show some respect

You ever notice...

You ever notice how peeps, BEIN' PEEPS, show us kitties absolutely no respect?

And when I say no, I mean no as in a nothin' nadda nincompoop kinda way.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, there I was, mindin' my own business, havin' a little nap on the floor next to Peep #1's feet, when all of a sudden...

When all of a sudden, I smelled somethin' kinda funky, in an icky, stinky kinda way.

Of course, I immediately thought my sister, Mason, must have used the litter box 'cause uh...  You know...  Mason does kinda have stinky poo.

MOUSES!

But no, Mason was lyin' there on the floor next to me, sound asleep.  I knew she was sleepin' on account of her snorin'.  And I knew she was not the source of the smell as not even Mason can stink up a litter box without first visitin' it.

MOUSES!

So I gave the air another sniff, and realised the smell I was smellin' wasn't actually that kinda smell after all.

It was more like...

Hmmm...

It was more like...

Valerian?

MOUSES!

Well at the thought of gettin' my paws on some valerian root, I immediately perked up my ears.  I perked up my nose, too, and I started sniffin' some more.  I sniffed all about!  And I looked about, too, but for the nine lives of me, there wasn't a sign of valerian root anywhere to be found.

Except for the smell...

MOUSES!

It was at that point when I rolled onto my back, givin' the peep better access to my tummy.  You know, to give it a good rub with her foot.

I do so enjoy a good tummy rub.  Don't you?

And oddly enough, that's when I smelled the valerian root once more.

Where oh where oh where could it be?

MOUSES!

And THAT'S when it occurred to me.

THAT'S when I remembered.

THAT'S WHEN I REALISED...

That's when it dawned on me that valerian root smells like...

STINKY FEET.

MOUSES!

"Hey Peepers!" I cried.  "Show some respect for the cat, would ya?  GET YOUR ICKY OL' MOUSED-UP STINKY FEET OUTTA MY FACE, AND..."

Hmmm...

"Wait a minute, there, Peepers.  Hold off on that last order.  On second thought, get those feet of yours back rubbin' my tummy, 'cause you know what?  You know that smell of your stinky ol' feet?  Turns out, to a cat who likes the valerian root, that's not such a bad smell, after all."

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!

exposin' himself

Oh my mouses, Andy.  You can't go 'round exposin' yourself like that.  It isn't proper.  It isn't decent.  It isn't natural, for sure.

MOUSES!

Okay, point taken.  You actually can go 'round exposin' yourself like that.  I mean, you do have the ability to do so.  But bein' able to do somethin', doesn't mean that you should.

MOUSES!

Why?

WHY?

'Cause like I told you, Andy, it isn't decent, among other things.  Other things like the fact that you're likely to get Peep #1 into trouble, and we wouldn't want that.  I mean, she gets into enough trouble all on her own.  She doesn't need you helpin' her to get into even more.

MOUSES!

What?

Uh...  No.  No, she wouldn't be gettin' into trouble with the police.

I don't think
.
Actually, I was thinkin' your exposin' yourself like that might get her into trouble with Mason.

MOUSES!

Because...

Okay, let me put it this way:  There you are Andy, lyin' on the chesterfield next to the peep.  You roll over and expose your tummy, for all the world to see, just like you've been doin'.  Next thing you know, Peep #1 is reachin' over and givin' you tummy rubs.

Well of course I KNOW that's the whole point of your exposin' your tummy in the first place.  Let me finish, would you?

Okay, so all appears to be fine, as the peep gives your tummy a rub for a few minutes.  Everythin' seems hunky-dory, for sure.  But then...

But then, you decide you've had enough of the ol' tummy rubs, and jump down onto the floor.

Well the peep, bein' a peep, doesn't notice you've jumped down from the chesterfield, and that that ol' sister of ours, Mason, has jumped up onto the chesterfield, and taken your place.  Then Mason lies down on her side, and the peep, I REPEAT, BEIN' A PEEP, reaches over to rub what she thinks is your tummy, but is now, in fact, the tummy of Mason, and...

And BUNNY-KICKIN' MANIA ENSUES.

MOUSES!

Now are you gettin' the picture, mon frere?

Yeah, I  knew you would.

And do you know how we can prevent this perfectly predictable chaos and bloodshed?

That's right.  That's right Andy, my man.  Now you're thinkin'!  That's the answer, for sure.

We can prevent the bunny-kickin' mania of our sister, Mason, by your not lyin' there on the chesterfield, EXPOSIN' YOURSELF, FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE.

Got it?

Good.

MOUSES!

So Andy, this is what I think you should do.  I think you should jump down from that ol' chesterfield, right about now.  Yup, you wanna jump down from there, real quick.  Before anythin' untoward happens to our dear ol' peep.

That's the ticket, brother dear.  Good stuff!

What?  What's that?  What's that you're goin' on about now?

Oh.

Well...

Well the thing is, I wanted a turn at the tummy rubs, too.  I'd been sittin' there long enough, waitin' for my turn to appear.  Had to think of somethin' to get you off the chesterfield, so that I could get my fair share, too.

Now if you'll excuse me, Andy, I need to roll over and expose MY tummy, for all the world to see, and get the peep to rub the tummy BELONGIN' TO ME.

MOUSES!

oh yeah

Oh yeah,  Yup.  It's definite.  She's feelin' way better, for sure. MOUSES!

As some of you may have heard, my sister Mason had a bit of an upset tummy or somethin', a little while back.  Well the good news is, she's feelin' a whole lot better now.  The bad news is, she's feelin' so well, she's back to her ol' self.  MOUSES!

Now I should clarify that. Mason's ol' self is actually a pretty nice ol' self unless, of course, you're a peep.

Actually, I should clarify that further.  Mason's ol' self is a pretty nice ol' self unless you're a peep with zero self-control when it comes to touchin' tummies.  MOUSES!

What IS it with peeps thinkin' they can go around touchin' our tummies?  MOUSES!

You know, I have to admit, I'm a real tummy rub kinda kitty, myself.  I love the tummy rubs, for sure.  I'll take 'em mornin', noon, and night if I can get 'em.  Rain or shine, summer or winter, you wanna rub my tummy?  Well be my guest!  My tummy is there for the rubbin'.

Although...   As much as I love the tummy rubs, it sure would be nice if just once - JUST ONCE - the peeps would ask before...   You know...  Touchin'.

It's not like I'm askin' for a formal letter of request or anythin'.  No, they needn't go to that length. But a polite, "May I rub your tummy, Your Royal Highness?" or somethin' like that, would not go amiss.

Peeps however, have never been known for their politeness.  MOUSES!

I guess some peeps think it's better to beg forgiveness later, than to ask for permission, first. MOUSES!

But back to my sister Mason.

Mason is not like me.  Mason is not a tummy touchin' kinda gal.  No sirree.  You touch Mason's tummy, and Mason is gonna touch you right back.  Oh yeah.  She's gonna touch you right back, BIG TIME, for sure.

And when I say big time, I mean big time as in an epic kinda way.  My gosh, Mason's response to tummy touches is so big, she makes Niagara Falls look like a backyard water feature. Scratch that.  She makes Niagara Falls look like a backyard water feature in a fairy garden, right behind the wee little house, made just the right size for fairies.  MOUSES!

Oh yeah, you touch Mason's tummy and she's gonna be givin' you the bunny kicks with the hind claws, for sure.

That's just how my sister rolls. MOUSES!

But the odd thing is, when Mason wasn't feelin' well last week, she wasn't too concerned with the peeps touchin' her tummy.  Oh, I don't think she actually liked it or anythin' like that, but she didn't complain about it too much.

And yes, in case you were wonderin', the peeps were bein' all touchy-feely with Mason when she wasn't well, even though you'd THINK with her feelin' unwell, they'd give her a break with the touchin'.  But oh no, not my peeps.  My gosh, they were kissin' her, and askin' her if she was okay, and strokin' the back of her head, and basically annoyin' her to no end.  You know, basically bein' peeps.  MOUSES!

And I know for a fact that on more than one occasion, Peep #1's hand brushed against Mason's tummy, but not once did she put up a fight.

Mason, I mean.  Not the peep.

But anyway, let's fast forward to yesterday.

Yesterday, the peep - bein' a peep - went to touch my sister Mason's tummy and Mason gave Peep #1 a good ol' bunny kick, for sure.

Well...  Actually...  Actually, it was more of an attempted good ol' bunny kick, she gave.  Oh, Mason tried alright.  She was quick.  Quick as a bunny, one might even say.  But the peep?  The peep was even quicker.

You know, it's quite surprising how quickly the peep can move her hand out of the way, when need be.  MOUSES!

So basically, Mason is back to normal.  No touchin' of the tummy for her.  After all, like she says, one can NEVER BE TOO CAREFUL for one NEVER REALLY KNOWS just where those peeps' hands have been.

I, on the other paw, say BRING IT ON.  You wanna rub my tummy?   Well my tummy is there for the rubbin', although, as I mentioned earlier, a polite request would not go amiss.

And as for the not knowin' where the peeps' hands have been prior to the tummy rubbin' part, I'm not too concerned about that.  After all, I think nothin' of walkin' all over 'em after I've used the litter box so I figure, we're probably even.

MOUSES!