  They can get away with anything.  It's simply not fair.  Unfair as unfair can be.  It's...  It's...  It's MOUSES! it is.  Mouses to a tee.

not takin' the blame for this one

I just want the world to know, right here and right now...  I am not takin' the blame for this one. MOUSES!

Christmas is right around the corner so you can imagine what Ol' Peepers is up to.  She's up to her elbows in yarn, she is. That's right, Peep #1 has been playin' with yarn. Sure, she calls it knittin' but we all know the truth. She's playin' with the stuff and what's more, she doesn't appear to be sharin', either.  Every time I try to help, she refuses my assistance.

So I get a little slobber on the yarn.  What's a little slobber amongst family and friends?  MOUSES!

What's that, Peepers?  You don't like knittin' whatever you're knittin' when all of a sudden you come across a section of the yarn that's all covered in slobber?  What can I say, Peepers?  Love me, love my slobber.  Besides, we all know you're just playin' with that yarn, anyway.

Someone should tell the peep that it's not nice to hog all the toys.  She ought to learn how to share.

Now before anyone gets their knickers all twisted, my peeps do know that allowin' cats to play with yarn, unsupervised, is a very dangerous practise.  Cats can eat the yarn and it gets all tangled up in their intestines and whatnot and causes all sorts of problems that may require surgery and can, in fact, cause death.  Peeps should never leave yarn lyin' about.  Never.  Not ever.  Not under any circumstances.

But I don't wanna eat the yarn.  I just want to play with it and I'm willin' to do it under the peep's supervision.  I really just wanna slobber over the part of the yarn that's movin' on account of the peep's knittin'.  Knittin'...  playin'...  whatever.  Apparently, I'm not even allowed to do that.  Like I said, the peep isn't sharin' her toys.  She's a toy hog, for sure.  MOUSES!

And speakin' of twisted knickers...  I, of course, don't wear underwear on account of my bein' a cat so I have no knickers to twist.

As as a short-haired cat, my fur doesn't even resemble knickers but I can't say the same for Tess, Rushton and Anderson.  Those long-haired fur-sibs of mine look like they're wearin' knickers, for sure.  Knickers...  bloomers...  whatever.  The fur on their back legs is all poofy and whatnot and sometimes, it even gets twisted.  Yup, they can get the mats if they don't allow Peep #1 to comb 'em.  Happens with long-haired cats, you see.

And Tess...  What can I say 'bout my sister Tess?  Tess, bein' Tess, gets her knickers twisted all the time.  Sometimes with mats but mostly on account of her grumpy personality which surfaces whenever Peep #1 wants to comb her.  Actually, the grumpiness doesn't really surface.  It's pretty much there all the time.  Just gets worse when the peep wants to comb her or somethin' like that. Peep loves her anyway, grumps and growls and all.

But I digress.  Back to the yarn and the peep's inability to share her toys.  MOUSES!

So Peep #1 has been doin' some knittin', gettin' ready for Christmas and whatnot.  She does this sort of thing every year 'bout this time.  Mainly, she makes things like nip mice on account of her part-time elfin' job for Santa.  She knits up the mice and stuffs 'em with nip.  Then Rudolf picks 'em up for transport to the North Pole where the elves wrap the nip mice so that Santa can deliver 'em back to us for Christmas.  Yes, it's true.  Santa Clause uses out-sourcing.  MOUSES!

Seems like a lot of extra transportation and whatnot, if you ask me.  I mean, those nip mice are made at my house but have to go all the way to the North Pole for repackaging before bein' brought back to me. But I guess if you're usin' flyin' reindeer who will fly for carrots and cookies, transportation costs are pretty cheap.  At least, that's what I'm assuming.

Anywho...  Peep #1 has been elfin'.  Yup, she has been knittin' up the ol' nip mice.  But then the other day, she started knittin' somethin' else.  No way, no how, was this new thing gonna be a nip mouse.  Far too big for your standard nip mouse plus, it was filled with holes.  The peep says it's lace but let's be real here and call it what it is.  I, Nerissa the Cat, am willin' to call a spade a spade and, in this case, call a hole a hole.  The whole thing is covered in holes! She must have dropped some stitches or somethin'.

Yes, I know about stitches.  I know all about how when a I jump on Peep #1's lap when she's playin' with her yarn, she tells me I'm makin' her drop her stitches.  Better stitches than britches is all I've gotta say.

But back to the piece of knittin' with all the holes.  Once cannot stuff a nip mouse with nip if said nip mouse is filled with holes on account of all the nip falling out of those holes.  A nip mouse without any nip is simply a mouse.  Simply a knitted. fake mouse with no nip.  Not good.  Not good at all. Not good for anythin' except, perhaps, sendin' the peep off on a reconnaissance mission to find all those lost stitches that fell through all those holes.  Any nip that fell out, I'll take care of myself. MOUSES!

The peep says what she's kittin' is some kind of scarf or somethin'.  Personally, I'm still goin' with failed nip mouse but whatever...

So the scarfy thing that's covered in holes was bein' worked on last night when suddenly, Peep #1 cried out, "MOUSES!"  Yup, that's exactly what she said.  She was havin' a mouses moment for sure.

Apparently, knitted into the butter yellow scarfy thing, was a strand of hair.

Now I should just point out that butter yellow yarn does not taste like butter.  I know this to be fact 'cause I slobbered over a bit of said yarn when the peep wasn't lookin'.  Had to do it.  Had to be sure the peep wasn't playin' with butter.

But back to the scarf and the peep's cry of distress.  Knitted into the scarfy thing, was a strand of long, brown hair.  I immediately recognised the hair in question and said, "Way to go, Peepers. You're sheddin'."

Now truth be told, I have been known to get my fur on stuff around the house and some of that stuff has been Peep #1's knittin'.  Every now and then, the peep will come across a sterling silver - some say platinum - hair that is clearly one of mine.  What can I say?  Love me, love my fur.  I say it to the peeps, all the time.

But this particular hair that was knitted into the knittin' was not sterling silver like my fur.  It was brown.  Just plain ol' brown with a touch of gold.  The colour was all wrong to be one of mine.  Plus, it was way too long.  It was even too long to belong to one of my long-haired sibs with the knickers.

Yes, this hair clearly belonged to my first peep.  Colour and length were both a match. Obviously, Ol' Peepers here is sheddin'.  Hope she doesn't shed too much 'cause let me tell you, the bald look would not be a good look on her, at all.

So the peep had to get out the teeny-tiny scissors and some tweezers and do some finicky kind of stuff to get rid of that ol' hair, knitted in with the yarn.  Did you know that doin' delicate, finicky stuff like that causes peeps to use language unbecoming of peeps?  Suffice it to say, it does.

I sat and watched the peep workin' with the tiny scissors and the tweezers.  She was obviously in need of some supervision.  I suggested that while she was at it, perhaps she could locate the missing stitches and patch up some of those holes so that the scarfy thing could, in fact, be used to hold nip.  My suggestions were ignored.


I also made a point of pointing out that the hair causin' all the peep's troubles was not mine.  No way, no how, was I was takin' the blame for this one.  It's true, I might be partially responsible for the vacuum coughin' up a hairball or two but this particular hair came from the head of none other than the first peep.

Does undue stress cause peeps to shed?  Hmmm...  If so, I actually might be more responsible for the hair in question than originally thought....

MOUSES!