you're late

You're a day late and a dollar short there, Peepers.  MOUSES!

Okay, so maybe you're not a whole day late.  Maybe it's just an hour.

And maybe you weren't even missin' that dollar, 'cause honestly, I bet you didn't even know I had taken it.

But...

But mouses, woman!  I NEED MY BREKKIES, AND I NEED MY BREKKIES, NOW.

So anyway...

So anyway, sometime durin' the night, all the clocks in Nova Scotia got together and decided to spring forward, or somethin' like that, due to the savin' of' daylight.

Their plan, however, was not without its flaws.  MOUSES!

First of all, Peep #1's clock went on strike.  It didn't even strike on the hour.  Or maybe it never joined the union in the first place.

Hmmm...

Or maybe, the peep never bothered to change it to its new time.  MOUSES!

Secondly - and more importantly - MY clock was fully expectin' the peep's clock to have been reset.

So this mornin', I awoke at my usual time, which - of course - was an hour earlier than normal, on account of my internal tummy clock tellin' me we had entered daylight savings time.  I then trotted down to the kitchen and made myself comfy, while waitin' for the peep to come downstairs to wait upon me.

Well there I sat.

That's where I waited.

That's where I sat and I waited, both at the same time.  You see, multi-taskin' is a speciality of mine.

A WHOLE. HOUR. LATER...

Okay, so maybe it was more like ten minutes.  But ten minutes to a cat is a very long time.  MOUSES!

"Are you hungry?" I asked my tummy.  "Are you ready for brekkies?  Is it not brekkie time, already?"

My tummy, being incredibly wise, answered with a resounding, "YES!"

"I think I should go check on the peep to see if she's up," I said to myself.

And my tummy, agreed.

So off I went to check on the peep.

"Mouses, woman, are you not up yet?"

"It's still early," she said, rolling over and fallin' back to sleep.

"IT'S MORNIN'!" I yelled in her ear, which was easy to do as by this time, I was up on the bed, preparing to smacky-paw ol' Peepers if smacky-pawin' was needed.

"IT'S STILL EARLY," she repeated once more.

"IT'S BREKKIE TIME!" I cried, pointing to the clock on the nightstand.  "Okay, so that clock says otherwise, but my tummy and I know it's wrong."

"Seville," she began, "it's only seven, and it's Sunday morning.  I KNOW the clocks were moved forward last night, but it's still FEELS like seven to you and me."

"Speak for yourself, Peepers, for you do not speak for my tummy and me."

The only thing different is the time on the clock, Seville."

"Peepers, that makes absolutely no sense.  MOUSES!"

"THAT'S because it's seven in the morning.  It's too early for things to make sense."

Well I sat back on my haunches, wondering what I should do next.  Clearly, I had a senseless peep on my paws, and the best way to deal with senseless peeps, is by initiatin' what one calls...

SMACKY-PAW TIME!

Well let's just say, that didn't go quite how I had planned.

MOUSES!

Although...

Although truth be told, the peep did get up.

A little grumpy, perhaps, but hey!  I got my brekkies, and is that not what matters the most?

MOUSES!

the door

"Woe is me.  I'm always on the wrong side of the door."

You can say that again, Andy.

"I'm always on the wrong side of the door."

Oh for mousin' out loud.  When I said, you can say that again, I didn't mean for you to take me quite so literally, and actually say it again.

MOUSES!

And quit sighing like that.  It's very unbecoming for a cat.

MOUSES!

"But you sigh all the time, Sivvers."

That's different.  That's me.  It's totally different, for sure.

But you know...

You know, there is some truth to what you're sayin', Andy.  We cats are always on the wrong side of the door, 'cause whatever side we're on, it always seems to be the opposite side of where we wanna be.  I think it's a law of nature or somethin'.  Or maybe it's physics.  Hmmm..  Nah, sounds more like geography, to me.

And now that I think about it, it's a lot like a time travellin' paradox, where you can't change the past without changin' the future, thereby no longer allowin' you to change the past, on account of the newly changed future no longer givin' you the ability to travel into the past to change it.

Well it's kinda like that, anyway.  'Cept without the time travel stuff, of course.

I believe it may be called, The Wrong Side of the Door Paradox.

MOUSES!

Andy, don't look at me like that.  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' that I, Seville the Cat, am just makin' stuff up.  Makin' stuff up off the top of my head, and..

Hmmm...

Actually, you might be right about that, 'cause you know, I do make up a lot of stuff.

I MEAN, INVENT.

I mean, I do invent a lot of things. I discover a lot of stuff, too.

Why, just the other day...

Uh...  Never mind.

MOUSES!

"But Seville..."

What?  What do you want now?

And I thought I told you to stop lookin' at me, Andy.  Stop lookin' at me like that!

Anderson, if you wanna stare at me, you can stare at me with wonderment or adoration or anythin' similar to those things, but do not - and I repeat, DO NOT - stare at me like that.

It's very unbecoming, you see.

At least it is to me.

MOUSES!

AND STOP SIGHING!  I thought I told you to stop sighin', before.

By the way, Andy, why is it that you're sighin', anyway?  You still upset 'bout bein' on the wrong side of the door?  'Cause there's really no point in bein' upset about the Wrong Side of the Door Paradox.  Nothin' we cats can do 'bout the existence of a paradox.  Nothin' at all!

Hmmm...

Andy, how come you wanna be on the other side of the door so badly?

"I don't know.  I just do.  I just really, REALLY do."

Then ask the peep to open the door for you and let you outside.

"But there's snow outside, Sivvers."

Then stay in.

"But I want to go out."

Then go out!  Seriously Andy, it's not all that complicated, you know.  Either you stay inside, on THIS side of the door, or you go outside where you'll be on THAT side of the door.  It's not complicated, at all.

"But Seville, if I stay on this side of the door, I'll be inside when I want to be out.  But if I go outside, I will be on the other side of the door which is where I want to be right now, but I'll also be out in the snow.  And I don't want to be out in the snow.  And since I don't want to be outside in the snow, technically, I'll be on the wrong side of the door.  But by staying inside, I'm on the wrong side of the door, too."

"Seville...  Do you think it's possible there could be three sides to a door?"

Yes, Andy.  Yes, I do.  I do believe there could be three sides to that particular door.

"You do?"

Oh yeah.  There's the side of the door we're lookin' at right now.  The inside side of the door.  And there's the outside side of the door, too.  That's two sides, right?  Then there's the third side of that very same door.  The third side is the side that's gonna hit you on your backside if you keep sighing 'bout bein' on the wrong side of the door.

MOUSES!

"I don't think I like that third side of the door, Seville.  I think I might just stay inside, on this side of the door."

Well I'm glad we got that sorted.

"Even if it is THE WRONG side of the door, and..."

"OUCH!  What did you do that for, Seville?"

Oh, I don't know, Andy.  Sometimes a cat has just gotta smacky paw his brother, you see.  I think it's a law of nature or somethin'.  Or maybe it's physics.  Hmmm...  Nah, sounds more like sociology, to me.

MOUSES!

right in the keister

So there I was sittin' in the kitchen, waitin' for some treats, when...

When I happened to see my brother, Rushton, walkin' past my other brother, Andy.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', what's the big deal about that?

Well...

Well for starters, when Rushton walked past Andy, Andy gave him a smacky paw, right in the keister.

MOUSES!

Now seriously folks, I wouldn't be puttin' my paws anywhere near that long-haired marmie freak of a brother of mine's keister, for one never really knows where his keister may have recently been.

MOUSES!

But Andy, bein' Andy, can't resist smacky-pawin' anyone as they walk past.  Sometimes he gets you in the leg.  Sometimes the side.  And SOMETIMES, the keister.

MOUSES!

Well the next thing was, Rushy was rushin' over to me, complainin' about Andy.  "Did you see that?  Did you see what he did?  Did you see..."

I held up a paw in protest.  In protest of my havin' to listen to his complaints, that is.  "I, Seville the Cat, saw exactly what Anderson did," I told him.  "But to tell you the truth, Rushy, what one long-haired marmie freak of a brother does to another long-haired marmie freak of a brother, is of no interest to me.  MOUSES!"

"But, but, but..." Rushy began.

"But he got you in the BUTT, for sure," and I rolled on the floor, laughin'.

Seein' a pout beginnin' to form on my brother Rushton's face, I added, "But seriously, Rushy, it's not like you don't have protective paddin'.  Andy couldn't have hurt you.  I'm surprised you felt it at all.  MOUSES!"

'Is that some kind of fat joke?" Rushton asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Not at all, mon frere.  I am simply statin' the truth.  You have...  Well...  Well you have ample paddin', to be sure.  MOUSES!"

"Peep #1 says I'm just big boned," said Rushy, stampin' a paw.  "Plus, I do have a whole lot of floof."

I shook my head in dismay.  "Rushy, Rushy, Rushy...  You weigh in at twenty pounds.  There's no way that can all be accounted for by floof.  MOUSES!"

Rushton sat on his butt - or should I say, keister - and gave me the look a two-year-old child gives his mother immediately prior to startin' a tantrum.  "Don't complain to me," I told my long-haired marmie freak of a brother.  "Not my fault Andy can't keep his paws to himself.  Had I walked past him, he woulda smacky-pawed me in the keister, too.  MOUSES!"





Rushton looked slightly cheered up by my little pep talk, so I continued.

"Of course, I woulda felt it more, for my keister isn't as well padded as yours.  MOUSES!"

Well that did it.  No sooner had I uttered that last statement, Rushy was up and about, threatenin' to smacky-paw ME!"

"Don't you get any ideas, you long-haired marmie freak of a brother of mine.  I'm not the one who smacked you in the butt.  You wanna get back at someone for that, you need to get back at the smacky-pawer himself, and that, mon bizarre confiture frere, would be Andy.   MOUSES!"

Rushton sat back down for a moment, and mulled over what I had said.

Twenty. Minutes. Later...

Twenty minutes later, he had figured it out.  "You're absolutely right, Seville.  If I wanna get back at Andy for smackin' me, I need to deal with Andy himself."

"You got that right."

"I most certainly do!  And do you know what I'm gonna do about it?" my brother asked.

Takin' a wild guess, I said, "Uh...  Go talk to Andy, perhaps?"

"That's an even BETTER idea than what I was thinkin'," and Rushton squealed with delight.

Goodness knows what Rushy's original idea had been.  MOUSES!

I looked at my brother, just sittin' there, not makin' a move.  "Well uh...  If you're gonna go talk to Andy, you're gonna have to get up off that butt of yours, and approach him."


"Good plan there, Sivvers," and Rushy was up and crossin' the room.

Now what happened next was not unexpected.  Certainly not surprisin', in the least.

Rushton decided it would be best for him to talk to Andy, face to face, I suppose.  And as Andy had his back to Rushy, Rushy walked past him, plannin' to spin 'round in order to talk, but...

But just as Rushy walked past...

Andy smacky-pawed him right in the keister.

MOUSES!

off on the wrong paw

Talk about gettin' off on the wrong paw.

I mean, foot.

No, I think I mean paw.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, I bet you're all wonderin' what the peep did.

THIS time.

MOUSES!

Where do I begin.

It all began yesterday afternoon...

What?  What's that you're sayin', Peepers?

You were tired, you say?  Tired?  Tired as in, tired?  Mouses woman, you had no reason to be tired.  I, on the other paw, had EVERY reason to be tired.  I missed one of my half dozen naps yesterday mornin', you know.  And missin' a nap affects me so.  Why, it's a wonder I wasn't goin' around, randomly smacky pawin' you, and my fursibs, and...

Oh yeah.  I did do that, didn't I.

MOUSES!

But you have to admit, Peepers, it's a wonder I wasn't doin' it more.

MOUSES!

Now where was I?  Oh yeah, yesterday afternoon, Peep #1 was all gettin' in my face and everythin', sayin' stuff like, "I thought I told you not to do that."

So I asked, "Do what?"

And she said, "Do that."

And then I said, "What was that, again?"

Now I, of course, meant what was that, that she was talkin' about.  What was it I wasn't supposed to do.

But she thought I meant, I hadn't heard what she was sayin'.

And technically, I hadn't heard what she was sayin'.

Well I did hear her then.  I did hear her when she was sayin' I wasn't supposed to be doin' somethin'.  But I didn't hear her before, when she was tellin' me what it was I wasn't supposed to be doin'.

You know, on account of my havin' better ways to spend my time than listenin' to Peep #1 babble, 'bout goodness knows what she babbles about, on account of her constantly babblin' about nothin' even worthy of babbling.

So again I had to ask, "Peepers, what is it you do you not want me to do?"

And you can imagine my response when she answered with, "That."

Well like I said, you can imagine.  But guess what, I'm not gonna tell you.  At least I'm not gonna tell you word for word.  Nope, no sirree.  I'm not gonna tell you, on account of this here bein' a family-friendly blog, and my response was simply not family-friendly, at all.

MOUSES!

Suffice it to say, the peep thought I was bein' cheeky.  I wasn't bein' cheeky!  I really was askin' her what I wasn't supposed to be doin'.  Seriously, my friends, I had no idea.  I HAD NO IDEA.  Not even a clue.

So anyway...

So anyway, it was very clear to me, we were gettin' nowhere with our stupid ol' conversation, and I very helpfully told her so.  And then I suggested, she give it a break.

Well that didn't go over too well.

MOUSES!

So that's when I said, "Peepers, our stupid little ol' conversation, here, clearly got off on the wrong paw."

And things just went downhill from there.

But I, Seville the Cat, never one to go around givin' up on things, sat back on my haunches, looked up at the peep in the nicest way I could possibly muster after havin' missed one of my half dozen naps that mornin' - and therefore bein' understandingly, extremely tired - and I asked, "Peepers, are you havin' a bad day?"

The peep, bein' a peep, just looked at me in a weird kinda way.

So I looked right back at her, as weirdly as I possibly could - which is difficult for me to do on account of my bein' so dashingly handsome, and simply not inclined to look weird even when I try.  But I did my best.  My best to look weird, I mean, as difficult as it was for me to do.

Basically, I did my imitation of Andy when his upper lip gets caught on his lower fang, and it looks like he's sneering.

Problem was, it was me, not Andy.  Gosh darn it.  Even when sneering, I STILL look cute.  I wasn't lookin' weird at all.  Instead of weird, I was downright adorable.  As usual.

Then the peep, bein' a peep, looked like she was gettin' distracted, and she started walkin' away.  Can you believe it?  Walking away from me.  From me, Seville the Cat.  And in mid-conversation, no less.

So to get her attention, I smacky pawed her right in the back of the leg.  No claws, of course.  Just a paw, in a friendly, smacky kinda way.

Well she spun right 'round and said, "Seville, I thought I told you not to do that."

"You don't want me to smacky paw you on the leg?" I innocently asked.  "That's what you don't want me to do?  Well why didn't you say so in the first place, woman?"

MOUSES!

the retraction

OH MY MOUSES!  Get a grip woman, would ya? You'd think you were one of those Real Housewives of Beverly Hills or somethin'.  Now those women have REAL troubles, for sure. MOUSES!

I mean, if you can bicker over somethin' someone once did to you ages and ages ago -  for an entire evenin' - whatever that somethin' someone once did, it must have been pretty moused up, if you ask me.  MOUSES!

And speakin' of moused-up troubles, have you met my long-haired marmie brothers?

You know, I should have my own television show.  One of my very own.  Seriously, I should, 'cause I can bicker with the best of 'em, for sure.

I can do a pretty good smacky paw, too.

And speakin' of smacky-paws, have you met my long-haired marmie brothers?

Why just the other day, one of those long-haired marmie brothers of mine...

What's that, Andy?  Oh yeah...  You're right.  Sorry 'bout that.

Hey, what can I say?  Even a broken clock is right at least once a day.

But by broken clocks, I am not talkin' about me.  No sirree.  Nothing 'bout me is broken. MOUSES!

However, I will retract my last statement.  Yup, I will make a full retraction, forthwith.

Regardin' my insinuation that recent smacky-paw events occurring at my house involved my long-haired marmie brothers...  Well, they didn't.  I am hereby retractin' that statement, and issuing an apology to both Anderson and Rushton.  As I was reminded, about five minutes ago, said smacky-paw events were actually between myself and my sister Mason.  MOUSES!

What are you blatherin' on about now, Andy?  I apologised.  Are you satisfied with nothin'?

Nope, that there retraction on my blog is gonna have to do it.  It's not like I tweeted out the mistake to all and sundry on Twitter.  MOUSES!

Sundry.  Sundry.

It's an alternative spellin' for Sunday.

Kinda.  Sort of.  Okay, maybe not.  MOUSES!

Now where was I?

Oh yeah, I was talkin' about the smacky-paws.  The other day, I smacked my sister Mason real good, for sure.

Darn it.  I need to print another retraction.

Regardin' my last statement, what I should have said was, I smacked my sister Mason really well, for sure.

Whew!  That was close.  I could already hear the Grammar Police sirens off in the distance.

But back to those smacky-paws.  SHE STARTED IT!!!  'Nough said.  MOUSES!

What's that, Andy?  Why did Mason smacky-paw me in the first place, you ask?

Well...  Uh...  Actually...

Actually, I kinda think she was smackin' me back.

Pardon me, Andy?  Why did I smacky-paw Mason, causin' her to smacky-paw me back, you ask?

Well...  Uh...  Actually...

Let me get back to you 'bout that.

Oh yeah!  NOW I remember.  Mason made a comment 'bout me that I didn't like.  She did. Something 'bout my LORDIN' MY BLOG over the rest of you cats.  So I smacked her real good, for sure.

MOUSES!  Again, I meant, I smacked her really well, for sure.

That's better.  Another close call with those darned Grammar Police.  Next thing I know, I'll have the Merriam-Webster Dictionary on my tail.  MOUSES!

Say that again, Andy?  What does my lordin' my blog over the rest of you cats mean, you ask?

Well...  You know how I...

Um...  Never mind.  You don't need to know 'bout that.

But now that I think about it, I don't think Mason was the one who came up with the comment 'bout my lordin' my blog over the rest of you cats.  Truth be told, I think she was just repeatin' somethin' someone else said.  Somethin' someone with long-haired marmie-coloured fur said.

SMACK!!!

But on the other paw, now that I think about it a little more, maybe Mason was actually repeatin' somethin' the peep said.  Yeah, that was it.  Mason told me she heard Peep #1 say' somethin' about my lordin' my blog over the rest of you cats.

Hmmm...  But I can't smack a peep. That would be like bitin' the paw that feeds you and all that.  But I'm really, really, REALLY feelin' the urge to give someone a right good smack.   HMMM...

SMACK!!!

Sorry 'bout that Andy.  That was an alternative smack.  MOUSES!

I am cat

I am cat.  Hear me roar.

Okay, so I'm not really into the roarin'.  I do do an occasional growl, but my growlin' is not nearly as scary as that look I sometimes give.  You know the one.  The one that says, "BACK OFF OR I'LL SMACKY-PAW YOU IN THE KEISTER."

Okay, so I've never really smacky-pawed anyone in the keister.  Between the ears? Oh yeah.  But never in the keister, for sure, 'cause let me tell you somethin', if you smacky-paw another kitty in the keister, that other kitty might lift his or her tail and...

'Nough said.  MOUSES!

Hmmm...

You're probably all wonderin' what on earth this blog post is about.  To tell you the truth, I'm beginnin' to wonder that myself. MOUSES!

HMMM...

Okay, so here's the thing.  Sometimes a kitty has simply got to speak up.  Yup, it's true.  Whether you're speakin' up by meowin' or roarin' or smacky-pawin' another kitty between the ears, there are times when you've just gotta stand up for yourself and speak.

Why just the other day...

Just the other day, I saw my brother Rushton slinkin' into the family room while I was tryin' to nap on the chesterfield.

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', Rushton doesn't slink, and let me tell you somethin', my friends, never have truer words been said.  MOUSES!

What's that Rushy?  You do slink?  You think you are, in fact, slinky?  Really?  REALLY?  You think all twenty pounds or so of you, and that mountainous mountain of fur, can slink?  REALLY?  Maybe some alternative form of slinking, in some alternative universe, but in the real world?  Never. MOUSES!

So like I was sayin'...

The other day, I saw my brother Rusthon attemptin' to slink into the family room, while I was supposedly attemptin'' to nap on the chesterfield.  The reason I was only attemptin' to nap, and not actually nappin', was 'cause at the very same time, I was also attemptin' to protect the half-filled saucer of my special-special, lyin' on the family room floor.

Just to clarify, it was the saucer that was lyin' on the floor.  I, myself, was up on the chesterfield.

But back to the topic at paw.  Peep #1, bein' a pretty good peep for the most part, had allowed me to have some of my special-special in the family room that day.  You know, in order to save me the effort of havin' to walk all the way into the kitchen.

But here's the thing, it was really a set-up.

You see, my special-special has been goin' missin' as of late.  That's right, MISSIN'.  Missin' as in, one moment it's there, and the next?  Gone.  MOUSES!

But before callin' in the RCMP and CSIS to investigate, I thought I should do a little sniffin' around, myself.

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', a case involvin' missin' special-special is far too big a case for one cat to handle himself.

Well that, my friends, is why I enlisted the help of the peep.

That's right.  While the rest of the world thought I was simply tryin' to have a little nap on the family room chesterfield, I was really...

ON A STAKEOUT.  MOUSES!

From my vantage point on the chesterfield, I could see both my saucer of special-special and the family room door.  All I had to do was keep my eyes open which, by the way, turns out to be very difficult to do, while at the same time as tryin' to look like you're nappin'.  MOUSES!

But have no fear, my friends.  I, Seville the Cat, am a professional, and I was able to handle the task at hand.  I mean, paw.  No, I think I mean hand.  MOUSES!

So anyway, there he was.  There was that brother of mine, slinkin' - as only a Rushton can do without actually slinkin' - his way into the family room.  With every step he took, he got closer and closer AND CLOSER until eventually, he was within a paw's reach of my saucer of special-special.

And just as he was about to dive in and grab a mouthful of my special kibble the peep gets from the doctor, meant only for kitties who have had bouts with the crystals...

I POUNCED!

That's right.  I pounced like no other kitty has pounced before.  Never before have you seen a kitty doin' the Kung Fu and Karate Kid moves like I did that day.  IT WAS SMACKY-PAW MANIA, FOR SURE.

Of course, my paws hit nothin' but fur.  Thick, mountainous mountains of fur.  That's the thing with brothers like Rushton.  They're well padded, for sure.  MOUSES!

But let me tell you somethin', my friends.  Mountains of fur or not, it's gonna be a cold day in you-know-where before Rushy tries to steal my special-special again.  Oh yeah, there are gonna be pigs flyin' and everythin' and..

And...

What's that, Peepers?

WHAT?

Rushton is snackin' on my special-special right now?  At this very moment?  Really?

Awww...  MOUSES!

and your point is?

And your point is?

Mouses woman.  Can't a cat cough up a little hairball in peace?

So anyway...

So anyway, does my tail look fat to you, Peepers? You think I should lose an ounce or two?

DON'T ANSWER THAT.

No Peepers, it was what one calls a rhetorical question.

What's that?  Oh.  Well...  A rhetorical question is a question that...

What do you mean you already know what rhetorical means?   Then why did you ask...?

Oh.  You were askin' how I knew what rhetorical meant.  Well, I know 'cause...

Mouses woman, of course I know!  I am a highly intelligent bloggin' kitty, after all.

In fact, I know lots of stuff.  I know lots and lots of stuff, to be sure.  Truth be told, I know stuff 'bout you.  Stuff you might not want spread all 'round the Internet, if you know what I mean.

So you might wanna quit with the insults while you're ahead.  MOUSES!

But back to my tail.

Actually, I think my tail is pretty much perfect.  Good thing, too, 'cause I really didn't want to consider goin' on a diet or anythin' like that.  We all know how much I enjoy my snacks.  MOUSES!

NO, I did not cough up that hairball 'cause of an eating disorder.  MOUSES!

Besides, it was only a little hairball.  Guess you've been combing my fur pretty well, as of late.  I'll give you that, Peepers.

Actually, you've been doin' a far better job of combin' my fur than you have of some other things.

What's that, Peepers?

I was just gonna tell everyone how for two days in a row, you plugged the toaster in, instead of the coffee maker, and then wondered why the coffee maker didn't make you any coffee.  Thing is, Peepers, the coffee maker runs on what we call ELECTRICITY, so if you don't plug it in, it doesn't work.  Not even if you turn it on.  It's really very simple.  Don't know why you didn't know 'bout that before.

What's that, Peepers?  WHAT?  MOUSES!

OH PUH-LEASE.  If I was gonna tell the world your most secret of secrets, I'd tell 'em better secrets than that.

Remember how...?

FINE.

Turns out I have a secret or two, too.  Secrets I might not want told.  And the peep knows all about 'em, for sure.  MOUSES!

BUT I REALLY WAS thinking 'bout developin' a bit of an exercise routine.  One for cats.  One for cats who think their tails might be lookin' a little...  You know... Fluffy.

Anyway, I heard on the television this mornin', how some peeps were exercising usin' some sort of combat sport kind of thing.  I wasn't payin' too much attention as at the time, I was enjoyin' a snack, so I'm really not sure what it was all about.  But combat sportin' sounds a lot like smacky paws to me.

So I thought about it for all of thirty seconds, and then I remembered the last time I got into the smacky paws with my sister, Mason.  And then I thought better of that.

Mason fights like a girl.

A girl with a mean left hook and an even meaner right one.  MOUSES!

So then I thought about doin' a variation on the whole Pokemon thing.  I know, I know...  Pokemon.

But my version doesn't require a smart phone or an app or anythin' like that.

In my version, you find a crowd of peeps, pick out the meanest, ugliest, toughest lookin' one in the group, POKE HIM, hurl out an insult or two, and then run.  Run really, really fast.  Faster than you've ever run before.  MOUSES!

That should burn off a calorie or two.  Enough to make a tail look a little less fluffy, if you know what I mean.

But since we cats aren't allowed out on the streets, cavorting with mean, ugly, tough-lookin' strangers, I thought better of that, too.

So I replaced the mean, tough lookin' mon - I mean, man - with a mean, tough lookin' dog.  Poke him and then run.

But I scratched that idea as well.  Sounded too dangerous to me.

Then..   Then I came up with the PERFECT idea.

Go into the family room and find my sister Mason.  Poke HER.  Tell her her grandma wears combat boots and then run like the dickens.  Run faster than the dickens.  Run faster than Charles Dickens ever ran!  Run faster than Charles Dickens ever dreamt of running 'cause truth be told, I actually don't know if Charles Dickens was a fast runner.  He might have been, but then he might not.  But I'm willin' to bet that at times, he dreamt of running really fast.  And I can ASSURE you, had he had my sister Mason on his tail, after he had implied Mason's grandma was workin' out of a cathouse or somethin', he would have been dreamin' of runnin' really fast.  Really, REALLY fast, for sure. 'Cause in case you didn't hear me before, Mason has the meanest left hook, ever, and an equally mean right one, to boot.

You don't ever wanna do the smacky paws with Mason and that, my friends, is for sure.  MOUSES!

on-line etiquette

OH.  MY.  MOUSES.   MOUSES!

Blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. And your point?

MY POINT WAS NOT...

Yes it was.

No it wasn't.

Yes it was.

No it wasn't.

Yes it was.

No it wasn't.

Yes it was.

No it wasn't.

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

FIVE.  HOURS.  LATER.  MOUSES!

Yes it was.

No it wasn't.

Yes it was.

OH MY MOUSES!   IT REALLY WASN'T.  MY POINT REALLY WASN'T THAT AT ALL.  I NEVER EVEN MENTIONED THAT BUT LET ME TELL YOU, I NOW HAVE A TOTALLY NEW POINT TO MAKE.  MOUSES!

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

Okay, so truth be told, the above Facebook conversation(s) actually ended after the very first yes it was, but that was only because Peep #1 had the good sense to walk away.  As for that other guy, I'm pretty sure he's still waiting to say, "YES IT WAS!"  You know, 'cause that's what guys like that say.  MOUSES!

Let me explain from the beginning.

This morning, Peep #1 made a comment on a friend's timeline and before she knew it, some guy she didn't even know was taggin' her and puttin' words in her mouth...

I mean that figuratively, of course.  There were no actual words bein' stuffed in the peep's mouth.

...and tellin' her what her point was, even though that was never her point at all, and she never even mentioned the stuff he was talking about and... and... and everything!  Can you believe it?  MOUSES!

But like I said, the peep had the good sense to simply walk away.  Yup, 'cause that's what you have to do in cases like this.  Just walk away.  MOUSES!

Of course, as a cat, I've never walked away from a fight in my life.  No sirree, I never walk away.  I give 'em the smacky paws, THEN RUN LIKE THE DICKENS.

I am, of course, not referring to Charles Dickens.  I have no idea whether he was a fast runner or not.

But being a cat who is not shy of smacky-pawing those who deserve a good smacky-paw, I took it upon myself to help out my peep.  Of course, smacky-pawing this guy on Facebook was never really an option on account of neither the peep nor I knowing where he lives - or how quickly he can run - so I decided to do a figurative smacky-pawing, for sure.

Well...  Best I could come up with was to report about the situation right here on my blog. MOUSES!

Now that that's done...

But I do want to add how VERY PROUD I am of Peep #1 to follow proper on-line etiquette and simply walk away, without continuing an argument on her pal's timeline, because even when you're right about something, picking fights on other peoples' timelines is just plain ol' rude, you know?  Of course you do.  MOUSES!

Had the peep not walked away, one thing might have led to another and then before anyone knew it, they'd be whippin' out their tails to see whose was the longest and...

GOTCHA!  HA-HA!  Peep #1 doesn't have a tail.  I have no idea 'bout that other guy though. MOUSES!

And thank goodness no one said what I was thinkin' one of 'em might say...

I know you are, but what am I?

Thankfully, nobody said that.  That would have been pretty childish, for sure.  MOUSES!

Peep #1 said instead, "He may be a friend of a friend, but he's definitely no friend of mine.  MOUSES!"

Yup, she said the mouses part and everything.

So that's what happened here at my house this morning.  I'm hoping we never hear back from that guy from Facebook again but if we do, I shall introduce Peep #1 to my pal, the delete and block manoeuvre.  The delete and block manoeuvre is a great manoeuvre, for sure.  MOUSES!

a little advice

Let me tell you something.  Unsolicited advice is rarely well received but if you're lucky, the cat on the receiving end won't give you any advice as to where to stick it. MOUSES!

Now first of all, I have to point something out.  Cats are always allowed to give peeps advice, unsolicited or not. Always.  That's right; it's a fact.  Cats are incredibly intelligent, you see, and quite frankly, peeps are lucky to get our advice for free. MOUSES!

But cats giving other cats advice?  Well that's an entirely different story.  Ever heard of smacky paws?

You know, peeps watch cats doing the smacky paw thing and usually believe the cats are arguing over territory - like the best napping spots and sunpuddles - or toys.  Or food.  Yeah, sometimes they'll think we're arguing over that last remaining treat.  But more often than not, one of the smacky pawing cats decided to offer the other smacky pawing cat some unsolicited advice and although we cats can dish it out, we can very rarely take it.  Thus, the event known as smacky paws, you see.

I remember once when I suggested to my sister Connie that she not slobber quite so much on the ol' nip toys.  I said it nicely.  I was only trying to help.  But what kind of response did I get?  What I got was a pawsmack upside of the head and and extra dose of slobber all over the nip toy in question.  MOUSES!

And if you think that's bad, you've obviously never witnessed the result of a peep foolishly attempting to give a cat any unsolicited advice.

What's that, Peepers?  You'd prefer if I didn't fling the kitty litter out of the box like that?  Sure thing, Peepers.  No probs.  I can fix that in a jiff.  Instead of flinging, I'll just tip this whole box over and do my business right there on the floor.  How's that for you, Peepers?  That work out okay?

Needless to say, a cat reacts to unsolicited advice in this way - once - and that cat will never have to deal with unsolicited advice again.  MOUSES!

But what about peeps giving other peeps unsolicited advice?  How well do you think that might turn out?

Well I can tell you the answer to that right here and now.  It doesn't.  Nope, doesn't work out well at all.  MOUSES!

Not being the free spirits that we cats are, peeps don't usually resort to the ol' smacky paw thing. It's too bad, really, as a few more smacky paw sessions might result in a little less stress in the general peep population.  Of course, it might also result in an even more heavily burdened judiciary system.  MOUSES!

So if the smacky paws are not on the table, what are?  What avenues do peeps have to deal with the givers of unsolicited advice?

Recently, my Peep #1 was on the receiving end of advice that was simply not solicited so let me tell you what advice I gave to her.

I knew she wouldn't go for the smacky paws idea so I didn't even suggest that one and instead, moved right on to the ol' trip and run.  It's an easy technique.  Just stick out a paw or tail in front of the advice-giving peep when they're walking and not looking and viola!  You'll have one tripped up peep on your paws for sure.

Of course, the beauty of this technique is that if you do it correctly, the peep who has been tripped can't prove you tripped 'em on purpose and therefore you'll never get any blame.  In fact, if you do it really well, they'll actually apologize to you for tripping over you.  Sometimes, they'll even give you extra treats!  It's genius, if I do say so myself.

Unfortunately, the ol' trip and run does have a downside.  Peeps aren't very bright, you see, and often fail to pick up on the nuances of the technique.  If they don't know - and can never figure out - that you tripped 'em on purpose, to punish them for their unsolicited advice, they'll never learn to stop giving said advice.  MOUSES!

Peep #1 didn't want to take that particular suggestion on account of something about tripping up peeps on purpose being kind of illegal.  Don't know what her problem is.  I trip up my peeps all the time.  Guess they just haven't clued in to this fact.  MOUSES!

My next suggestion was the do-what-they-suggest technique which works like a charm.  They give you a suggestion and you do it however, you do it so very well that they realize they should never have suggested the suggestion it in the first place.  They say jump and you don't ask how high.  No siree.  You simply jump.  You jump higher and farther than you've ever jumped before and hopefully, you'll land somewhere you shouldn't be landing and break something other than any of your own body parts and if you do this well, let me tell you, they'll never tell you to jump again.

Remember the peep's advice to not fling kitty litter out of the litter box?  'Nough said.  MOUSES!

Of course my peep, being the peep that she is, rejected this advice saying something about her not using a litter box.  She had no idea, whatsoever, that I was merely giving an example and as I'm assuming no one was giving her unsolicited advice on using a litter box, her answer for the do-what-they-suggest technique would not have involved kitty litter, at all.  What a peep.  MOUSES!

So after all that, my last piece of advice for the peep was to give 'em some advice right back however, as we all know, this last suggestion could lead to the Unsolicited Advice Paradox - or UAP, for short - which is a paradox that has been known to be paradoxically paradoxing.

The problem is this.  In order to give the giver of unsolicited advice, advice to not give unsolicited advice, one must, in fact, give unsolicited advice.  Do you see the problem that this can create?  It is a paradox of paradoxical proportions, for sure.

And the receiver - formerly giver - of the unsolicited advice almost never recognizes that he or she was originally in the wrong and will often accuse the giver - formerly receiver - of giving him or her advice that was unsolicited, and get all huffy and get all puffy and start fuming because even though they were able to give it, they can't take it at all.

Before you know it, no one remembers who was in the right and who was in the wrong because seriously, if you didn't like receiving unsolicited advice in the first place, should you, in fact, be giving any advice, at all?  And once the paradox fully takes hold, both parties think they're the injured ones. MOUSES!

So that brings me back to the ol' smacky paws.  Someone says something you don't like?  Give 'em a smacky paw.  Two minutes later, you can both go on your merry way with no grudges being held and no paradoxes created.

Either that or just yell at 'em but not in an advice-giving kind of way.  MOUSES!