to sit on, of course

I need a throne, Peepers.  I'm definitely in need of a throne.

Why to sit on, of course.  Why do you think?

Oh never mind.  Don't bother answerin'.

'Cause your answer is likely to be stupid, that's why.

Most of 'em are.

MOUSES!

But back to the business at paw.  Peepers, I am most definitely in need of a throne.

MOUSES!

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

I already told you.  To sit on.  I need a throne to sit upon.  That's what thrones are for, you know.  Thrones are for providin' cats places to sit.

I swear, sometimes I think my peeps know absolutely nothin'.

MOUSES!

What?  Why?  Why do I need a throne for sittin'?

'CAUSE MY CROWN MIGHT FALL OFF IF I'M MOVIN' ABOUT.

By gosh and by golly, Peepers.  It's like I have to explain EVERYTHIN' to you.

MOUSES!

Okay, I shall endeavour to explain further.  When I'm wearin' my crown, Peepers, I need to sit still.  'Cause if a kitty goes runnin' around here, there, and everywhere whilst wearin' his crown, said crown is likely to fall off.  It's not like crowns are glued to your head, you know.  There's a balancin' act that has to be done.

So whilst wearin' my crown, I need a nice solid gold throne in order to sit down.

Okay, so it doesn't have to be solid gold.  Gold platin' should do.

What?

Fine.  Gold paint is okay.

I suppose.

But it definitely needs a soft, plush velvet cushion.  Royal blue.  Or emerald green.  You know, somethin' that enhances my gorgeous marmalade furs, and...

What?

IT HAS TO BE COMFY.  It has to be comfy so that I can sit on my throne for long periods of time.  And pose and look all regal and stuff whilst wearin' my crown which, by the way, really does need to be solid gold.  Gold as in gold.  As in real.  Real gold.  Not cheap, tacky ol' stuff.

And definitely not simply paint.

And...

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

Oh.

That.

Hmmm....

Okay, so perhaps I forgot to mention this earlier: I need a crown, Peepers.  I'm definitely in need of a solid gold crown.

'CAUSE IT'S IN KEEPIN' WITH MY IMAGE, YOU SEE.  I should be treated like royalty.  And if a kitty wants to be treated like royalty, a kitty needs to look the part.  King of the Jungle, and all that, and...

What?

KING OF THE GARDEN THEN.

Garden...  Jungle of weeds...  Whatever.

MOUSES!

But back to this crown.  Peepers, I'm not quite sure where one orders such things but perhaps you can figure it out.

I mean, you must be good for somethin'.

Right?

Probably.

I suppose.

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.

tastiest brekkies EVER

Mmmm...  Boy was that ever good.  Tastiest brekkes EVER.

Okay, so maybe not ever.  Maybe...

Ummm...

This mornin'?

MOUSES!

It really was an unusually tasty brekkie, Peepers.  What did you do differently?  Did you saute it in tuna water?  Garnish it with nip?  Oohhh...  Did you  infuse tuna water with catnip, then saute my brekkies in that?

No?

You say you just opened a tin?

Well I'll be.

MOUSES!

Actually, now that I think about it, I do believe the difference was in how my brekkies were served.  It was kinda nice havin' you hold the plate up for me like that.  Hold it up under my chin.  You know, so that I didn't have to bend down and eat off the floor.

Sorta felt like you were waitin' on me hand and foot.  I mean, paw and paw.  I mean...

Whatever.

MOUSES!

Point is, you were providin' excellent service.

MOUSES!

You know...

You know, I really did enjoy eatin' my brekkies in that elevated manor.  I'm thinkin' I might need one of those raised servin' tray thingies some kitties have.  Yeah, I'm thinkin' I might need one of those, for sure.

You want me to go ahead and order one on-line?

Well you don't have to be so testy, Peepers.  It's not like I borrow your plastic money card thing willy-nilly.  I ONLY borrow it to order important stuff.

Important stuff like toys and nip.

And whisks.

Not necessarily in that order.

MOUSES!

But all that aside, I do want one of those raised serving trays, so if you're not gonna loan me your plastic money, you'll have to go out and get one yourself.

Either that or be prepared to hold my plate up for me to dine at all meals, which would be perfectly acceptable to me, of course, but I'm thinkin' you might get a cramp or somethin' in your paw at some point, WHICH WOULD INTERFERE WITH MY EATING PLEASURE, so really and truly, we had best go with the tray after all.

MOUSES!

And when you're out lookin' for my raised tray, how 'bout lookin' for a new cat bed and blankie and maybe a fancy-schmancy latrine?

I MEAN BIDET!

Don't think they make fancy LATRINES.

Oohhh...  Or how 'bout a throne?  I know in some parts of the world, humans call THEIR litter boxes, thrones.

And speakin' of thrones...

I wouldn't mind one of those, either.  The other kind.  You know, a general, run-of-the-mill, jewel-encrusted, gold-plated throne.  One with a plush velvet pillow for nappin' on and...

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

For mousin' out loud, Peepers, I SAID gold-PLATED.  It's not like I'm askin' for the world.

MOUSES!

But first things first.  I'm feelin' a might peckish, Peepers.  You think you could hold that there plate up for me so that I might enjoy a snack?

Yeah, that plate there.  The one with my mid-mornin' nibbles.

Thatta girl, Peepers.

MOUSES!

GRRR...

Oof!

Ugh.

GRRR...

Mouses woman, watch where you're puttin' my tail.

Three legs in?  You think that's gonna stop me?  THINK AGAIN, Peepers.  As long as I've got one leg not in the carrier...

TOO LATE!  I managed to get a second leg out.  Haha!  And now for a thir....

GRRR...

I looked about, furtively.  What to do, what to do...  How could I make my escape?

I KNOW!

Pssssssssssssss...

Yup, you heard right, my friends.  I, Seville the Cat, peed.  I Peed uPon the PeeP.

MOUSES!

Of course, since my hind legs and tail were actually inside the carrier at the time...

Okay, so I, Seville the Cat, managed to pee on the towel in the carrier, and not upon the peep.

MOUSES!

But then, do you know what she did next?

DO YOU?

Well I'll TELL you what she did next.

The peep, bein' a peep, stuffed the rest of me inside the carrier, and managed to shut its door, tight.

MOUSES!

I'm tellin' ya, I thought she'd at least let me out and give me a chance to clean myself up.  You know, while she kept herself busy cleaning up the crate.

After all, that IS what she did last time.

Of course, now that I think about it, the LAST time...  Hmmm...  You know, I think I kinda recall peein' on the peep TWICE, the last time she was puttin' me into a crate.  Once with the first attempt, and then again whilst she was tryin' to get me back inside the crate after cleanin' out...  Well...  Said crate.

Guess she learned a lesson, huh?

And who knew my peep could learn anythin' new?  I mean, they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks.  Who knew new tricks could be taught to a slightly used peep?

MOUSES!

Peepers!  Careful with how you're handling this crate.  I AM in it, you know.  Stop jostling me about like that.

MOUSES!

Humph.  The last time I went to see the doctor for blood work, I was put in a super duper large metal cage thingy.  Now I say, "case thingy," on account of it not bein' an actual cage.  Oh sure, it looked like a cage.  It even smelled like a cage.  But the nurse said it wasn't a cage, at all.  She said - as she shoved me inside - that it was more like a special, enclosed pedestal or THRONE.

But anyway...

Anyway, the last time I was there, my doctor crawled right inside my special, enclosed pedestal slash throne with me.  Can you believe it?  Yup, that's just what she did.  I guess she wanted special treatment, too.  Special treatment reserved for special kitties like me.

But the last time I went to see the doctor, I wasn't nearly as annoyed with Peep #1 as I am today.

Plus, as I mentioned earlier, the LAST TIME I went, I managed to pee ON the peep, as well as the inside of the carrier.

But THIS time...

I WAS DEPRIVED.

So...

So this time, if Doctor T crawls into the special, enclosed pedestal slash throne with me...

Let's just say, they don't call it a throne for nothin'.

MOUSES!

that feeling

You ever get that feelin'? You know the one.  That feelin' that someone is watchin' you.  Maybe even starin' at you. Yeah, that's the one.

Well I get that feelin' all the time.  And when I say all the time, I mean, ALL THE TIME.  Why just a couple days ago, my second nap of the afternoon was totally ruined when I sensed that someone was watchin' me.  Starin' at me.  Woke me right up, right there, and right then. MOUSES!

So I opened my eyes and what did I see?  Peep #1.  Figures.  MOUSES!

Yeah, Peep #1 thinks she's entitled to look at me as much as she likes.  She says she can't help it. She says it's my own fault.  She says it's my own fault for bein' so cute, you see.

Well let me tell you somethin':  I CAN'T HELP BEIN' CUTE!  It just comes to me naturally. MOUSES!

But the night before last, I got Peep #1 back.

Oh yeah.

So the peep was lyin' there, sound asleep, when somethin' got her to wake up.  I'm not quite sure what that somethin' was but it might - MIGHT - have had somethin' to do with a certain noise made by a certain marmalade cat.

Anyway...

So the peep was lyin' there, sound asleep.  Then she woke up.  And when she opened her eyes, what did she see?  She saw me.  MOUSES!

There I was, as good as gold...

And when I say I was as good as gold, I quite literally mean as good as gold, on account of my, firstly, bein' very good and secondly, my orange fur bein' golden orange in colour and uh...  um...

Now where was I?  Oh yeah.

Anyway...

So there I was, starin' at the peep.  Just starin' at her. Starin'!  Like she does to me.  MOUSES!

Well apparently, accordin' to the peep, wakin' up to find me starin' at her is unnerving.

NOW SHE KNOWS HOW I FEEL.  MOUSES!

I figure that if a cat can look at a queen, said cat can most certainly look at their peep.

Of course, the jury is still out on whether or not peeps may stare at their cats.

Actually, that's not true.  The jury came back on that one and they decided that it is rude for a peep to stare at a cat without the cat's written permission.  Written.  As in written on paper, and not some stupid rumour or heresay or anythin' else like that.  MOUSES!

And speakin' of stuff that was written...

Way back when, some peep wrote a nursery rhyme statin' that a cat went all the way to London to look at the Queen.  This peep also made mention of mice.  Or a mouse.  One little mouse, I do believe.  One little mouse who was under a chair and since it was the Queen's chair, I'm thinkin' it was actually a throne and...

Hmmm...

Only throne we have at my house is the one in the bathroom and it's not so much a throne as it is a...  Well...  You know...  A toilet.

Plus, no mice live under there.  MOUSES!

But that begs the question...

How come peeps get thrones and cats get litter boxes?  I mean, if a cat can scare a wee little mouse sittin' under the Queen's chair, aka throne, aka toilet, SURELY said cat shouldn't have to do his or her business in a plastic litter box.  After all, I...  uh...  um...

Now where was I again?

Oh yeah.

The thing is, no cat should ever be subjected to a peep starin' at him so much that the starin' wakes said cat up from his afternoon nap.  MOUSES!