the contest

"Okay, OKAY...  Yeah, that's it.  Okay, a little more to the left there, Andy.  Hmmm...  Scratch that, a little more to the right.  Keep goin'.  Keep goin'.  KEEP GOIN'.  Nah, that looks sucky.  Move it back to your left, would ya?  No, YOUR left.  YOUR OTHER LEFT.  That's it.  Yup, keep on movin'.  A little more...  A little more...  A little..."

"MAKE UP YOUR MOUSING MIND, SIVVERS!  This carved pumpkin is really heavy."

"Yeah," Seville grinned, "but it's super spooky lookin', too.  We are SO GONNA WIN the neighbourhood Hallowe'en decoratin' contest this year.  No one - AND I MEAN NO ONE - has anythin' as good as this in their yard."

"Probably because no one around here is able to push these big jack o'lanterns around," puffed Andy.  "Honestly and truly, Seville, it's REALLY heavy.  Could you at least give me a paw?"

Seville thought for a bit.  "If I'm helpin' with the movin', I won't be able to direct.  Now push that thing another foot...  I mean, paw, over to your left.  MOUSES!"

"Whew!"  Andy sat back on his haunches after giving the pumpkin one final shove.  "Do you think that looks like it's in the right spot, now?"

Seville gave the pumpkin an appraising nod.  "Yup, looks just about PURRfect to me.  Now for the next one."

"NEXT one!  How many of these pumpkins do you have?"

"Just a dozen or so."  Seville held up a paw, "And before you start complainin', I'M the one who had to carve 'em all.  I asked the peep for help but she was busy doin' somethin' in the kitchen.  Somethin' stupid, would be my guess.  You know, basic stupid stuff peeps do."

Andy nodded with understanding.

At that moment, a black van came racing down the street and screeched to a halt in front of the cats' house.  Both front doors flew open and out popped two weaselly looking characters.  They approached Seville; the one in the lead holding a clipboard.  "May I speak to the gentleman of the house?" he asked.

Furrowing his brow, Seville replied, "That would be me.  What do you want?"

Vigorously shaking Seville's paw with both of his, he answered, "Wilton Weston Weasel from Shakers and Movers Moving - a subsidiary company, wholly owned and operated by the Weasel Syndicate - at your service."  Having finished his spiel, he bowed with a flourish.  "I understand you're in need of a moving company."

"Shakers and Movers?" Seville questioned.  "What kinda stupid name is that for a movin' company?  You shake up all the boxes of stuff you move?"

"When required, yes," the weasel replied.  "You'd be surprised how many peeps out there require a good shaking up when moving."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Seville told him, "and believe you me, I've heard some pretty stupid stuff.  You've met my brother, haven't you?"  Seville pointed to Andy.

"HEY!" Andy yelled.  "There's no need to insult the fur-sibs."  He extended a paw to the moving company weasel.  "But since you're here, YES.  Yes, we definitely require your services.   My brother has like a dozen of these enormous jack o'lanterns needing to be moved about before the neighbourhood Hallowe'en decorating contest judging begins."

The weasel made some mental calculations.  Or rather, the weasel made some calculations, counting on his fingers, then scribbled a figure on his clipboard.  Thrusting the scribbled upon paper in Seville's face, he declared, "Here."

"What the mouses is this?" asked Seville.

"My estimate."

Seville's jaw dropped.  "Eleven hundred and...  MOUSES!  That's highway robbery, that is.  I'm not payin'..."

Andy thrust a piece of plastic into the weasel's paw.  "Use this."

"Andy!" and Seville hauled his brother back.  "We can't pay out that kinda money.  The peep will absolutely freak."

Anderson narrowed his eyes.  "Well I'm not moving any more of your silly orange pumpkins around the yard on my own, Seville.  They're way too heavy.  These weasels specialise in moving things about."

"More like they specialise in shakin' things up," Seville said, gritting his teeth.  "Didn't you hear what he said about the shakin'?"

Andy pressed his lips together, adamantly.

 "FINE.  But YOU'RE gonna have to explain the bill to the peep.  MOUSES!" and Seville started drawing a garden plan so that the weasels would know exactly where to place the pumpkins.  Looking up, he said, "I need these moved within the hour.  Judging starts at noon."

The weasel nodded sharply.  Blowing on the whistle that had been hanging around his neck, the van's back door popped open and out popped...

Yes, you heard that correctly.

Out POPPED the weasels.  Five of them, to be exact.  Seville shook his head in disgust and gave Andy a dirty look.  Paying no attention to his brother's irritation, Andy shrugged his shoulders and lay down for a little nap.

At five minutes to twelve, Seville sauntered out of the house to check on the weasels' progress, carrying a large niptini and a pawful of snacks.  "Oohhhh..  This is gonna be good," he grinned.  "We are SO GONNA WIN..."  Stopping in his tracks, he looked around the front yard in dismay, ignoring the sound of glass shattering as he dropped his niptini on the brick pathway.

"WHAT THE MOUSES HAVE YOU DONE?" Seville cried.  "I MEAN, WHAT THE MOUSES HAVE YOU NOT DONE?  It's five minutes 'til judgin' starts and not a single one of these pumpkins has been moved!"

"But each and every one has been shaken," sneered the head weasel.  Thrusting an official looking piece of paper in Seville's face he added, "See?  Right here.  The contact states that...  Hmmm...  Yes, here...  Pumpkins.  Shaken.  Moving not required."

"BUT YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A MOVIN' COMPANY!" Seville wailed.

The weasel simply smiled.  "Moving and shaking company, remember?  Our contract..."

"I DIDN'T SIGN THAT!  I DID NOT SIGN ANY STUPID MOUSED-UP CONTRACT.  I..."

"Your brother signed," and the weasel's smile became malevolent, "right there on the dotted line.  See?"

Seville snatched the contract out of the weasel's hand.  "ANDY!!!"

Andy woke with a start.  "You looking for me, Sivvers?"

Seville growled.  Turning back to the weasel he said, "I don't care what Andy did or did not sign.  You're gonna get these pumpkins moved into place, and you're gonna get 'em moved, NOW.  MOUSES!"

Just then, a trio of well-dressed peeps came walking down the path leading to Seville's front door.  The female peep looked about the yard, tsking and muttering about the mess.  The two male peeps whispered to one another, questioning whether or not they had the right address.  "They appear to be completely unprepared," Seville heard one of them say.

"But..."  Seville began.  "WAIT!  Please wait, your royal...  Honoured?  Yes, your HONOURED judges.  PLEASE wait.  Pretty please?  Pretty please with nip on top?  We've met up with a slight, UNEXPECTED snafu, you see."  He watched as the female peep lifted one foot to find pumpkin seeds and guts dripping from her shoe.

"Here, let me fix that," and Seville grabbed hold of Andy's tail, using it to wipe the pumpkin guts off the shoe.  "I must have missed those when I cleaned up..."

The female peep raised an eyebrow.  "This has been cleaned up?" she questioned.  "What did it look like BEFORE?"

"It...  Uh...  Um..." Seville sputtered.

The head weasel stepped between Seville and the three judges.  "Wilton Weston Weasel from Shakers and Movers Moving - a subsidiary company, wholly owned and operated by the Weasel Syndicate - at your service," he said, thrusting out one hand.  "I assume you've already been to the house down the street?  The house owned by Wesley Weston?  MY BROTHER?" and he glanced over at Seville, sneering.

"Ah yes," answered one of the male judges.  "And a VERY FINE decorating job that was.  EXCELLENT work, unlike..." and he looked about Seville's yard.

Seville sat back on his haunches and let out a loud sigh.

"SEVILLE!" someone hollered with a piercing shriek.  Flinging open the front door, Peep #1 stood there and yelled once more.  "SEVILLE!  What have you done with the pumpkin I left on the kitchen counter?  I'm in the middle of baking..."

Peep #1 stopped short at the sight of the three judges.  She stood there, her apron askew and covered with flour, her hair half in and half out of its pony tail, and bits of pastry stuck to her clothing and face.  "Oh, hello..." and she held out a hand.  A bit of egg shell that had been sticking to her palm fell to the ground.

"ARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" the judges screamed in unison.  "IT'S FRANKENSTEIN'S WIFE!!!"  Turning on their heels, they ran as fast as they could, away from Seville and Peep #1.  And off in the distance Seville could hear, "YOU WIN, Seville the Cat.  That's the scariest sight anyone has ever seen."

Seville smiled to himself as he walked up to the peep.  "Thanks, Peepers.  I appreciate the...  Uh...  Hmmm..." and he picked a piece of pastry off the peep's apron.  "Mmmm...  You need a taste taster for that pie you're bakin'?  MMMM...."

With their plot to win the neighbourhood Hallowe'en decorating contest foiled, the weasels slumped their shoulders and slowly shuffled off to their van.  "Maybe next year," one of them sighed.  "Who knew we'd ever have to compete with a sight as scary as that?"  The other weasels all visibly shuddered.  And before turning to head indoors, Seville waved goodbye to the weasels, and cried...

the weasels who stole Easter

"WHAAHHH?" Seville cried, awaking with a start.  "What the mouses was that?"

"DID YOU HEAR THAT?" Mason yelled as she ran into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Shh!!!  You'll wake up the peep," Seville told his sister, "and I just got her to sleep."  Putting his paws over Peep #1's ears, he asked, "Did I hear what?"

"That noise.  It sounded like glass breaking," Mason answered.

"As a matter of fact, I think I did hear that.  I heard somethin', anyway.  Some kinda noise woke me up."

"I think someone is breaking into the house," Mason whispered.  "Seville, you and I need to check this out.  Come on," she beckoned.  "We need to check it out right now."

"FINE," grumbled Seville, and jumping down from the bed, he scampered after his sister.  Together, they headed downstairs.

Side by side, the two cats crept along the hallway until they were within a paws' reach of the living room door.  Mason put a paw to her mouth, and extending one claw, she silently reminded Seville to keep quiet.  She then pointed to the living room and mouthed the words, "They're. In. There."

The two cats peered around the corner of the door, and into the living room.  Their jaws dropped at the sight before them.  Several weasels were searching the room.  They were looking under the chesterfield and chairs, tossing throw pillows onto the floor, and even reaching behind the paintings on the walls.  In the dining area at the far end, a weasel could be seen rummaging around in the drawers of the buffet table, while another was lifting the corners of the area rug.

"What the mouses are they after?" whispered Seville to his sister.

Mason shrugged her shoulders.  "Nip?" she suggested.

"Well they're out of luck if it's nip mice they're after," said Seville.  "I slobbered over the last one in that room, yesterday afternoon.  Remind me to tell the peep we need her to knit up a few more."

Mason let out a little gasp.  "Look!  That weasel has found something on one of the dining room chairs."  She squinted so as to see what was in the weasel's hand.

Both Seville and Mason recognised the weasel's newly found treasure, immediately, and turned to face one another.  In unison, they cried, "THEY'RE STEALING OUR EGGS!"

A deathly silence emanated from the living room.  Having heard the cats in the hallway, the weasels stopped what they were doing, and listened intently.  Hearing nothing more, they went back to searching the room.

"They're stealing our eggs," the two cats cried again, this time whispering.

"Those are the eggs the Easter Bunny left for us."  Seville stomped a paw.  "For us CATS.  And they're stealing them all.  Those dirty rotten rascals...  MOUSES!"

"Shh..."  Mason reminded her brother, once more.  "They'll hear you.  We need to find out what they're planning to do with our nip eggs."

"They're probably gonna have a nip party or somethin', Sis.  They're probably gonna get nipped on OUR nip eggs."  Seville pressed his lips shut.  Catching his tongue between his teeth, he stopped himself from yelling out MOUSES!

"SHH..." Mason reminded her brother a second time.

"Wait a minute," murmured Seville.  "I have an idea.  Be right back," and he scampered off into the kitchen.  Moments later, Seville returned carrying a large egg.  Very carefully, he gently placed it on the floor in the middle of the hallway, just outside the living room door.

"Get back!" Mason urged.  "They're coming this way."

The two cats pressed their backs against the hallway wall.  Luckily, there were no lights on in the hall, allowing them to melt in the shadows.  They watched as seven weasels, each carrying a bulging sack of what appeared to be nip eggs, marched, single file, toward the front door.  The lead weasel bent down to pick up the egg Seville had left on the floor, and tossed it into the sack he was carrying.  Moments later, the front door slammed shut, and the weasels were gone.

"MOUSES!" cried Seville, loudly this time, no longer having to conceal his presence.

"Mouses, indeed," Mason murmured.  Turning to her brother, she calmly stated, "Seville, you and I are going to go get our nip eggs back."

"Maybe we should just phone the police," suggested Seville.  "There are seven of them, and only two of us."

"And like the police are really going to believe two cats calling in the middle of the night about a gang of weaselly bandits stealing nip eggs left by the Easter Bunny."

"Hmmm...  You might have a point there, Sis.  Weasels stealing eggs does sound kinda fanciful, doesn't it?"

"Come on."  Mason grabbed Seville by a paw, and dragged him toward the front door.  Once out on the veranda, they spotted what they recognized as the Weasel Syndicate's getaway van, heading down their street at top speed."

"I KNEW IT!" Seville cried.  "I knew the Syndicate was behind this, for sure."

"COME ON, THEY'RE GETTING AWAY!" yelled Mason.  Still holding Seville by the paw, she started after the weasel's van at a trot.

"Mason..." and Seville dug his back paws into the ground.  "We can't catch up to their van on paw.  We need to..."

Mason spun on her heels.  "Don't be such a negative nelly, Sivvers.  No one would ever get ANYTHING done if they gave up before even trying."

Reluctantly, Seville got to his paws.  "FINE.  But I still say..."

At that moment, the Weasel Syndicate's van came careening back down the street and toward the cats' house.

"Well would you look at that," whistled Seville.  "You think they've had a change of heart and are returnin' our nip eggs?"

"No...  Why would they?"  Mason looked puzzled.

The van screeched to a halt at the end of the cats' driveway.  All four doors opened at once, and weasels came piling out, coughing and sputtering, gasping for air.

"What on Earth?" Mason cried.

Seville smiled a wide smile from ear to ear, and light from the streetlamp sparkled as it bounced off his upper fangs.

The head weasel marched over to the cats, tossing down his sack of eggs at their paws.  "And I suppose you think this is funny!" he cried.

Seville chuckled.  "Actually, uh..  Yeah.  As a matter of fact, I do."  He held onto his tummy and roared with laughter.

"OUR WHOLE VAN REEKS!" the weasel yelled.

Mason looked puzzled.  "Sivvers, what did you do?"

"WHAT DID HE DO?" cried the weasel.


"Yeah, what did he do?"  Mason looked from the weasel to Seville, and back to the weasel again.

"Heheheheheee..." laughed Seville, clapping his front paws together with delight.  Grabbing the weasel's sack, he peered inside and gave it a little sniff.  "Everythin' seems in order here.  Where did you put it?"

"Where did he put what?" asked Mason, still confused about what was going on.

"It's in the van," grumbled the weasel.  "It fell out onto the van floor."

"And did it break when it fell?" asked Seville.

"You know perfectly well that it did, Cat," the weasel spat.  "Why else would we have returned?"

"Why else, indeed," smirked Seville.

"WHAT THE MOUSES IS GOING ON?" Mason yelled.

"Sorry, Sis," Seville apologised.  "I guess I should fill you in.  Remember that egg I left on the floor in the hallway?"

Mason nodded.

"And do you remember those eggs Peep #1 found way at the back of the fridge, the other day?  You know, the ones she had forgotten about?  The ones from Easter, LAST year?  The ones she didn't know how to get rid of?"

"Oh yeah..." and now it was Mason's turn to smile.  "I remember those."  She slapped Seville on  the back.  "Good one, Seville."

"I know, right?" and Seville gave his sister a high paw.

"WHO'S GOING TO PAY TO DESTINKIFY OUR VAN?" the weasel yelled.  "IT REEKS FROM TOP TO BOTTOM!"

Mason pursed her lips together.  "It does, does it?  Well that's somewhat unfortnate."  She placed her front paws on her hips and stomped a paw.  "You weasels shouldn't be breaking into houses and stealing cats' nip eggs.  Maybe you'll learn a lesson from this."

Seville leaned over and whispered in his sister's ear.  "Not likely, Sis.  Weasels aren't too bright, you know.  They're not like us cats."

"True," agreed Mason, before turning back to the weasel.  "I want each and every one of the nip eggs you stole, returned right now.  Come on.  COME ON.  Time's a wasting!" and she snapped her claws together, inches from the weasel's nose.

"You go, girl," Seville told Mason.  "I'll go re-hide this bag of nip eggs.  Those two long-haired marmie freak brothers of ours will be awfully disappointed if they don't get to hunt for eggs on Easter mornin', you know."  He turned, and as he headed inside the house, he called back to his sister, "Have the weasels leave the rest of our eggs on the veranda, okay?  I'll come get 'em once this first lot is hidden."

"I SAID, TIME'S A WASTING!" Mason again yelled at the weasel, who was still standing in the same spot, watching with dismay as Seville headed indoors.  "GO GET THOSE EGGS, AND GO GET THEM NOW," Mason cried, practically pushing the weasel toward his van.

"BUT WHO'S GOING TO PAY TO DESTINKIFY OUR VAN?" the weasel again cried.

"The same weasel who broke a rotten egg on the van floor, I would think," answered Mason.  She snapped her claws once more.  "Go get those nip eggs, I said."

"But..."

"Shall I go see if I can rummage up another rotten egg or two from the back of the fridge?" Mason asked.


"No.  No...   NO!  that won't be necessary."  The weasel gulped, hard.  "You cats may have won, this time, but..."

"But?" asked Mason, daring the weasel to continue.

"But nothing," answered the weasel, half swallowing his words.

Mason grinned.  "Feel free to cry MOUSES! if you so desire."

The weasel turned and grumbled as he stomped toward his van.  "Outwitted by a couple of cats...  On Easter morning...  MOUSES!"

read me a story

"Read me a story, Peepers.  Please?  I'm havin' a hard time fallin' asleep, but I just KNOW I could fall asleep, lickety-split, if you were to read me a good story.  Doesn't matter which one.  Maybe a fairy tale or somethin'?  PLEASE?"

Seville curled up on the couch, and Peep #1 brought out The Big Book of Fairy Tales, a book containing many of Seville's favourite stories.  "Once upon a time," Peep #1 began.

Seville closed his eyes, and listened.

Once upon a time, a very useless nip grower, and her handsome marmalade cat, along with his four fur-sibs, lived in a tiny cottage at the edge of a terribly dark and scary forest...

"Mason!  MASON!  You'll NEVER guess what I just read.  It was on the front PAGE of the PAPER, and everythin'.  Apparently, the Weasel Syndicate has set up shop in the woods behind our house.  Right out there.  Behind OUR HOUSE.  Can you believe it?  MOUSES!"

Mason rolled her eyes.  "Oh for goodness sake, Seville.  You can't believe everything you read.  Haven't you ever heard of fake news?"

Seville scowled at his sister.  "It's not fake news, Sis.  It's real news.  Printed right there on the cover of somethin' called a tabloid, which is a paper tablet, I do believe.  MOUSES!"

Mason rolled her eyes again.  "Like I said, it's FAKE NEWS, Seville.  You really are the most gullible cat ever, aren't you?"

"I am not.  I'll prove it to you, too.  Prove that it's real, that is," and Seville stomped a paw.  "Tonight, when the peep is fast asleep, I'm gonna sneak out of the house and find those weasels, if it's the last thing I do."

"And it likely will be the last thing you do, if you go wandering around in the woods late at night.  You know perfectly well, Peep #1 doesn't allow us cats out after dark."

"Yeah, well what the peep doesn't know won't hurt her, will it?"

"The question is, will it hurt YOU."  Mason eyed her brother.  "I'll make you a deal.  We'll go in search of those supposed weasels, together, but if we don't - AND WE WON'T - find them within an hour, we'll come home straight away."

Seville considered the offer for a moment before breaking into a large smile.  "DEAL!" and he high-pawed his sister.  "We'll find those weasels before you know it, Sis, 'cause I KNOW they're out there.  Fake news...  Ha!  What WILL you come up with next?  MOUSES!"

Late that night, as the clock struck midnight, Mason and Seville quietly crept through the house, readying themselves for their journey.  Seville opened the back door and together, the two cats stepped out into the darkness.

They approached the edge of the terribly dark and scary forest, and Mason said nervously, "I don't think this is such a good idea after all, Seville."

Seville looked up at the night sky.  "It's a full moon tonight," he remarked.  "There's lots of moonlight, Mason.  It's practically like the middle of the day!  We're gonna be fine."

Entering the forest, Mason and Seville followed a well-trodden path.  Although they had travelled along this particular path many times, even Seville had to admit it looked a lot different at night.  There were shadows where shadows had never before been, and unfamiliar noises such as the hooting of owls could be heard.  He couldn't help but shudder.

After walking for ten minutes or so, the cats came to a fork in the path.  Seville sat back on his haunches and thought.  "Now which way do you suppose we should go?" he asked aloud.

"I think," Mason began, "we should turn right around, and head back home.  Sivvers, Weasel Syndicate or not, we're going to get ourselves lost out here.  If we're not lost already, that is."

"Got that covered!" and Seville pumped the air with a paw.  "I left us a trail to follow home."

Mason looked puzzled.

"Mason, while you've been unnecessarily fretting over our gettin' lost, I, Seville the Cat, have been doin' somethin' to prevent it.  I've been leavin' a trail for us to follow.  One that will take us right back home, when the time comes.  See this bag of treats?" and he held up a now half-empty bag of his favourite temptations.  "You probably thought I was munchin' on these while we've been walkin', but you'd be wrong about that.  Why, I haven't munched on a single one!  No sirree.  Instead, I've been droppin' a treat or two, every few feet, as we've been walkin' along."

Mason's jaw dropped and she looked truly amazed.  For even though Seville's incredible intelligence and foresight were obvious to practically EVERYONE ON THE PLANET, until now, this fact had escaped her.  "Well I'll be..."

Seville smiled, smugly.  "Check it out, Sis.  Come on, I'll show you," and he led Mason back along the path a few paces, pointing out dropped treats here and there, along the way.  "See?  This trail of treats will lead us straight home when the time comes."

Together they turned a corner, but stopped suddenly when they ran smack dab into one of their two long-haired marmie freak brothers.

"Anderson!" Seville cried.  "What the mouses are you doin' out here?"

"Ummph..." Andy mumbled, his mouth full.  Swallowing hard, he began again.  "What are YOU doing out here?" he asked.  "Peep #1 says we cats aren't allowed outside after dark, and we're especially not supposed to be wandering about in this terribly dark and scary forest."


"Since when did you start doin' what the peep says?" Seville asked.

"About half an hour ago, I think.  I wanted to see what you and Mason were up to.  I wanted to see what kind of trouble you were getting into, so that I could tell on you."

Seville peered at his brother.  "And by the way, what were you eatin', before?" he asked.  "Peep #1 also says, we shouldn't just put any ol' thing we find, into our mouths, and..."

Seville stopped mid-sentence as the truth dawned on him.  "ANDY!  WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY TRAIL OF TREATS?"

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

Be sure to return Wednesday to find out what happens next.

the Hallowe'en Ball

"Awww...  MOUSES!  Who is that blockin' my driveway?  And I was just gonna send the peep out on a treat run."

Looking out his office window, Seville leaned forward to get a better look at the large, orange object in the driveway.  "Hmmm...  A better question might be, WHAT is that blockin' the driveway?  MOUSES!"

"HEY ANDY!  YOU ORDER AN ORANGE CAR ON E-BAY OR SOMETHIN'?"

"Well I'm not gonna just sit here and do nothin'.  I'm gonna head on out there, and tell whomever is drivin' that  thing, to get their moused-up, orange vehicle outta my way."  Slamming the door on his way out, Seville stomped down the driveway.  "Hope it's not some kinda clown car," he murmured to himself.  "Those things freak me out.  MOUSES!"

Considering the possibility of a carload of clowns sitting in his driveway, Seville approached the orange object with trepidation.  "They had best not jump out at me," he muttered.  "Nothin' worse than a bunch of clowns, jumpin' out at you, and..."

"WHAT THE MOUSES?"  Seville stopped in his tracks at the sight before his eyes.  There, in his very own driveway, was his sister, Mason, chatting away with a couple of weasels, undoubtedly sent by the Weasel Syndicate.  "Mason, why, pray tell, are you cavortin' with weasels?  MOUSES!"

Mason rolled her eyes.  "We're not cavorting, Seville.  We're just finishing up a little business," and with that, she pawed a piece of plastic over to one of the vermin.

"That had better not be the peep's credit card, Mason.  Peep #1 said we were to stop usin' it when dealing with unsavoury characters."  One of the weasels raised an eyebrow.  "Yeah, you heard me right," Seville sneered.  "YOU are an unsavoury character, for sure."

"OH-KAY..." and Mason turned back to the weasels.  Smiling, she held out a paw.  "Looks like we're all done here.  As always, it was a pleasure doing business with you."

After vigorously shaking Mason's outreached paw, the lead weasel turned toward the other, and together, they scurried down the driveway, chuckling away to themselves.

"Are you serious, Mason?  Doin' business with the Syndicate?  Givin' them money?  For this...  This...  THIS..."  Seville narrowed his eyes.  "What the mouses is this, anyway?  It looks like a pumpkin, to me."

"That's because it is a pumpkin, Seville.  I am now the proud owner of one giant-sized, orange pumpkin.  Isn't it beautiful?"

"It's a pumpkin.  A pumpkin, Mason.  A PUMPKIN!  WHAT THE MOUSES ARE YOU DOIN', BUYING A GIANT-SIZED PUMPKIN?  When this thing starts to rot, it's gonna attract rats and mice, for sure."

"Mice!" and Mason snapped her claws.  "I need mice.  Now, where's the best place to look for a couple of mice?  Seville, you have some mouse friends.  Where do they usually hang out?"

"And they say I'M the weird one."

"Who says you're weird, Seville?"

"Well you, for starters.  Mason, I'll repeat my question.  What the mouses are you doin', buying a giant-sized pumpkin?  And why the mouses are you searchin' through the compost pile now?"  He held up a paw.  "Don't tell me.  You're lookin' for mice.  Of course.  MOUSES!"

Mason turned toward her brother.  Holding up a small mouse by its tail, a broad smile formed across her face.  "Hold onto this," she instructed Seville.  "I need one more."

Now holding the mouse himself, Seville looked at it closely.  "Is that you, Norman?"  The mouse shook his head and squeaked out a negative reply.

Moments later, Mason returned with a second mouse.  She tucked its tail under one of her hind legs, and taking back the first mouse from Seville, she tucked its tail under her other hind leg, leaving her front paws free to rub them together with glee.  "I'm almost all set!  This is going to be great."

Shaking his head, Seville let out a long sigh.  "Sisters.  MOUSES!"

As if in reply, the mice squeaked in unison.

"I don't need any help from you two," Seville told the mice.  "You, on the other paw, might need some help from me."

The mice nodded in agreement.

"Mason, Mason, Mason...  WHAT THE MOUSES ARE YOU PLANNING NOW?"

"It's the Hallowe'en Ball, Seville.  The Hallowe'en Ball!" and a far-off look crossed Mason's face.  "This year is MY year to win first place for the best costume at the Hallowe'en Ball.  I'm going as Cinderella, in case you hadn't yet figured it out."

"Cinderella?" Seville squawked.  "Ah, I see it now.  The pumpkin that turns into a carriage.  The mice - they're the pawmen or somethin', right?  All you need now, is a Prince Charming."

"No, Seville.  All I need now, is a knife."

"A knife?  You're gonna stab Prince Charming?  You're goin' to the ball as a murderous Cinderella?  Like that guy in the movies with the hockey mask and stuff?  You're gonna turn a lovely fairy tail into a horror story, Mason?  Again I must question why they call ME the weird one. MOUSES!"

"You are weird, Seville.  I need a knife to carve the pumpkin.  I need to carve it into a carriage, because it's not like I have a fairy godmother with a magic wand to do it for me."

"You could always ask the peep for help," suggested Seville.

"I can do this myself," and with that, Mason ran into the house.  Moments later, she returned with a carving knife in tow.

Mason walked around the pumpkin several times, examining it carefully.  Seville and the two mice watched her, shaking their heads in dismay.  Every now and then Mason would let out an "Uh-huh," or a "Hmmm..." under her breath.  Finally, she stopped in her tracks and declared, "I think I shall begin carving right here."  Holding the knife high with both front paws, she brought it down, stabbing the pumpkin with a mighty thrust.

Pssssssstttttttttttt.............

Right before their eyes, the pumpkin let out a loud swoosh of air, and slowly began to deflate.

"NOOOOO!!!!!!!!" Mason screamed.

"This is what happens when you do business with weasels, Mason.  Those vermin sold you a lemon."

One of the mice tugged on Seville's fur.  The cat bent down so that the mouse could whisper in his ear.  "You're right, there, little feller.  They didn't sell her a lemon.  I think it was some sort of round, inflatable thing."  The mouse nodded his head in agreement.

"WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?" Mason wailed.  "The ball is on Tuesday.  It's too late to come up with another costume.  Ohhhhhh...." she sobbed.  "This is the going to be the WORST Hallowe'en, EVER," and stomping her paws, she wailed a little more.

"It's not the end of the world there, Sis.  There'll be other Hallowe'en Balls.  There'll be other..."

"Wait a minute," and Mason grabbed Seville by the whiskers.  "YOU'RE orange."

"Yeah, but I'm not a pumpkin, Mason.  Don't be silly.  Don't be..."  Seville stopped mid-sentence.  "Mason...  I'm not liking that look on your face."

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

"Of all the moused-up, stupid ideas.  I will NEVER live this down.  I'm gonna be the laughing stock of the neighbourhood.  I'm gonna be..."

"Shhhh..." hissed Mason.  "Carriages aren't supposed to talk."

Into the ballroom strode Seville, with the two mice - now dressed in costumes suitable for footmen -  perched on top of his head, right between his ears.  And there was Mason, sitting on his back, wearing glass slippers on her paws, and a sparkling emerald collar around her neck.

"How you ever talked me into this," Seville grumbled, "I'll never know.  And starting first thing tomorrow morning, Mason, YOU, my dear sister, are goin' on a diet.  MOUSES!"

nip eggs

"Hey Peepers!  You gonna come lookin' for Easter eggs with us?" Seville's question was met with silence.  "Suit yourself.  Some of us cats are headin' out into the backyard, now.  Call us when breakkie is ready.  MOUSES!"

"She's not joining us?" asked Mason.

"Nope.  Must have better things to do.  Things like gettin' our breakkies ready and stuff, I suspect."

"Probably in there eating chocolate Easter eggs, is more like it," Mason said under her breath.  Oh well, it's her loss."

"That's right!" exclaimed Anderson.  "I heard that this year, the Easter Bunny is finally hiding nip eggs.  Best kind of Easter eggs, EVER."

"I heard the very same thing," stated Seville.

"Me two!" piped up Rushton.

Mason looked at her marmalade brothers.  "Where did you all hear about these nip eggs?"

"Posters," the three boys replied in unison.

"There were posters?" asked Mason.  "Really?  Where were the posters?"

"Oh, here and there," answered Andy.  "Out on the deck."

"And stapled onto the big oak tree at the end of the driveway," added Rushton.

"And on the chairs on the veranda," chimed in Seville.

"Hehehe..." chuckled Andy.  "Yeah, I sat on one on a chair.  Messed it all up."

"I thought it was lookin' a little crumpled," muttered Seville.  "But crumpled or not, that poster clearly stated that this year, the Easter Bunny would be bringin' nip eggs to the Easter Egg Hunt bein' held in our backyard.  Come on, we had best hurry up.  We don't wanna miss out on those nippy eggs," and Seville led the way into the backyard, at a trot.

Rounding the corner, the four cats gasped with delight.  Before them, lay a beautiful array of various pastel-coloured eggs, dotted here and there, amongst the grass.

"Strange how there's no one else here yet," Mason murmured.

"You say strange", began Seville, "I say fortuitous.  "Come on, let's get those nip eggs before any neighbourhood cats arrive.  Meet you all back here in say, fifteen minutes?  MOUSES!"

The four cats nodded in agreement before heading off in various directions, sniffing each egg they passed, looking for the ones filled with nip.  It wasn't long before Anderson came running, yelling out to his fur-sibs.  "Mason!  Rushy!  Sivvers!  COME QUICK!  YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THIS."

The others quickly gathered around their brother.  "What's up?" asked Seville.  "You find any nip eggs yet?  EB - that's what I call the Easter Bunny these days - must have hidden the nip ones really, really well.  So far I've come up with nothin'."

"I found something better than a nip egg," Andy panted, out of breath from running.

"There's no such thing," Seville stated.  "I think you'll find there's nothin' better than a nip egg.  Well, not egg wise, anyway.  There are nip mice, and nip hearts, and nip..."

Ignoring Seville's listing of all toys containing nip, Andy turned on his tail, and ran off in the direction of some trees at the back of the yard.  "This way!" he cried.  "COME ON!"  The others followed. Once beyond the trees, they stopped in their tracks, staring at an object ahead.

"Oh my mouses," Seville whispered.  "What kinda chicken can lay an egg like that?"

"A really BIG chicken," Rushy answered.  "How the heck did the Easter Bunny fit that into his basket?"

"I can't budge it," Andy panted.  "I tried.  It's way too heavy for one cat to roll, but if all four of us work together..."

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU LOT?" Mason cried.

"Oh yeah.  Forgot.  Mason's right," and Seville approached the egg.  "We only want to bring it home if it's a nip egg, Andy.  Did it pass the sniff test?  Did you check?"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!" yelled Mason.

"You think we should bring the non-nippy eggs home, too?" Seville asked his sister.

Mason clenched her paws.  "What I mean," she began through gritted teeth, "is that there isn't a chicken alive that can lay an egg that size.  Can't you all see that it must weigh like a...  a tonne?"

"AT LEAST!" Rushy nodded, excitedly.  "That egg must contain more nip that we cats have ever before seen in one place.  It's like the motherload of nippiness."

"Boys," Mason muttered under her breath.  "Look you three, that's not a chicken egg.  And I HIGHLY DOUBT it was left here by the Easter Bunny.  And even if your pal, EB," and she looked pointedly at Seville, "could fit that egg into his basket, there's no way he'd be able to carry it, much less hop around, trying to hide the darn thing."

Seville sat back on his haunches.  "Hmmm...  I see your point.  But if EB didn't leave it here, who did?"

"It could have been aliens," Anderson suggested.  Rushton vigorously nodded in agreement.

Mason rolled her eyes.  "Not everything weird is down to aliens, Andy.  You've been watching too much Channel 17."  Again, Rushton nodded, vigorously, in agreement.  "And Rushton, you don't have to agree to everything everyone else says," Mason added.

"You're absolutely right, Mason," Rushy agreed.

"For crying out loud," and Mason looked from one brother to the next.  "Do any of you have any ideas about this egg that don't involve aliens?"

"Oh boy..." and Seville let out a long whistle.  "If it's not aliens to blame, it can only be one thing, and that one thing would be..."

"WEASELS," the other three cats yelled in unison.

"Yup, what we've got here is one enormously large weasel egg," Seville stated.

"Weasels lay eggs?" Andy asked, incredulously.

"That's not what Seville meant," Mason scolded.  "It isn't, right?" and she glanced toward Seville.

"Don't be silly, sis," Seville scowled.  "I meant, that dastardly ol' Weasel Syndicate must be behind leavin' this egg, here.  For all we know, maybe the Syndicate is behind this whole Easter egg hunt. It is super weird that no one else has shown up yet.  A legitimate Easter Egg Hunt with nip eggs would attract more than a few neighbourhood cats, for sure."

"So you think that all those posters you boys saw, were put up by the Weasel Syndicate," Mason surmised.

"Yup, looks like it," Seville nodded.  "Bet they put 'em up to trick us cats into coming to the hunt. And I bet that trickery has somethin' to do with this here egg, too."  Seville walked around the egg, examining it carefully.  "Must have used a backhoe to get it in here," he theorised.

"Well we can't just leave it sitting there," Mason stated, turning to face her brothers, her back now to the egg.  "Can you imagine how much this egg will stink in a few days?  It'll stink up the entire backyard.  It'll stink up the whole neighbourhood.  It'll..."

"Uh, Mason..." Rushton interrupted.

"What, you don't think this gigantic egg will cause a gigantic stink when it starts to rot?" asked Mason.

"Um, Mason..." and Andy, too, interrupted his sister.

"What is it with you boys?" asked Mason.  She looked at Seville.  "And I suppose you don't think this egg will start to stink if we leave it here, either?"

Seville pressed his lips together, and thrust his jaw to one side.  "Actually, I think we might be more worried about..."

"What?  WHAT?  What on Earth could possibly be more worrisome right now, than the gigantic stink caused by a gigantic egg rotting in our backyard?" and Mason threw her paws up in the air, with frustration.

"I don't know," and Seville made a face.  "Maybe a gigantic somethin' or other hatching from a gigantic egg in our backyard?"

Mason's eyes grew wide and very slowly, she turned to face the egg.

A large crack had formed down one side.  Every now and then, a razor sharp beak could be seen, pecking at the crack, from the inside. And with each peck, the crack grew bigger.

"RUN!" all four cats yelled in unison.

Halfway across the backyard, Seville cried out, "WAIT!" and everyone skidded to a stop.  "We have to go back.  I don't know what's hatchin' out of that egg, but whatever it is, I'm thinkin' it's gonna be way more trouble once it's out of its egg, and walkin' about."

"Seville is right," Mason sighed.  "We can't let whatever that thing is, loose in the neighbourhood."

"Well I don't think we can put it on a harness," stated Rushton.  "I don't think a cat's harness will fit it."

"I have an idea," Seville said.  "Wait here.  I'll be right back," and he ran toward the house. Moments later, he returned with a bag full of whisks, eggbeaters, and other time travelling teleportation paraphernalia, in tow.

"You're going make an omelet?" Andy asked, scratching behind an ear.  "Where are you going a find a big enough bowl?"

"Wha?" Seville began.  Shaking his head, he reached into the bag and drew out an instrument. "This here used to be a light meter for the peep's flashy box but I uh, BORROWED it a while back, and turned it into a time meter."

"Like an egg timer?" Andy asked.  "Like the kind the peep uses when cooking eggs?"

Again, Seville shook his head.  "Sometimes I really wonder 'bout my fursibs," he muttered under his breath.  "This here time meter will tell us to what time period that ol' egg belongs.  Mason got me to thinkin' when she said there wasn't a chicken alive that could lay an egg that size.  Maybe not a chicken, and maybe not alive, but maybe..."

"Aliens.  I knew it!" and Rushton stomped a paw.

"No.  No, not aliens.  Boy-oh-boy-oh-boy.  What is it with you and your aliens?  I have a FAR MORE PLAUSIBLE explanation.  Somethin' that actually makes sense.  I'm thinkin' it's a dinosaur egg."

Mason, Rushton, and Anderson fell silent, thinking over Seville's theory.  "But how would the Syndicate get hold of a dinosaur egg?" Mason queried.  "You didn't give them access to your eggbeater-whisk time travelling teleportation device, did you?"

"Gave...  Rented out for a moderate fee...  Whatever," and Seville sheepishly pawed at the ground. "But let's deal with the issue at paw, shall we?   We need to use this time meter to identify the time period that that there, whatever-it-is, is from.  And then we need to send it back to its own time, and we need to do so, pronto.  MOUSES!"

Walking on the tips of their paws, the four cats snuck back to where the giant bird-like dinosaur hatchling was pecking around the ground, looking for whatever giant bird-like dinosaur hatchlings peck at.  "It's already out of its shell," Seville whispered.  "I'm goin' in.  If I don't make it out alive, I'm leavin' all my nip mice to you three, okay?"

"SCORE!" Andy yelled.  "Sivvers has the best stash of nip mice, ever," he grinned.

The hatchling turned its head toward the cats at the sound of Anderson's cry.

"Shhh..." Seville hissed.  "Ixnay on the loud chatter."

With the time meter in one paw, Seville crept toward the hatchling.  The dial on the meter immediately swung over to the far left, identifying the time period to which the dinosaur belonged. Seville took note of the date and scurried back to the other cats.

"The darned thing is like five hundred million years old.  MOUSES!"

"Really?" and Rushy raised one eyebrow.  "He looks really good for his age.  I thought he was a baby."

"He IS a baby," Seville scowled.  "But he's a baby that belongs in a time period 'bout five hundred million years ago.  "We need to work fast before he becomes even more mobile.  Come on.  I have a plan.  Pass me those eggbeaters, Rushy."

Working together, the four cats strung together the eggbeaters from Seville's bag, forming a chain. They then placed the chain on the ground, encircling the hatchling, leaving one end of the circle open.  "Mason," Seville instructed, "take a half dozen of the largest of those there whisks in the bag, and use 'em to open up a time vortex.  The bigger the vortex, the better, but make sure it opens right where the ends of the eggbeater chain don't meet.  I'll start calibratin' the vortex, using the time meter.  Andy, I need you to run back to the house.  There's a box of Ancient Grains cereal in the cupboard.  We'll use that to lure the hatchling toward the time vortex."

"Ancient grains," Anderson murmured.  "Ancient grains.  Uh, what does a box of ancient grains look like?"

"Just...  Just...  Just look for the oldest box of cereal in the house," Seville told him.  "And whatever you do, don't mention anything about dinosaurs hatching out of Easter eggs in the backyard, to the peep."

"Got it," and Andy ran toward the house.

"What should I do?" Rushton asked.

"You start revvin' up those eggbeaters.  But make sure you stay on the outside of the eggbeater-chain circle.  We don't need you teleportin' anywhere along with that hatchling."

By the time Anderson returned, Mason had the time vortex fully functional, and Seville had calibrated it to the correct time period.  Seville grabbed the cereal box from Andy's paw and started tossing cereal, by the paw full, onto the ground between the hatchling and the vortex, being very careful to stay on the outside of the circle, himself.   "Here chicky-chicky, here chicky-chicky," he cooed.

"It's working," Mason whispered, and the four cats watched as the hatchling pecked at the ground, following the trail of cereal, heading straight for the time vortex.  Within minutes, he - or she - had made it through the vortex, disappearing into Earth's distant past.

"Whew," Seville sighed with relief.  "That was a close call, for sure.  Let's just keep this one to ourselves and not mention anythin' to the peep, okay?"

"But what about the nip eggs?" Andy asked, disappointment clearly evident in his voice.  "None of us found any at all.  Not a single one."

Seville put a paw around his brother's shoulder.  "I don't think there ever were any nip eggs, bro.  It was all a ruse set up by those darned weasels.  Bet they thought we'd come across their dinosaur egg and get pecked to death by that...  whatever it was."

"Death by peckin'," Rushton murmured.  "Not good at all."

"Come on boys," Mason said, encouragingly. "Maybe there aren't any nip eggs out here, but there are nip toys in the house, and Peep #1 likely has our breakfasts ready. Let's head on inside and see if we can convince her to give us extra treats.  I bet she will, as it's Easter morning."

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Seville.  "Come on everybody.  Let's go wish the peeps a Happy Easter, and then score some extra treats.  Not necessarily in that order, of course.  MOUSES!"

And with that, the four cats headed back to the house, humming along to Easter songs about rabbits hopping down bunny trails.

HAPPY EASTER EVERY BUNNY!

I mean, body.  Everybody.

HAPPY EASTER!!!

BREAKIN' NEWS...

BREAKIN' NEWS...  

Three wooly mammoths were sighted, early this mornin', in rural Nova Scotia.

MOUSES!

It's true.  I saw it with my very own eyes. Early this mornin', I saw three wooly mammoths exitin' my house.  That's right, they walked out through my very own front door, before walkin' down my very own front path. 

Nah, it wasn't the peep.  Hehehehehee...

Although truth be told, there has been many a mornin' when Peep #1's hair was lookin' quite wooly and mammothy, for sure.  MOUSES!

But in this particular case, those wooly mammoths were actually three of my fur-sibs.  You know, the ones with the long hair.  That's right, my brothers Rushton and Anderson, and my sister, Tess.

And believe you me, this mornin', those three were lucky to have that long hair.  Yup, very lucky indeed.

And do you know why?

Why to keep 'em warm, of course.  MOUSES!

BREAKIN' NEWS...  That ol' mousin' moused-up weasel-lovin' marmotty-marmot of a rodenty-rodent of a groundhog, lied.

That's right, my friends.  HE LIED!

Okay, so maybe that's not breakin' news after all.  Maybe that isn't even news.  Maybe...

Maybe we all knew of his habitual lyin', before.

MOUSES!

Oh sure, a few weeks ago on Groundhog Day, that ol' mousin' moused-up weasel-lovin' marmotty-marmot of a rodenty-rodent of a groundhog, came out of his hole in the ground and he cried, "We're gonna have an early spring!"

He cried.

BUT HE LIED.

MOUSES!

'Cause do you know what happened last night?

Well have a seat, put your paws up, and I'll ya.

Last night?

IT SNOWED.

MOUSES!

Okay, so there wasn't all that much snow.  It was really just a sprinklin', is all.  Kinda like a dustin' of icin' sugar on gingerbread cookies, and the like.

Not that I eat gingerbread.

I mean, I may be a ginger-coloured cat, but a cat, my friends, I am.

And cats don't eat gingerbread.  MOUSES!

Anyway...

Anyway, here we are on the second day of April, and that boatload of spring weather I was expectin' has never even set sail.

Or if it did, it hit an iceberg.

Or was thrown off course by a hurricane.

Or picked up by a tornado and...

And...

And MOUSES!

Where are my warm breezes?

Where are my sunpuddles?

WHERE IS MY SPRING?


BREAKIN' NEWS...  Snow is totally unconducive to the arrival of spring.


MOUSES!

All I can say is, NEVER TRUST A RODENT.  Especially not those of the marmotty-groundhog kind.

the Hallowe'en visitor

"I'm comin', I'm comin'. No need to get your knickers in a twist. MOUSES!"  Reaching the front door, Seville swung it open only to find a ghostly apparition hovering over the welcome mat.  "Hmmm... I'm bettin' you're not wearin' any knickers to twist.  Hehehehehee... What can I do you for? Hallowe'en isn't 'til tomorrow, you know."

"Woooooooooo... Woooooooooo.... WOOOOOOOOOO..." the ghostly apparition answered.

"Like I said, Hallowe'en isn't 'til tomorrow so uh...  Um...  Scat!"

The ghost didn't move.

Seville leaned forward until he was nose to nose - or whatever ghosts have in the middle of their faces - with the apparition, took a deep breath and yelled, "BOO!"  With a puff of smoke, the ghost vanished into thin air.  Seville smiled, congratulating himself on a job well done.  Then he closed the door.

"Who was that?" Seville's sister, Mason, asked.

"No one important.  Just some gho...  MOUSES!  Mason, it was a ghost.  A real live ghost was standin' out there at our front door."

"There's no such thing."  Mason grabbed a cat treat from the Hallowe'en treat bag sitting by the door which Peep #1 had filled with the cats' favourite treats a few days earlier.  "There's no such thing as a real live ghost, Sivvers."

"Is so."

With a loud sigh, Mason explained.  "If they're real ghosts, they've gotta be dead.  If they're alive, they're not real.  At least not real ghosts.  That was probably just some kid dressed up like a ghost for Hallowe'en."

"No way, sis," and Seville shook his head vehemently.  "Whoever that was, he was hoverin' like a ghost.  Hoverin'!  As in...  Like...  Like not touchin' the ground.  Kiddies dressed up for Hallowe'en can't do that.  Plus, when I yelled at him, he vanished into thin air.  Vanished!  He didn't run off or anythin' like that.  He just went poof!" and he snapped his claws together for emphasis.

"Then it must have been a real dead ghost I guess," and Mason grabbed another treat from the bag.  She popped it into her mouth, spun on her paws, and headed back into the kitchen.

"Oh Seville...  Oh Seville...  OH SEVILLE..."  Mason called from the kitchen, her cries getting louder by the second.

"What's up?" Seville asked as he trotted around the corner.  He stopped dead in his tracks.  Hovering next to the kitchen table was a ghostly apparition.

Mason turned to look at Seville, Seville turned to look at Mason, and together, they cried, "MOUSES!"

"Told you there was a real live ghost at the door," Seville said smugly.  Mason raised an eyebrow.  "Fine.  A real live dead ghost, then.  Mouses."

Seville approached the ghost and tapped him on the shoulder, but his paw went right through the apparition without eliciting any response from the ghost.  "Why don't you take a load off there? Have a seat, why don't ya."

"On second thought, maybe you can't."  Seville peered under the ghost.  Where there should have been legs and feet, there was nothing at all.  "Hmmm...  I don't think you can sit without legs and feet.  I guess all you can do is that uh, hovering thing."

Seville sat back on his haunches to think.  He scratched behind an ear.  "How do you suppose he got in here?  I didn't invite him.  I told him to scat.  I even yelled Boo at him.  You know, to scare him off.  He must have rematerialised here in our kitchen after his little vanishing act at the front door.  Kind of rude, if you ask me.  A little presumptuous, too."

"Woooooooooooooooo...  Wooooooooooooooooo....  WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..." the ghost cried eerily.

"And he doesn't have much of a vocabulary, either," Seville added.

Mason chewed at a claw. "I wonder why he's here. As you said earlier, he can't be trick-or-treating yet as Hallowe'en isn't until tomorrow.  Plus, he doesn't have anything like a bag, or a pumpkin, in which to collect his goodies.  There must be some rea..."

"BOO!" Seville yelled at the ghost, and once again, it vanished into thin air.

"What did you do that for?" asked Mason.

"Wanted to see if it would work again.  Apparently it did," and he smiled smugly.

"It didn't actually work the first time," Mason reminded her brother.  "He vanished from the front door only to reappear in the kitchen,"

"Oh yeah...  You suppose he's somewhere else in our house now?" Seville asked his sister.

"Only time will tell.  In the meantime, I'm going to grab another treat from that treat bag at the door. Once Anderson finds out the peep filled it with cat treats, there won't be any left."

"Yeah, and I'm gonna go work on today's blog post.  I wanna write about somethin' spooky as tomorrow is Hallowe'en,"  Seville sauntered into his office.  Moments later he cried, "MASON!  You had better get in here.  Quick!"

"Whatever is the matter?  Oh," and she stopped in her tracks.  "I see.  Your ghost friend has reappeared in your office."

"He's not exactly my friend," Seville scowled.  "But he's hoverin' over by my desk and by my computer.  MOUSES!  Plus, he appears to have turned it on.  As he has no feet. I'm assuming he has no hands, either.  Or paws for that matter.  How the mouses did he turn on the computer?"

"Probably some sort of manipulation of an electric field," Mason explained, very matter-of-factly.

"Hmmph!  Can't sit on a chair but can turn on my computer.  MOUSES!"  Seville approached his desk and peered at the computer screen, reading what was displayed before him.  "What the mouses?  This could totally ruin my reputation.  Totally.  TOTALLY.  Awww...  MOUSES!" and Seville swayed unsteadily, from side to side, before falling to the floor in a dead faint.

"Seville, are you okay?  Seville?  SEVILLE?"

Seville opened his eyes, fluttering his eyelashes.  "Is that you, sis?  Mason?"

Taking his paw in hers, Mason answered in soothing tones, "I'm right here, Seville.  What happened?  What scared you like that?"

"Read it for yourself," Seville sniffed, weakly pointing a paw toward the computer screen.  "READ IT AND WEEP!" he howled.

Mason's jaw dropped as she read the screen.

WANTED:  Full-time ghostwriter for the award-winning blog, Nerissa's Life.  Position to be filled immediately.  Standard remuneration package offered.  Apply directly at Seville the Cat's house, or call 902-555-0000.

"Peeps will think I don't write my own blog!" Seville wailed.  "They'll think I've been lyin' all this time.  Only sayin' I write all my own stuff.  Why, they'll think I don't even know my own phone number!  MOUSES!!!"

"Not know your own phone number?" questioned Mason.  "Seville...  You're right."

"I know I'm right!  Wait a minute.  Exactly what am I right about?" he asked his sister.

"That's not our phone number.  Let's see whose it is, shall we?" and Mason picked up the telephone and dialled the number in the ad.

Hello.  You have reached the Weasel Syndicate.  If you know the extension of the weasel you are calling, please dial now.  To speak to a customer service weasel, call back during our hours of operation: 9pm to 7am, Monday to Friday.  Thank you  for choosing the Weasel Syndicate for all your weaselly needs.

"Why those...  Those...  Those dastardly weaselly little weasels," Seville sneered, rising to his paws.  "That's it. They've done it this time.  I'm gonna get those weasels and I'm gonna get 'em, for sure.  MOUSES!"

"There'll be plenty of time to deal with them later.  First, I think we need to deal with that other little problem on our paws.  You know...  Him," and Mason pointed toward the ghost still hovering by Seville's desk.

"Oh yeah.  Hmmm...  Got it!" and Seville snapped his claws again.

Seville approached the ghost.  "Excuse me my little ghostly friend.  I'm afraid that position has already been filled.  However, if I am to understand correctly, I believe there are several vacant positions available over at the Weasel Syndicate's head offices.  Let me get you their address."

"Don't you think you should explain to your little friend here about uh...  Well...  About what ghostwriters actually are?  What they do?" Mason hissed in Seville's ear.

"Nah," Seville hissed back.  "We'll let the weasels explain that."

Seville presented the wannabe ghostwriter with the Weasel Syndicate's business address and public contact information, along with a list of the syndicate's Board of Directors, complete with their private e-mail addresses, home addresses and phone numbers.  After the ghost read everything, he turned to look at the cats. Seville was sure he noticed a nod of thanks, although truth be told, it's very difficult to tell if a ghost is nodding or not, as ghosts don't actually have necks with which to nod.  Moments later, the ghost vanished into thin air.

Feeling that the ghost was now gone for good, the two cats sighed big sighs of relief.  Mason headed to the front door to grab another cat treat from the bag of treats, while Seville settled in at his computer.  Resting an elbow on his desk he muttered to himself, "Now what on earth can I write about for Hallowe'en?  MOUSES!"


                               HAPPY HALLOWE'EN!

the little chicken was wrong

They said it would bring disaster.  They said the country would go to pot. They said it would cause the sky to fall.  There were even little chickens runnin' all about the place, bobbin' their heads up and down in agreement.  Well my little chicken friends, the sky did fall and the country did not go to pot as previously, had been thought.  MOUSES!

I bet you're all wonderin' what in the world peeps believed could bring wreck and ruin to the country and cause the sky to come tumblin' down.  Why, I'm talkin' about the legalisation of nip, of course.  What else?

Once upon a time, back in the olden days, there was very limited availability of the nip.  There were a few backyard growers, of course, scattered about the country.  Chamomile and mint imbibin' peeps would grow a patch or two of the stuff, usin' it for medicinal purposes and to augment their herbal teas.  If you were a lucky cat, livin' with such an herbal tea lovin' peep, you could sneak out into the garden every now and then and grab a paw of the leaves for yourself.

I'm sure it was a cat who first discovered that while Nepeta cataria might calm and relax the nerves of peeps, it had the exact opposite effect on the superior, feline species.  For cats, the nip gets us...   well...  nipped.

Some of these aforementioned herbal tea lovin' peeps eventually started growin' a little extra nip on the side for the neighbourhood cats.  They would harvest this nip each fall, hanging up big bunches of the stuff to dry on porches and verandas and in barns and whatnot.  This dried nip was then used to make nip mice and biff bags and all sorts of wonderful toys appropriate for kitties of legal age.

Cats in the country and the burbs were in luck for, generally speakin', they had easy access to the nip.  If your own peeps didn't grow it, someone nearby likely did.  But what about city cats?  Where could they get their paws on some nip?  This was a major dilemma, for sure.

It didn't take long before the Weasel Syndicate saw an opportunity to make a profit on the nip-sellin' front.  Those weasels - bein' weasels - would head out to the burbs, sneakin' into the backyards of unsuspectin' nip-growin' peeps each fall.  Not wantin' to do the work of growin' and harvestin' the nip themselves - after all, they are weasels - they would wait until peeps had their nip hangin' out to dry. They would then steal those bunches of nip and take 'em back to the Weasel Syndicate.

Let me tell you what you might have found, a century or so ago...

Picture it, you come across what appears to be a reputable business on a busy city street.  Enterin' said business, you find a dark, smoke-filled room, filled with weasels smokin' whatever weasels smoke and drinkin' whatever they drink.  Weasels laughin' and cajolin', drinkin' away their profits from the illegal nip trade.  After makin' your way through this weasel-infested room, you come to another door.  You give the weasel guardin' said door the password - which you have previously obtained from a secret but highly reliable source, for a somewhat reasonable price, before startin' your investigation - and you are allowed entry.  What lies before you is a scene that brings shock and disbelief.

In this inner sanctum of the Weasel Syndicate you find a brightly lit room with bare white walls and stark, yet sparkling, white floors.  There are rows upon rows of tables and workin' at these tables are weasels, all clad in long white coats and gloves.  The weasels are strippin' the nip branches of their dried leaves, sortin' and crushin' those leaves, weighing 'em carefully and then packagin' them up into little clear plastic baggies.  These bags of nip are destined to make their way onto the city streets where they will be sold to city cats, allowin' them, too, to imbibe in the nip.

Now you might be thinkin' that the ways of the past worked.  Cats were gettin' their nip and the weasels were makin' a little money on the side but in truth, this black market nip trade was rife with problems.

For starters, the weasels were makin' a fortune.  Do you know what a gang of weasels does with the money it makes?  Neither do I but rest assured, it's not good.  After all, they're weasels. MOUSES!

Secondly, the Weasel Syndicate had the city nip markets cornered and there was no quality control.  There was no one controllin' nip quality at all.

Weasels were takin' short cuts left, right and centre.  They were cuttin' the nip in ways that were shortin' their customers, for sure.  Instead of just usin' the leaves and dried flower buds of the nip, they were usin' pieces of stem.  Cats were findin' stems in their nip!  It was outrageous.

And stems weren't the only thing a cat might find in that nip.  All sorts of cheap fillers were bein' used.  Those weasels would cut their stuff with anythin' that even resembled nip.  Peppermint, spearmint and even lemon balm.  Once, I heard tell of a cat buyin' a baggy of nip from some street corner dealer named Jack only to find he had just purchased an old lavender sachet that had been pulled straight out of somebody's grandmother's dresser drawer!  MOUSES!

And it didn't stop there.  The nip market was growin' exponentially and thefts from backyard growin' ops, couldn't keep up.  The weasels had stolen all they could steal from the mom and pop operations and moved onto bigger nip-growin' fields.  Unlike the healthy, organically grown nip from backyard herb gardens, some of these larger fields had been contaminated with all sorts of who-knows-what but the syndicate didn't care.  They just needed that nip.  Their profits were at stake.

Thankfully, at some point, peeps saw a way to bring an end to the weasel monopolization of this black market nip trade with the legalisation of the nip.

In the modern world of today, nip can be purchased almost anywhere.  Health food stores, pet stores and even grocery stores have all taken advantage of the Nip Rush by sellin' nip.  Catnip has become commercialised, for sure.  And the government takes a cut as well.  That's right, my friends, nip is a taxable product.  The government taxes our nip!  MOUSES!

Of course, there are still plenty of backyard grow-ops around.  Almost every gardener worth his or her salt - you might wanna pay attention to that, ol' peep of mine - has at least a little patch of the stuff growin' for the neighbourhood moggies.  But the backyard growers are no longer bein' faced with the constant thefts by members of the Weasel Syndicate.  Oh sure, the Syndicate still exists but as there is no longer a profit to be made with the illegal nip trade, it has moved onto bigger and better things.  I understand they're now breakin' into the businesses of bankin' and politics and whatnot.  MOUSES!

Before legalisation, any cat, anywhere, could buy the nip from a weasel but now, there are controls in place.  A weasel would sell to any kitten weaned from his mama but now only kittens of legal age can get their paws on the stuff.

What's more, a weasel would sell a cat as much nip as he or she could afford with never a thought given to the health or welfare of said cat.  A cat high on the nip can get out of control.  Believe me, I know.  Now with nip bein' all legal and whatnot, cats can get nipped in the safety and comfort of their own homes, avoidin' the possibility of becomin' a public nuisance.  Nothin' worse than seein' a cat all nipped up, pickin' fights with the neighbourhood squirrels.  MOUSES!

The legalisation of nip has made possible its regulation and that really is a very good thing, for sure.

Of course, there were those who once said that the legalisation of nip would facilitate the use of other recreational substances.  Nip today, vine tomorrow.  Well actually, the naysayers might have been right about that.  Even we have a little patch of Valerian root growin' although it's only my brother Seville who likes it.  Stuff smells of stinky feet, you see.  Again I must say, MOUSES!

And now that nip is legal, there are ways to profit from it legally.  I, myself, am lookin' to get into the business of nip farmin'.  Been promised three full-sized plants as soon as the garden centres open in the spring.  I've also been savin' up my money, lookin' for an opportunity to invest in nip futures and as soon as I figure out how to do that, I'll be doin' it, for sure.

While the trade of illegal nip might once have only made it into the crime beats of the local papers, it is now entirely possible that we'll be seein' mention made of nip futures in the financial sections and perhaps even a column or two by a nip editor.  That's right, papers could have nip editors, discussin' the best varieties of nip, best nip toys available and nip sales goin' on.  Basically, discussin' all things nip.  And who better to be one of those editors than me?  I'll be a paw-in, for sure.  MOUSES!