a favourite toy

Hey Peepers!

Hey Peepers!

HEY!  PEEPERS!  PEEPERS!!!  I said, PEEPERS!!!

Yeah, I'm talkin' to you.

MOUSES!

So Peepers, you happen to know where that ol' nip mouse of mine is?  You know the one.  My absolute FAVOURITE nip mouse of all time?  Best nip mouse I've ever had?  Very, very, VERY BEST nip mouse, ever, for sure?

Yeah, the one with the torn seam where the nip keeps fallin' out.  It's green.  I think.  Well it was.  Probably.  It's kinda discoloured on account of my havin' slobbered all over it so many times, sometimes slobberin' right after eating and stuff.

Well you don't have to screw your face up like that, but yeah...

Yeah, that's definitely the one.

The one where the very thought of it makes your face go all weird like that, I mean.

MOUSES!

I KNOW THE NIP MOUSE LOOKS YUCKY BUT IT'S MY NIP MOUSE.  My favourite nip mouse of all time.  The kinda nip mouse a kitty like me just can't live without.

MOUSES!

So anyway...  

So anyway, you happen to know where it might be?  I've pretty much looked everywhere.  Under the beds, under the chesterfield, and even between the chesterfield cushions.  Can't find it anywhere, at all.  

And I did ask Saffy if he happened to know where it is but he's not talkin'.  Not sure if he's ignorin' my questions on account of his feelin' guilty for havin' done somethin' to my nip mouse, or...

Or if he's just sleepin' super soundly.

MOUSES!

But like I was sayin', Peepers...  YOU HAPPEN TO KNOW WHERE MY NIP MOUSE MIGHT BE?

Again with the screwed up face.

MOUSES!

It is not all fouled up and stinky and gross.

It's loved.

And cherished!

And MINE.

MOUSES!

And to tell you the truth, Peepers, if I can't find that nip mouse....

If I can't find my very, very, VERY FAVOURITE nip mouse of all time....

Well I just don't know WHAT I'll do.

It's where?

IT'S WHERE?

It's...

WHAT???

YOU THREW IT IN THE TRASH?

Like it was some kinda garbage or somethin' like that?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Peepers, without my favourite nip mouse...

WHAT WILL I DO?

I know what I'll do.  I know what I'll do, for sure.  I'm gonna go fish that ol' nip mouse right outta the trash and give it a good slobbery wash up and...

Scratch that.  Turns out the nip mouse is in the trash next to an old pair of Peepers' gardening shoes.

DISGUSTING, for sure.

No way, now how, am I gonna cuddle up with a nip mouse that has spent time with those shoes.

Good thing I have a whole whack of other nip mice to cuddle.  One of 'em will have to be named my very, very, VERY FAVOURITE nip mouse of all time.

Call me fickle, why don't ya.

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.

not a good idea

That's not a good idea, Saffy.  Not. A Good. Idea.

MOUSES!

I said, it's not a good idea.  It's not a good idea as in it bein' a bad idea; as in it actually bein' a really and truly, super-duper bad idea, for sure.

MOUSES!

'Cause Peepers doesn't like it when we...

Way to go, Saffy.  You've really gone and done it this time.

MOUSES!

What's that, Saffron?

Hmmm...

You know somethin', Saffy, my man?  I do believe you're right.  It IS the peeps' own fault.  Yup, it really and truly is.  She should've known better, you know?  Oh yeah, she definitely should've known better.  And in fact, I bet she did know better but went and did what she did anyway, so it was like she was encouraging you to...

Hold on a sec, Saffron.  My readers out there wanna know what's goin' on.  Best I stop and tell 'em, don't you think?

So anyway...

So anyway, it's like this: Peepers went and bought a new pair of earrings as a Christmas treat for herself.  Personally, I prefer treats you eat, but peeps are peeps and apparently they don't know what makes for a good treat.

But anyway, this non-edible treat is a Christmas treat 'cause the earrings are Christmas earrings, or so I'm told.  Little enamelled penguins, each wearin' a Santa hat with a sparklin' diamond instead of a pompom at its tip.

Okay, so the sparklin' diamonds aren't really diamonds.  I'm pretty sure they're just a couple of chunks of glass.  But the earrings were cheap, so what do you expect?

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, the cheap earrings are actually kinda cute.  Not tacky or anythin' like that.  They're cute as in...  Well...  Cute.

Oh sure, they'd be a whole lot cuter if they were little enamelled marmalade cats that looked like me; but since they're Christmas earrings, penguins are probably more appropriate, I suppose.  What with penguins likin' snow and snowy surroundings and stuff.

Unlike me.

MOUSES!

SO ANYWAY....

So anyway, the cute and cheap earrings dangle.  Yup, they dangle from her ears.  From Peepers' ears, you see.

Yeah, that's just what I said.  Peepers has two cute, cheap - but not in any way tacky - enamelled penguins wearin' Santa hats with chunks of glass instead of pompoms at their tips, danglin' from her ears.  That's right, the woman is walkin' around the house where two cats live, with penguins danglin' from her ears.  Dangling.  Did you hear me?  DANGLING.

And as you might guess...

SAFFY!  I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU THAT WAS BAD IDEA.  STOP THAT.  STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!  STOP THAT THIS MINUTE!!!

Excuse me, my friends.  I need to go console the peep.  Saffy has been whackin' those earrings tryin' to play with 'em 'cause they're danglin' from Peepers' ears like they're toys - on account of their kinda lookin' like toys, what with their danglin' like that - and he's been whacking 'em with his claws out, and...

Gosh darn it, Saffron.  I TOLD you that wasn't a good idea.

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.

I was robbed!

It was mine, I tell you.  Mine.  MINE!  It was most definitely all MINE.

I WAS ROBBED!

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' that long-haired freak of a brother of mine, Rushton, has been into my stuff, but you know what?  Well you'd be wrong about that.

MOUSES!

I KNOW, I KNOW...  I KNOW what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' that long-haired freak of a PEEP of mine, namely Peepers, has been into my stuff.

And about that, my friends, you'd be RIGHT.

MOUSES!

No, the peep has not been into my stash.  You know, my stash of the nip.  Thankfully, Peepers isn't into the nip like me.  THANKFULLY, Peepers never gets high on my nip.

I know!  It IS weird, isn't it?  Very weird, indeed.  But we cats never question our peeps' lack of interest in our catnip.  We simply sigh a breath of a relief.

MOUSES!

Of course, their lack of interest COULD be due to the fact that we tend to slobber all over our nip mice and stuff.  Generally speakin', cat slobber puts peeps off.  And THANK GOODNESS for that.

MOUSES!

But back to what I was talkin' about earlier.  You know, about what was all mine:

So the other evenin', just before dark, the peep came outside lookin' for me, wantin' to bring me inside.


I wasn't actually difficult to find, or anythin' like that.  I wasn't givin' the peep a hard time by hiding or running out of her reach.  Nope, I wasn't doin' anythin' like that, at all.

Then why did the peep have to come outside to get me, you ask?

Well that was on account of my ignoring her when she called me.  I was super busy, you see.  I was busy on account of my havin' found a little mousie with whom to play.

AND HE WAS MINE.

Yeah, I found him, I caught him, and I was holdin' him by his tail.

CLEARLY, he was MINE.

MOUSES!

Now I ask you: do I play with the peep's toys?  Do I go 'round playin' with her knittin' needles, and balls of yarn, and...

Okay, bad example.

Well I ask you this, then: do I play with the peep's uh...

Um...

Hmmm....

Okay, so I do tend to play with the peep's stuff, now that I think about it.  Stuff she hasn't had the sense to keep out of my reach, that is.

BUT STILL...

But still, that mousie was MINE.

I mean, what the mouses was the peep gonna do with a mouse?  What, I ask you.  WHAT?

Invite him over for tea?

MOUSES!


Next time I find a mouse, I'm gonna slobber all over him from the tips of his ears to the tip of his tail.  That'll keep the peep from takin' the next mousie I find away from me.  That'll teach her, for sure.

'Cause like I mentioned before, peeps have an aversion to slobber.

I have no idea why.

MOUSES!

we're not speaking

I'm not speaking to him anymore, Peepers.

Him?

Hmmm...

Her.

No, that can't be right.

It.

I'm not speaking to it anymore, Peepers.

MOUSES!

And don't even TRY to convince me otherwise.  I've made up my mind.  I'm never speaking to it again.

Never.

Not ever.

Not for any reason.

EVER.

'Cept maybe to tell it to GET OUTTA MY FACE.

MOUSES!

I know, I know..  I know what you're thinkin', my friends.  You're THINKIN', I've had a spat with one of my fur-sibs.

But you know somethin'?  That would be wrong.  I'm not currently spattin' with any of my fur...

Wait a minute.  Hold on.  Uh...  I need to check on somethin'.  Be right back.

Nope, I've checked the calendar, and my current spat with Andy expired earlier today, so I was right.  There are no fur-sib spats goin' on at my house.  At least not at the moment.

Truth be told, I don't even remember what that last spat I had with Andy was about.  But that is neither here nor there, my friends, for a spat is spat.  FACT.


MOUSES!

You wanna know with whom my current spat is?

Come on...  I know you do.  I know you wanna, for sure.

Okay, you FORCED it out of me, my friends.  I am currently not speakin' to my Cat Dancer toy.

MOUSES!

You know, once upon a time - why, just last week, in fact - my Cat Dancer toy was my very favourite toy of all time.  But then the other day, Peep #1 and I were playin' with it, and do you know what it did?

You don't?

Well I'll TELL you what it did.

It...  It...  IT...

It went and bonked me, right on my nose.

MOUSES!

And that kinda hurt, you know?  I mean, it didn't really hurt my nose all that my much.  It actually didn't hurt my nose at all.  But my feelings?  Well my feelings were hurt, for sure.  It was devastating, really.  I was DEVASTATINGLY HURT.

MOUSES!

And so THAT'S why I'm no longer speaking to my Cat Dancer toy.  Never again will we frolic together in the family room.  Never again will I tell it, it's my favourite toy.  Never again will...

Wait a minute...

Hold on....

WHAT THE MOUSES?

One second.  I'll be right back.

ANDY, HOW DARE YOU PLAY WITH MY CAT DANCER TOY!  YOU GIVE THAT BACK.  YOU GIVE THAT TOY BACK TO ME RIGHT NOW.   DON'T YOU DARE GET YOUR FREAKY, LONG-HAIRED MARMIE SLOBBER ALL OVER IT.  DON'T YOU DARE!

Come to Papa, Cat Dancer Toy.  Your Sivvers is here.  Your darling Sivvers will SAVE you from that mean old, long-haired, marmalade freak.

MOUSES!

Boxing Day rush

Can't stop now.  GOTTA RUN.  MOUSES!

Whew!  That was a close one, for sure.

Let me catch my breath.

Okay...

Okay, I bet you're all wonderin' what has my tail all twisted up in a dither.  Well the thing is... The thing is...  Well...

Well it all began the other day.

The other day, I happened to notice Peep #1's Facebook status.  "Livin' room looks like the aftermath of a catnip toy factory explosion," or somethin' like that.  I didn't think too much about it at the time because, truth be told, it did.  I figured the peep was just - you know - makin' a public service announcement of some sort.

But then that night, I was watchin' television, and I heard the TV peeps talkin' about Boxin' Day Blowouts and the like.  I assumed they were talkin' about the sales after Christmas but...  But... But combined with the peep talking 'bout catnip toy factory explosions...  Well...  Well...

Well my mind got to thinkin', and when I start thinkin', I start...

No, I do not start smokin' at the ears.

When I start thinkin', I start connectin' the dots.

NO.  Not the red dots.  The elusive red dot is far too elusive to be connected to anythin'. MOUSES!

But back to those other dots.

My mind was a whirlin' like the peep with a Cat Teaser toy, after her fourth cup of coffee.

Talk of a catnip toy factory explosion led to explosions, which led to blowouts, which led to Boxin' Day blowouts which, of course, led to Boxin' Day, which led to BOXES.

NOW I bet you're gettin' the picture, for sure.

And then if that wasn't bad enough, I heard the peep say somethin' about cleanin' up the mess in the livin' room.

Well I got to thinkin' once more.  Had any of us cats tossed our cookies in the livin' room since Christmas Day?  Not that we actually ate any cookies to toss, but even so, we are not immune to tossing 'em without eating 'em, if you know what I mean.

But as the answer to the cookie tossin' question was no, I had to ask myself if any of us kitties had made any other messes in there.  Had any of us pooped or peed where poopin' and peein' is not to be done?

Again, the answer was no.

So what the mouses was the peep talkin' about when she said mess?

And then...  And then...  And then...

And then it hit me like a tonne of bricks.

Ouch!

PEEP #1 WAS PLANNIN' ON CLEANIN' UP ALL OF OUR TOYS.  MOUSES!

But deep down, I knew that wasn't the case, because those toys are ours and no one - I repeat, NO ONE - can clean 'em up on account of their not bein' dirty.

But what if...  What if... What if...

What if she was gonna clean up all the other stuff?  You know, like the tissue paper and worse than that...

THE BOXES???

MOUSES!!!

So that, my friends, is the reason for my bein' so out of breath.  I've been runnin' around, rescuing boxes from Peep #1.  Rescuing 'em before the peep can get at 'em with the box cutter, and bag 'em all up for recycling.

Not that I consider recyclin' to be a bad thing.  I don't! As a responsible citizen of this world, I consider recycling to be absolutely necessary.

AS LONG AS THEY'RE NOT RECYCLIN' MY BOXES.  MOUSES!

So anyway, I don't know 'bout you, but my post Boxin' Day rush has been a real doozie, for sure.

What's that, Mason?  I missed a box?  And the peep has spotted it?  And she has the box cutter in her paws?

Excuse me, my friends.  It appears that my post Boxin' Day rush is not yet over.  MOUSES!

kittens knittin' mittens

Let's talk kittens.

No, let's talk mittens.

NO, let's talk about kittens wearing mittens.

NO, I know something even better than that about which to talk.  Better than kittens wearing mittens, you say?  How can that be?

Let's talk about kittens wearing mittens that have been knitted by kittens. KITTENS KNITTIN' MITTENS!  Yeah, let's talk about that.

On the other paw, how 'bout we talk about my sister Mason's thumbs?  Actually, those would be on the same paw because it's because of those thumbs of hers that I'm thinking she could knit up some mittens and it's because of those thumbs of hers that if she were to wear paw wear, she would need mittens because without those thumbs of hers, she would only need socks.  And let's face it, my friends, talking about kittens knittin' socks just doesn't have the same kind of ring to it at all.  MOUSES!

Oh yes, it has been a long-held belief of mine that if ever there were a cat in my family to start knitting up mittens, it would be my sister, Mason.  Mason has a true love of the yarn, for sure. Whenever Peep #1 starts knitting up nip mice and the like, Mason is right there, paws at the ready. Peep #1 has always assumed that Mason simply wants to play with the yarn but Mason and I know better.  She wants to learn how to knit  She wants to learn how to knit mittens.  MOUSES!

And why mittens, you ask?  Well for starters, mittens rhymes with kittens.  MOUSES!

But besides that, she has those thumbs.  She needs mittens so as to accommodate her thumbs. You know, mittens instead of the socks.

And besides that, what else would a kitten who was knitting wanna knit?  MOUSES!

Scarves?

Well actually...

Now scarves, you see, are a totally different beast.  They have their pros and their cons but generally speaking, the pros outweigh the cons, to be sure.

The problem with scarves is twofold.  For starters, if they're too long, they fall into your food and get all icky.  Of course that all depends upon the food.  If the food is super yummy, the scarf isn't so much icky or soiled as it is...  flavoured.  And technically, flavoured scarves aren't all that bad. Believe me, I know.  Not that I've ever worn such a scarf myself as personally, I don't wear scarves, but I've read about these things in the kitten knittin' manuals and the like.  And I may have helped a peep's scarf...

But never mind that.  Fact of the matter is, a scarf dipped in a bowl of cream is a scarf to be enjoyed, for sure.

Now if said scarf were to be accidentally dipped into a bowl of lemon juice or something like that then... Well...  Yeah, that counts as icky as icky can be. MOUSES!

The other problem with scarves is that they can make a kitty trip something awful.  You ever try wearing a scarf while chasing a mouse?

Truth be told, I haven't either because as I stated earlier, I don't wear scarves but again, I've read all about scarf related trip-ups in the knitting manuals for kittens and apparently it's a huge problem in areas where kittens regularly wear scarves with their mittens.  MOUSES!

But the knitting of scarves is not to be totally ignored by knittin' kittens.  A scarf, you see, in a pinch, can be used as an excellent interactive toy to be played with, with the peeps.  Oh yes, a scarf can make a wonderful toy to be chased and caught and then let go and chased some more. Dip that scarf in a little cream and you have one very tasty toy, to be sure.  Dip it in a little tuna juice and....

Mmmm....  tuna.  *sighs*

Now, where was I?  OH YES, I was dreaming of tuna juice flavoured knitted scarves.

Now the thing with these scarves is that if a kitty wants a scarf toy, especially a flavoured scarf toy, a kitty is most likely gonna need to knit said scarf up by himself, or of course, by a sister with thumbs.  Why, you ask?  Well I'll tell you why, my friends.  The reason is as simple as pie.

Pie?  Chicken Pot Pie?  Chicken Pot Pie flavoured scarves?  Mmmm....

But getting back on track.  Peeps generally tend to frown upon their scarves being dipped into various flavouring ingredients on account of peeps generally not being able to identify a good thing when they see it.  Or taste it.  Or smell it.  Or whatever.

And speaking of smells...

You dip a peep's knitted scarf into a bowl of tuna juice and a week later, you'll be hearing about nothing else but the smell of that scarf, from your peeps.  And what you're hearing won't likely be good, either.  It happens. Happens more often than you might think.  MOUSES!

So this, my friends, is why we cats need to start knitting ourselves. Knitting mittens and scarves and the like.  As I am personally thumbless, I must rely upon my sister Mason's knitting skills. Unfortunately, she has yet to acquire any.  That's right, she has yet to learn how to knit but I'm confident that I'll have that sister kitten of mine knittin' mittens in no time.  And scarves, of course, too.  Scarf toys, that is.  And they will be ever so fine.  Especially once they've been dipped into the tuna.  MOUSES!

investin' in nip

I padded into the family room Friday night only to discover my sister, Mason, sniffin' around my froggy bank.  "Whatcha doin' there, Mason?" I asked.

"I was wondering how much money you had saved up, that's all," Mason replied.

Mason is a mathematical genius, you know.  She's always interested in counting stuff and whatnot on account of her bein' a polydactyl cat and havin' those extra toes.  Or are they thumbs?   Probably thumbs 'cause they're on her front paws.  Bottom line is, she likes to count stuff 'cause she can.  She likes to show off those toes.  Thumbs...  Whatever.

A number of cats in the Blogosphere get allowances. That's what gave me the idea of startin' up a savings plan for myself but I don't actually get an allowance. No, the peeps are too cheap for that.  Instead, I get the bottle money.  Whenever a peep gets money for returnin' recyclable bottles, the money goes into my froggy bank.

Of course, most cats keep their money in piggy banks.  I sent the peep out for a piggy bank but you know peeps...  Send a peep out for a piggy bank and she comes back with a frog.  Apparently, Peep #1 doesn't know the difference between pigs and frogs.  She also doesn't know that frogs are green. Well, the stereotypical frog is green.  I've seen brown ones in my garden.  But I've never seen an orange frog.  Only orange frog I've ever seen is the frog that is my froggy bank that was supposed to be a pig.  MOUSES!

Anywho...  I figured there must be quite a bit of money in my orange, froggy bank as I have been savin' for well over a year now but I was curious as to why Mason was wantin' to know just how much I had.  So I asked her.

"They were talking on television that the trimmers were for sale," explained Mason.  "I was wondering if you had enough bottle money to buy them."

"Trimmers?" I asked.  "You mean for hedges?  Those are on sale at the hardware store all the time.  Don't you read the flyers?  What's so special about these trimmers?"

Mason propped a thumbed paw under her chin, flexing and stretching that thumb, showin' it off and whatnot.  "Maybe that's the wrong name.  Snippers?"

"Hardware store sells snippers, too," I explained.

"CLIPPERS!" cried Mason.  "Some sort of sports team called the Clippers might be going up for sale.  Someone on CNN said it might go a billion dollars.  Do you think you have enough saved up in your froggy bank for that?"

Sometimes I wonder 'bout my sister Mason.  Firstly, there was no way, no how, that a billion dollars worth of loonies and toonies was gonna fit in my froggy bank.  And even if it did, it would be way too heavy for me to take to the Clippers store.  Secondly, I couldn't even imagine how many bottles of stuff the peeps would have to drink to recycle a billion dollars worth of bottles.  And lastly but most importantly, everyone KNOWS the money in my froggy bank is earmarked for an investment in nip futures.

"You goin' crazy, Mason?  You KNOW that money is earmarked for nip futures."  I turned my back to her and began washin' my tail.

"It was just a thought," Mason sighed.  "Originally, you were going to use your bottle money to buy toys and these whipper snippers - I mean, Clippers - play basketball which requires basketballs which are balls and balls are toys, so..."

"Don't think they're toys for cats, Mason.  Firstly, basketballs are way too big for cats to play with unless those cats happen to be lions or somethin'.  Rushy comes close to bein' a lion but not even he is big or strong enough to handle a basketball.  More importantly, I don't think basketballs contain nip.  Pretty much useless without nip," I explained.

Mason was right about one thing, though.  I had originally intended on usin' my savings to buy toys. I think I might even have made mention of buyin' toys with it when sending the peep out to find me a pink piggy - and not orange froggy - bank, way back when.

But then I got to thinking 'bout stuff and realised that the peeps buy us toys all the time.  And Santa Claus brings us toys at Christmas.  And every now and then someone sends us a toy as a prezzie or whatever.  When you think about it, we cats actually get a lot of toys.  No need for me to be spendin' my own savings on more.

On the other paw, one can never have too much nip.  No siree!  Nip is where it's at.  Nip is what makes the word go round.  Nip is the best thing since sliced bread!  Maybe even better.  Actually, from a cat's perspective, nip IS better.  No doubt about that.

I don't actually know how to invest in nip futures just yet but as soon as I have enough money in my froggy bank to do so, I'm gonna find out.  I don't even really know what nip futures are but I do know this...  A FUTURE FILLED WITH NIP IS WORTH THE EFFORT OF FINDIN' OUT!

I'll have to do some research on these nip future thingies so that when the time comes, I'm ready to invest.  In the meantime, I'll let Mason count up the money in my froggy bank.  Gettin' the chance to show off her countin' skills and those extra toes will make her day.

Toes...  Thumbs...  Whatever.