peter piper

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peepers.

Scratch that.  There's no such thing as a pickled peep.

Unless, of course, said peep were to be high on the nip.

MOUSES!

Nope, I think it was peppers.  Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled PEPPERS.

Yup, that sounds way better, for sure.

MOUSES!

On the other paw...

On the other paw, what's a cat like me gonna do with a peck of pickled peppers?  A peep, pickled or not, is of far more use than peppers.  After all, peeps have opposeable thumbs whereas peppers don't have any thumbs, at all.

I don't think.

MOUSES!

But anyway...

But anyway, I don't know who this Peter guy is and I don't particularly care why he was pickin' some peppers.  In fact, like I implied earlier, I don't care 'bout peppers at all.  I don't even care 'bout the pots of peppers Peepers has growin'.  I mean, they're peepers!  What the mouses is a cat gonna do with peppers?  They're...  They're...  They're...  THEY'RE PEPPERS!

MOUSES!

But do you know what I do care about, my friends?  Do you know what I really, really care about a lot?

NIP.

Yup, I care very much about the nip.

MOUSES!

And speakin' of catnip...

And speakin' of catnip, I was out and about the other day, inspectin' my pots of the nip.  Checkin' in on 'em.  Makin' sure they were healthy.  Lookin' for signs of distress.  You know, that sorta thing.

And while I was checkin' on my pots of catnip, what did I find?

Well...

Well I found a certain butt-sized indentation right in the midst of one of my pots of the nip.

MOUSES!

My first thought was, of course, WHAT THE MOUSES WAS PEEPERS THINKIN', SITTIN' IN THE MIDST OF MY VERY PRECIOUS POTS OF THE NIP?  WHAT WAS SHE THINKIN'?  WAS SHE THINKIN' AT ALL?

But then I took a closer look at that indentation and thought to myself, no, that can't be right.  Peepers' butt is way bigger than that.

MOUSES!

And THEN I thought....

Well that's 'bout the time I thought I might wanna go get nipped on account of my bein' so stressed out by the fact that SOMEONE had gone and sat right in the midst of my potted catnip plants and left a big ol' stupid indentation where they had sat.

So long story short...

Kinda.

So long story short, after I got nipped, I got the munchies and had to go find myself a snack.  And as snacks required on account of nip-induced munchies will do, said snack made me sleepy so I had to have a nap.

And after wakin' up from my nap...

After wakin' up from my nap, I went to investigate the strange indentation in my catnip plants, once more.

And that's when I saw...

That's when I saw one of my neighbourhood kitty pals sittin' right in the middle of my best potted catnip plant, munchin' away on my catnip, gettin' high as a kite on the nip.

So I immediately raced indoors 'cause I figured I had best go hide all the snacks.  'Cause after eatin' as much nip as he looked like he had eaten, I was bettin' he was gonna have a bad case of the munchies, for sure.

MOUSES!

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

And remember:

IF IN DOUBT,

DON'T. GO. OUT.

Continue to practice SOCIAL DISTANCIN' measures

AND KEEP WASHIN' YOUR PAWS.

MOUSES!

good mornin'!

Hey ho!  Mornin', everybody.  GOOD MORNIN'!

Okay, so it's actually afternoon.

MOUSES!

But I'm tellin' ya, it's sometimes really hard to keep track.  You know, to tell the difference between the two.

MOUSES!

So it's like this:  How does a kitty know if he's wakin' up in the mornin' after a good night's rest, OR if he's wakin' up in the afternoon after a much-needed nap?

Inquirin' minds wanna know.

MOUSES!

Now one MIGHT think the difference would be in how hungry said kitty might be.  I mean, after not havin' eaten all night, one would think a kitty would be super hungry when he got up in the mornin'.

Right?

Right.

Turns out though, some kitties are hungry when they wake up after afternoon naps, too.

Thus, the need for afternoon snacks.

MOUSES!

So again I must ask:  How does a kitty know if he's wakin' up in the mornin' after a good night's rest, OR if he's wakin' up in the afternoon after a much-needed nap?

Inquirin' minds need to know.

MOUSES!

Of course, one could always look out the window, right?

But actually...

WRONG!

The thing is, when I wake up in the mornin', or after an aftenoon nap, I get all squinty-eyed and stuff.

What is squinty-eyed, you ask?

Well...

Well it's like when the bright light from outdoors is too bright for your eyes on account of your eyes bein' unaccustomed to the light, on account of their havin' been closed while you were sleepin'.

Or nappin'.

Or both!

Surely you know about how bright light can hurt your eyes after sleepin'.  It happens to me ALL the time.  Mornin', noon, and ni...

Actually, NO.  It does not happen at night.  When I wake up in the middle of the night and look out the window, the moonlight does not make my eyes squinty, at all.  Moonlight is not strong enough to do that, you see.

On the other paw, the light in the family room is.

You ever wake up in the middle of the night, only to find some stupid ol' peep has gone and turned on a stupid ol' bright light, makin' your eyes go all squinty and stuff?  Happens to me ALL the time.

MOUSES!

But back to the mornin' after sleepin', and the afternoon after nappin' stuff.

So like I was askin':  How does a kitty know if he's wakin' up in the mornin' after a good night's rest, OR if he's wakin' up in the afternoon after a much-needed nap?

Does anyone know?


'Cause you see...

'Cause you see, I'M THINKIN', when I wake up in the afternoon after a really good nap, I should be offered a full-sized breakfast kinda meal...

AND NOT SOME STUPID OL', PIDDLY LITTLE SNACK.

Hear that Peepers?

MOUSES!

tummycentric

Anderson narrowed his eyes and scowled.

"What's up?" I asked.  "How come you're scowlin' there, Andy?  I have to ask, you see, on account of it usually bein' me who does the scowlin' in this here house.  MOUSES!"

"What's up with you?" my brother replied.

"With me?" I said, innocently.  "Nothin' is up with me except, OF COURSE, for my wonderin' how come you're scowlin'.  And not only are you scowlin', but you're scowlin' at ME.  MOUSES!."

"I'm scowling because you're staring, Seville.  You're staring right at me.  You've been staring at me for the last half hour."

"I HAVE NOT," I stated with indignation.  "Okay, so maybe I have," I reconsidered.  "But it's not without reason.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked confused.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

"Um..." Andy paused.  "UM..." he repeated.  "What reason is that?" he wondered aloud.  Then he started countin' on his paws, all the possible reasons.  MOUSES!

"I've been watching you, Brother Dear, and I've been noticin' just how tummycentric you are," I told him.

"Tummycentric?  That's not even a word," Andy said, stompin' a paw.

"Is too.  At least it is now.  MOUSES!"

"You can't make up words on a whim," Andy muttered.

"Can too.  MOUSES!"

"So uh...  What does it mean?" my brother asked.

"What does WHAT mean?  Tummycentric?  What does tummycentric mean, you ask?"

Andy nodded.

"Are you SURE?   'Cause seriously, Andy, a moment ago, you were sayin' the word tummycentric didn't even exist."

Andy thought 'bout that for a minute.  He did.  HONESTLY.  I saw the smoke comin' out of his ears and everythin'.  MOUSES!

"Fine, I'll tell you," I said.  "It means that you're always thinkin' about that tummy of yours.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked down at his stomach.

"See?  There you go again.  Tummy this, and tummy that, and tummy..."

"But I have a nice tummy," Andy explained.  "It's the nicest tummy I have."

I furrowed my brow.  "That doesn't even make sense, Andy.  That tummy is the ONLY tummy you have."

"Maybe...  But it's still the nicest."

I shook my head in dismay.  Only my brother, Anderson, could make sense of somethin' utterly and completely senseless.  MOUSES!

"And I don't think about it ALL the time," Andy continued.

"Oh yes you do," I said.  "Okay, so maybe not in the middle of the night when you're sound asleep, but...  Hmmm..."  I gnawed on a claw.  "On the other paw, I don't know what you dream about while sleepin', Andy.  Maybe you spend all night DREAMIN' about your tummy, too."

Andy looked dumbfounded.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

"So anyway..." I began.  "The thing is, you're extremely tummycentric, Andy.  If you're not askin' the peeps to rub that tummy of yours, you're askin' them to give you somethin' to put inside it.  MOUSES!"

Andy thought about that for a moment.

Then for a moment longer.

Twenty. Minutes. Later...

Twenty minutes later, he was still thinkin'.  FINALLY, Anderson spoke.  "But I like it when Peep #1 rubs my tummy.  I like it a lot."

"I know."

"You do?  How do you know that I like having my tummy rubbed?" my brother asked.

"Because you've asked the peep to rub it like ten times already this mornin'.  You've been lyin' there on the chesterfield, exposin' your tummy to the world, practically BEGGIN' the peep to rub it.  She touches that tummy of yours, and the next thing you do is spread your legs out in four opposite directions, so that she can rub its ENTIRE EXPANSE.  MOUSES!"

"But..."

"I haven't finished there yet, Bro.  I'm still explainin'."

"But I have a very big tummy!" Andy cut in.  "And big tummies need lots and LOTS of rubbing."

"OF COURSE IT'S A BIG TUMMY!" I cried.  "THAT'S 'CAUSE YOU KEEP PUTTIN' THINGS IN IT!  When that tummy of yours is not bein' rubbed, it's bein' fed, for sure.  MOUSES!"

Andy looked perplexed.

Of course.

But no more so than usual.

MOUSES!

Gettin' to his feet, Andy looked squarely at me.  "Well my tummy is telling me it needs feeding.  Now.  Right now, my tummy says.  And I believe in always listening to my tummy, so that's me off in search of snacks.  Coming?"

"Snacks, huh?" I murmured.  "Hmmm...  Actually, Anderson, maybe bein' tummycentric isn't such a bag thing after all."

And together, we both marched into the kitchen in search of some snacks.

MOUSES!

he's doin' laps

For mousin' out loud.

HMMPH!

There I was yesterday, workin' hard on my blog post when...

When Peep #1 let Andy in.

AGAIN.

MOUSES!

That's right, the peep let Anderson into MY office, AGAIN!

And when I say again, I don't mean again as in like for a second time.  I don't mean again as in like for a third time, either.  I mean again as in like for a one million and thirty-ninth time, give or take a million or two.  MOUSES!

Apparently, my brother Anderson has started an exercise routine.

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', the peep lettin' Andy into my office has nothin' to do with exercise, and while I'd normally agree with you on that, this time, I can't.

Unfortunately.

MOUSES!

You see...

You see, Andy has decided he should start doin' laps.

Now Andy doin' laps wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for those laps takin' him through MY office a million and thirty-nine, give or take a million or two, times, but as I found out yesterday, it does.

All day long, EVERY TIME the peep opened my office door by the driveway, Andy would dart inside. Then he'd trot straight over to the other door - the one that leads into the kitchen - and ask the peep to open that.  Then he'd go through the kitchen and out the kitchen window, only to reappear at my office door by the driveway again, wantin' back inside.

This went on and on and on...

And on and on and on...

And on.

ALL DAY LONG.

MOUSES!

Like I said, Andy is now doin' laps.

And why?

Well apparently, he overheard the peeps talking 'bout how he had gained an ounce or two.

Ounce...  Pound...  Whatever.

But to be perfectly honest, a lot of that is just floof.

Okay, to be PERFECTLY honest, there's not enough floof in the world to account for Andy's size, but...

But he IS part Coon, and was clearly meant to be a very big cat.

Nevertheless, Anderson now has an exercise routine.

Andy has a problem, too.  The problem is, his exercise routine of doin' laps isn't workin' out so well, on account of those laps not only annoyingly takin' him through MY OFFICE a million and thirty-nine, give or take a million or two, times, but also...

But also takin' him through the kitchen and right past the...

Snacks.

Yeah, that's right, for every lap Andy makes, a snack or two he takes, and...

And that is doin' nothin' but addin' more...

FLOOF.

What can I say?  A million and thirty-nine (give or take a million or two) snacks a day, is a whole lot of snacks.

MOUSES!

can you believe it?

So the other day, I was mindin' my own business, hangin' out in the garden when...

Scratch that.

Hmmm...

So the other day, I was thinkin' of ways to assist the peep when...

Yup, that sounds WAY better, for sure.

Okay, so the other day, I was thinkin' of ways to assist the peep with her gardenin', on account of my bein' an extremely helpful kind of cat who does things like that, when...

When the peep informed me, she did not require my help.

MOUSES!

I couldn't. Believe. My ears.  Seriously!  I knew the peep was sayin' what she was sayin', but I simply could not believe she would say such a thing.  I figured she must have been sayin' it by mistake.  I mean, why else would she say such things?  So I, bein' the extremely helpful kitty that I am, totally ignored the peep.

The peep, however, continued to talk.  She was babblin'.  Babblin' on and on.

And on and on and on...

AND ON AND ON AND ON, well after she said she didn't require my assistance.  MOUSES!

But for the life of me, I couldn't tell you about what the peep was babblin', on account of my ignorin' all that babbln' she was doin'.

So anyway, the peep was goin' on and on about somethin', but all I heard was, "Blah, blah, blah. Blah blah, blah blah, blah blah."  That's right, she said, "Seville, I don't need your kind of help," and then it was all blahs from there.  MOUSES!

But back to my helpin' the peep.  And when you think about it, my helpin' her was extremely kind of me, considerin' the fact she was doin' all that babblin'.

Now I knew Peep #1 said she didn't need my help, but I also knew that about that, she was totally wrong.  After all, when was the last time Peep #1 didn't need my help?  I'll tell you when.  NEVER. MOUSES!

Yeah, Peep #1 needs a lot of help, for sure.  Luckily for her, I'm a very helpful sort of cat so...

So I got right in there and helped the peep.

So anyway, after diggin' the first hole in the flower bed, Ol' Peepers here started babblin' on even more about somethin', which I, of course, ignored.

After diggin' the second hole in the flower bed, Ol' Peepers here continued to babble on about somethin' which again, I ignored, although truth be told, the second set of babbles were a whole little harder to ignore than the first, on account of their bein' decidedly louder.  MOUSES!

All I knew was, the peep was plantin' stuff and she was doin' it all wrong.

That's right, my friends, she was DOIN' IT ALL WRONG!

I'm sorry to be redundant but I figured it was worth repeatin'.

So anyway, the peep was plantin' things and she was doin' it all wrong, puttin' the wrong things in the wrong places, and diggin' holes where they didn't belong.  CLEARLY she was needin' my help to figure out what stuff should go where, and that sort of thing.

So after diggin' the third hole in the flower bed, the peep's babblin' reached a volume that my delicate ears could no longer tolerate.  There also appeared to be a direct correlation to the number of holes I was diggin', and the volume of the peep's babblin'.  Upon realizing this, I stopped my diggin'.

I then sat myself down and met eyes with the peep.  I'm pretty sure she thought I was listenin' to her every word but really, I was contemplating far more important things.  Things such as which I should do first, have a snack or a nap.  Snack then nap or nap then snack?  And THAT'S when it hit me.  That's when I realized I should, in fact, have a snack, followed by a nap, followed by a second snack.

After deciding upon the most optimum order of snacks and naps, I started thinkin' about what my first snack should be.

For one brief moment, I placed my focus back on the peep.  You know, to see if she was continuing to babble.  She was.  MOUSES!

At that point, I noticed a cloud in the sky.  The cloud in question looked a lot like a fish, as we all know clouds often do, and it occurred to me that a freeze-dried salmon treat would make an excellent snack, for sure.  I must have meowed aloud about the fish cloud or somethin' because at that point, everythin' became quiet.  The peep had finally stopped babblin'.  MOUSES!

My mind was on that snack but I knew it would be wrong of me to head indoors without first, finishing helpin' the peep.  So I did what any helpful kitty would do and started workin' on diggin' a fourth hole in the flower bed when...

When the peep picked me up, carried me indoors, and deposited me on the kitchen floor.

MOUSES!

And then...

And then....

AND THEN...

Then she turned around and marched back outside, without even gettin' me my snack.

CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

MOUSES!