Nerissa's Life

Oh for the love of mouses...

MOUSES!

Hey Peepers!  PEEPERS!  Saffy is at the back door, again.  I SAY, SAFFY IS AT THE BACK DOOR!

I say...

Yeah, that's what I said.  Saffy Saffron Sassifras is sittin' at the back door.  Wanted back in, I suppose.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You thinkin' that Saffy has every right to come inside.  After all, this is his house, too.

And I suppose you could be right.

The thing is, though...

The thing is...

The thing is, Saffy just went outside.

'Bout five minutes ago.

Give or take a few seconds.

MOUSES!

Did you not hear me, Peepers?  Did you hear me, ol' peep of mine?  Saffy is sittin' out there at the back door, wanted inside.

MOUSES!

Now, what you - my dear and wonderful pals - might not know is that when Saffy comes inside, he's gonna be expectin' a helpin' of treats.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', Saffy Saffron Sassifras has every right to expect a helpin' of treats.

But the thing is...

The thing is...

The thing is, Saffy had a helpin' of treats about fifteen minutes ago.

WHICH WAS THE LAST TIME HE CAME BACK INSIDE.

And fifteen minutes before that?  Yeah, he came in then, too, and had a helpin' of treats that time, as well.

And fifteen minutes before that?

Well, you get the picture, I am sure.

MOUSES!

Oh good.  Peepers has let my brother back in.

And here come, of course, the helpings of treats.

Excuse me a mo, my dear and wonderful pals, for I'm gonna make sure I get a helpin' as well.

*munch, munch, crunch, crunch*

*BURP!*

*ahhh...*

Hey Peepers!  PEEPERS!  Peepers, Saffy is now at the FRONT door, wantin' to go outside.

And in about ten minutes, he'll prolly be back at the back, wantin' back in.

For another helpin' of treats.

Like the twenty other times already, today.

MOUSES!

I SAID, you're gonna have to do somethin' about that!

PEEPERS!  Like I said, you're gonna have to do SOMETHIN' about that.

That.

THAT!

Okay, THOSE.  You're gonna have to do somethin' about those.

MOUSES!

Peepers, are you even listenin' to me?

Gosh darn it, all this time I've been talkin' to her, she was firmly sound asleep.

Should have known by the snorin'.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, she might not have been asleep.

SHE MIGHT HAVE BEEN IGNORIN' ME.

So rude.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, here's the thing: Peepers has a stash.  That's right, she has her very own stash.

Or is it a horde...

Huh, probably both.

MOUSES!

But it's like this: Peepers has a stash-slash-horde or horde-slash-stash of yarn.  All sorts of different yarns in all sorts of different colours.  It's embarrassing, really.  Embarrassing for her.

Not to mention me.

IMAGINE havin' more balls of yarn than a peep could ever even dream of knittin' up.

IMAGINE!

I mean, it's not like it's a stash of the nip..

A cat CAN ONLY DREAM of havin' so much nip in his stash that he couldn't possibly use it all up before next harvest season.

MOUSES!

But back to this hordelike stash of yarn the peep has.

It's big.  It's stupidly big.  It's BIGLY big, to be sure.  And it's takin' up space that could be put to much better use by bein' used as space for storin' catnip.  It is TOTALLY RIDICULOUS, for sure.

Which is why...

Which is why...

Which is why I have offered to help her out by takin' some of her stashlike horde, unravellin' it all, and thereby puttin' it to better use than just sittin' around, doin' nothin' but nothin', occupyin' space.

And once it's unravelled...

Once it's unravelled...

Well, once a ball of yarn is unravelled, it's time for kitties to do some major slobberin', before knottin' it up.  And THEN, once unravelled, slobbered upon, and knotted in knots, the best thing to do with said yarn is throw it right out!

MAKIN' SPACE FOR MY ANNUAL HARVEST OF NIP.

*purrs*

But Peepers, bein' a peep, is somewhat resistant to this idea.

MOUSES!

But fear not, my dear friends.  Fear not, not at all!  The plan is for Saffy and I to gather at dawn, dive into that stash, and have....

Well, have a ball!

Pun intended.

We'll gather at dawn and have a ball unravellin' those balls of stupid ol' yarn.

Best. Plan, EVER, for sure.

And when we're all done...

When we're all done...

Well, when we're all done, the empty totes that once held the stupid ol' yarn will be MINE.

Every. Single. One.

MOUSES!

What a stupidy-dupidy POOP!

On the other paw...

On the other paw, maybe just poop.

Stupid, stinky, smelly ol' poop.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, some stupidy-dupidy poop, on-line, called Peepers a crazy cat lady, the other day.

And he said it like...

Like...

Get this.

HAHAHAHAAAAA....

He said it like it was an insult, or somethin'.

MOUSES!

Little does he know...

Little does he know, Peepers took it as a complement.

Just as she should.

MOUSES!

So, why was some stupidy-dupidy, stinky ol' poop callin' MY Peepers a crazy cat lady, you ask?

Well...

Well, to tell you the truth, no one really knows.

I mean, she is a lady, of sorts.

No real title, of course.

But she does know her manners and uses 'em well.

Usually.

MOUSES!

And I think we can all agree, she isn't a cat.

If only she were so lucky.

MOUSES!

And as far as bein' crazy...

Well, as far as bein' crazy, she really isn't, you know.

I don't think.

MOUSES!

To tell you the truth, I just think this guy got mad 'cause he realised he was wrong 'bout somethin', and instead of admittin' it, he decided to double down and hurl a bunch of insults.

But as this guy doesn't know an insult from a complement, Peepers has a message for him:  THANK YOU!  THANK YOU VERY MUCH.  THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLEMENT, KIND...

Hmmm...

Sir?

Nah, that doesn't sound quite right.

Thank you for the complement, kind stupidy-dupidy, smelly ol' poop.

That sounds better, for sure.

MOUSES!

Right?

Right.

MOUSES!

Okay, so this didn't happen in Vegas.  Happened right here at my house.  My house here in Nova Scotia, Canada, that is.

MOUSES!

But the same principle applies.

Right?

Right.

MOUSES!

But on the other paw...

On the other paw, that would be wrong.

MOUSES!

'Cause the fact is, if peeps do stupid stuff...

And if I, Seville the Cat, should happen to see them doin' stupid stuff...

I'M GONNA TELL EVERYONE I KNOW.

'Cause that's the kinda cat I am.

MOUSES!

'Cause nobody - AND I DO MEAN NOBODY - is gonna put a muzzle on me.

What do you think I am?  A dog of some sort?

MOUSES!

So here's what happened the other day:  Peepers, bein' a peep, was walkin' around the yard with a cup of tea in her paw.

I mean, hand.

But there she was, walkin' about the garden, lookin' this way and that, when...

When she walked right smack dab into the hangin' glass bird bath.

MOUSES!

Water, water...  There was water, everywhere!

Well, maybe not everywhere.  Her shirt seemed to catch most of it, in fact.  She was drenched right down her front.

I didn't even know a bird bath could hold that much water.

MOUSES!

And, I am told, the whole moused-up incident left her with a headache of sorts.

She SAYS it's 'cause the bird bath hit her in the forehead.

I SAY, the bird bath didn't hit her, but rather, she hit it.

I also say that that tea must have been laced with somethin' stronger than tea leaves.

SHE SAYS it was not.

And truth be told, she is a bit of a klutz.  So perhaps it was all down to klutziness and whatnot.  Human, peepish kutziness and stuff.

But you'll never catch a cat doin' somethin' stupid like that.

MOUSES!

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

YES I KNOW you started makin' me my blankie ages ago.  But then you set it aside.  You stopped knittin'.  And then...

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

YES I KNOW that for a while it was really too hot for for me to need a blankie, at all.  But there were nights that were cooler, too, you know.  I could have used a blankie on those nights, for sure.  PLUS, I can always sleep ON the blankie, even in warm weather, and...

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

YES I KNOW the first stitch you experimented with turned out to be a pain in the tail to knit, but...

WHAT?

Peepers, are you sayin' your first attempt to knit me a blankie was an experiment?

Peepers, ARE YOU SAYIN' you were EXPERIMENTIN'?

Experimentin' on ME?

Of all the moused up, stupid things for a peep to do.

MOUSES!

Peepers, if you wanna be experimentin' with knittin', you should stick to experimentin' on things you happen to be knittin' for yourself.

Or Saffy.

He'll never know.

But not for me.

MOUSES!

YOU HAVE A HECK OF A LOT OF NERVE thinkin' you can possibly get away with experimentin' on knittin' somethin' that you're supposed to be knittin' for me.

MOUSES!

Thank goodness you scrapped that experiment and decided to use a stitch you're more familiar with.  One you know will turn out all cushiony soft.  Thank goodness you decided to use that ol' Bamboo stitch just like the blankie you made for yourself.  Thank goodness you...

Wait a minute.

Peepers, now that I'm lookin' at your knittin' progress a little more closely, I must ask: what's with all the different colours?  How come you're usin' four different colours of yarn to knit up the blankie for me?  

And she's not yet finished.  There might end up bein' more!

What was that, Peepers?  I DIDN'T HEAR YOU.  You didn't answer my question.  Why are you usin' so many different colours when knittin' MY blankie.  YOUR blankie had just the one.

Colour, I mean.

And why the mouses are those the colours you chose?  I mean, the paprika and dusty peach are okay, BUT THE ROSE?  Are you unaware I am a cat who is orange?  Orange with rose?

Really?

MOUSES!

WHAT?

YOU'RE SAYIN' YOU'RE MAKIN' MY BLANKIE USIN' UP OLD SCRAPS?  Scraps of yarn you no longer need?  Scraps of yarn not even worth keepin' in your stash?

You're usin' LEFTOVERS to make a blankie for me?

Of all the nerve.

I've never been so insulted in all my nine lives.

MOUSES!

Bwahahahahahahahahaha...

MOUSES!

Yes, Saffy, it is. It is too funny, for sure.  It's funny 'cause...

Well...

Oh, never mind.

Take too long to explain.

MOUSES!

But as I was sayin' - or askin', rather - whatcha chewin' on?  I didn't see Peepers dishin' out any extra treats.

MOUSES!

You WHAT?

MOUSES!

Saffy, Saffy, Saffron...   Skeeters are not for eatin'.

Okay, so maybe they are.  Maybe they ARE annoyin' little things that can into the house, flittin' this way and that, tryin' to bite our kitty noses; and maybe eatin' one might very well give a kitty a little satisfaction.

But they're way, way, way too small to chew.

'Cause when I say little, I mean LITTLE, 'cause skeeters are so teeny tiny, they're...

Well...

Oh, never mind.

Take too long to explain.

MOUSES!

And who let that skeeter in the house in the first place?  Peepers?  Prolly.  Prolly was Peepers, 'cause she's always leavin' doors open here and there, and when you leave a door open in skeeter season, a skeeter is likely to get in.

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

Yeah, yeah...  So MAYBE you did have the door open lettin' one of us kitties in or out - or in AND out - 'cause we kitties do kinda like to sit there on the doorstep for a while, decidin' if we want to go out.  Or stay in.  Or come back in.  Or go back out.

You get the picture, I am sure.

BUT MY POINT IS...  My point is, it was YOU who opened the door.  So ergo ispso defacto, it was YOU who let that darned mosquito inside.

MOUSES!

AND BECAUSE YOU LET THAT SKEETER INSIDE, Saffron was bein' bothered by it and had to take matters into his own paws and deal with that skeeter, himself!

He ate it, you know.  Yup, that's right, Peepers: Saffron ate the skeeter.

As little as it was.

By gosh and by golly, you'd think you were starvin' us kitties!  IMAGINE us kitties havin' to resort to eatin' mosquitoes.

They're not even big enough to chew.

MOUSES!

And what's more...

Saffy, look!  Look at that, Saffy, my man.  Peepers is so annoyed 'bout havin' to listen to my Saffy-ate-a-skeeter-'cause-you're-starvin'-us rant, she's doling out the most temptin' of the really temptin' treats!!!

And just LOOK at the number she's doling.

By gosh and by golly, had I known a rant like this would get us more treats...

I'D HAVE BEEN RANTIN' ON ABOUT SKEETER EATIN' ALL ALONG.

Saffy, make sure you find and eat another skeeter later today, okay?  I'm thinkin' I might like some more treats 'round about four-thirty.  So start the skeeter hunt around four.  That should give me enough time to prepare a good rant.

MOUSES!

MOUSES!

Hmmm...

Did I say minute?  

That's not correct.

Nope, what I SHOULD have said is that Saffy and Peepers have bested their record and run a four HOUR mile.

MOUSES!

Hmmm...

Did I say run?

That's not correct.

Nope, what I SHOULD have said is that Saffy and Peepers have bested their record and uh...

Ummm...

Hmmm...

Well...

Well truth be told, I don't know what you'd call what they were doin', but I do know one thing for sure: Whatever it was, it was nothin' like runnin', at all.

MOUSES!

 It was more like uh...

Ummm...

Hmmm...

Well...

Well like I said, it was more like somethin' totally unlike runnin'.  Totally unlike anythin' even resemblin' anythin' that knows how to run.  It was more like a...

Ummm...

Hmmm...

Like a crawl.

'Cept without any knees bein' involved.

MOUSES!

Oh, I know!

Okay, so you know when figure skaters do those figure eights, over and over again?

It was kinda like that.

'Cept no one was wearin' skates.

But Saffy was, in fact, doin' figure eights 'round and 'round and 'round Peepers' feet with Every. Single. Step. she did take.

Which is why...

Which is why it took like four hours for Peepers to get from the backyard into the kitchen which is actually nothin' like a mile, but I think everyone was feelin' like it was, on account of it takin' so long to get from there to here, and...

Good gosh, I was exhausted just watching 'em run.

I mean, crawl.

I mean...

Whatever it was.

MOUSES!

If you're good at rememberin' things...

How I told you 'bout the annexation of part of the peep's garden, for the expansion of my catnip plantation, earlier this year.

MOUSES!

Well, the thing is...

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' Peepers has gone and done the unthinkable and dug up my nip plants, for sure.

But thankfully, if that's what you're thinkin'...

You would be wrong.

MOUSES!

So anyway...

So anyway, Saffy and I were out in the garden yesterday, with Peep #1.  Peepers was busyin' herself, plantin' stupid flowers and whatnot, whilst I supervised.  Then all of a sudden...

All of a sudden...

All of a sudden, Saffy wandered off and started goin' all kinda weird and definitely wild.

I'm tellin' you, my pals, that cat was goin' bonkers, for sure.

Of course, when I realised he was over by my nip plantation expansion annexation, I started goin' a bit bonkers, myself.  Had Peepers killed my nip babies with kindness?  Had I killed 'em with neglect?

'Cause truth be told, I had sorta forgotten 'bout that new bed of catnip plants I was growin' out there.  

Had somethin' or other - or someone - come along and dug 'em all up?

Had...

Had...

HAD THE WEASEL SYNDICATE STARTED AN ILLEGAL HARVESTATION AND DESCIMATED THE BED?

My mind was runnin' in circles.  Runnin' in circles like a cat chasin' his tail.

MOUSES!

I know...   I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin', "I wish Seville would get to the point and stop keepin' us in all this horrible suspense."

Well, I'm gettin' there.

Keep your tails on, my friends.

MOUSES!

So off I went to check out the nip plants, my heart full of fear, panic, and dread.

AND THAT'S WHEN I DISCOVERED the real reason Saffy was behavin' like a cat...

Well...

Well, like a cat nipped as nipped as a cat can possibly get.

MOUSES!

That's right, my dear friends.  That's right!  Saffy wasn't behavin' wildly 'cause he was upset or anythin' like that.  He was gettin' all wild 'cause all that nip had really gone to his head!

My newly annexed expansion to my nip plantation is an absolute TOTAL success.  The ENTIRE BED is filled to the brim with nip plants, spreadin' like butter on hot bread.  The soil is almost invisible, my friends.  INVISIBLE, to be sure!  This year's crop is gonna be the best harvest this cat has seen in all his nine lives, yet.

And there'll be none of those pesky chamomile or borage or calendula plants the peep grew in there last year, my friends.  Nothin' but nip plants in my new sixteen square foot bed.  It's gonna be the bestest in the westest - actually, north-easted -  most glorious garden any peep or cat could possibly get.

MOUSES!

And don't tell anyone, but I'm thinkin' of expandin' my plantation once more.  I see the peep has a raised bed next to mine, filled with stupid poppies and stuff, and I'm thinkin'...

I'm thinkin'...

I'm thinkin', a few nip seeds strategically planted in that bed, this fall, and I can annex that one, as well.

I'M EXPANDIN' MY EMPIRE, for sure.

As ONLY A CAT, with previously negotiated cat-peep property rights, can legally and ethically do.

MOUSES!

I said, SHUSH!

Oops!  That was a little loud.

Shush.

Gosh darn it, I missed what Rover said.  Bet it was good, too.  Rover says the funniest stuff.

Oh yeah, Peppers, he really does.  Rover says some super funny stuff.  Last week, he called Mitzie a...  Well, you know.  He used the B word and everythin'.

Don't look so shocked, Peepers.  It's not as bad as it sounds.  I mean, Mitzie is a female dog so the B word actually kinda applies.  But it was still funny to hear Rover say it, you know?  'Cause that's a word no one at our house would ever dare use.

MOUSES!

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

What am I doin'?  To whom am I talkin'?  Is this some kinda Internet group I have joined?

Well...

Well, it's not a group, per se.  It's more of a chat.  It's what we-in-the-know call a group chat.  And you have to be invited.  You can't just join.  Someone already in the group has to invite you in.

Oh yeah, I got added a few weeks ago.  I didn't tell you 'cause...  Well, 'cause it's a SECRET group chat, and all that.

Funny story, actually.  One day, I was messagin' back and forth with Fifi, you see.  You know Fifi, she's the French Poodle over on Pine.  Anyway, I was bragging 'bout how you had finally arranged for me to get my top security clearance, even though you-know-who doesn't have his yet.  And we laughed and laughed and laughed.  Then we laughed some more.  And a little more after that.  I was rollin' on the floor, in here, I was laughin' so hard.  I'm surprised you didn't hear me, my laughter was so loud.

MOUSES!

What?  Oh, never mind that, Peepers.  What's a little top security clearance claim here or there?  I was tryin' to impress the ladies, you see.  Well, I was tryin' to impress Fifi, anyway.

Even if she is a dog.

MOUSES!

Anyway...

Anyway, Blondie, bein' his usual not-so-intelligent self, overheard Fifi laughin', I guess, and started readin' her messages, and...

What?  No, I'm not makin' blonde jokes.  That's his name.  Blondie.  It's his actual name.  Apparently, it's a name often given to Golden Labs.

You know, Peepers, they say Golden Labs are smart, but I just don't see it.

Why?  'Cause Blondie over there, read my messages to Fifi.  And I was workin' on my French - tryin' to impress her, you see - when I must have referred to myself as Seville le chat.  'Cause as you know, in Messenger you're writing, right?  So I must have written somethin' like, Bonjour Fifi.  C'est moi, Seville le chat.

And Blondie, bein' Blondie, must have mistaken that for meanin'  that I was askin' for an invite to their little secret group chat.  

The rest is history, and uh...

Well...

Well, get this:  Le chat is now in on the chat.

MOUSES!

Funniest part is, it's a group chat for dogs.  Dogs and only dogs.  No cats are allowed.  

Which is why I'm tryin' to keep a low profile.  I'm the only cat in the group, and like I said, I'm really not supposed to be there.  I'm not even sure Fifi realises I've been listenin' in.

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

LOTS of stuff.  There's lots and lots of stuff to hear about in there.  Gossip, galore.  And more!

Peepers, did you know...

Of course you don't know.  You're not in the group chat.

But anyway, Peepers, did you know Buster over on Beech got busted?  Yup, it's true.  Buster got busted, diggin' in old man Johnson's backyard.  I believe he pooped in there, too.

MOUSES!

And Ziggy, over on Poplar?  Apparently, Ziggy can't catch a frisbee to save his own life.  Everyone is sayin' it so it absolutely must be true.

Oh, and Chester?  Yeah, Chester on Hemlock.  That's the guy.  Now, this rumour is particularly bad.  Chester's peep never scoops up his poop, and it's givin' the rest of the dogs in the neighbourhood a really bad reputation.  Givin' the rest of the dogs' peeps in the neighbourhood bad reps, too.

NO, it's not his peep's poop.

I don't think.

No, it's definitely not his peep's poop.

I hope.

Yeah, definitely Chester's.  Definitely Chester's poop.  Chester's peep takes Chester for walks in order for Chester to...  You know...  Relieve himself.  But after Chester has done his business, his peep never scoops.  SHOCKING, for sure.

Of course, Rex is keepin' track of all the Chester-poopin'-without-scoopin' incidents.  As a German Shepherd, Rex takes law enforcement very seriously, you see.

MOUSES!

Peepers, you know, if you want in on this group chat, I'm pretty sure I can add you.  Now that I'm in, I think can invite others, too.  I know it's a dogs only group chat and you're not a dog, but then, neither am I.  Just don't do 'round tellin' everyone what you hear.  Remember, it's a SECRET group chat.

Wouldn't want this stuff to end up on CNN, or anythin' like that.

MOUSES!

But if anyone does ask, tell them Blondie added you.  Everyone in the group will believe that. 

MOUSES!

I said, WHAT?

Who the mousie mousin' mouses does she think she...

Oh, for mousin' out loud.

MOUSES!

So get this: Peepers has this stupid idea that she is in charge.

Yup, you heard me correctly.  Peepers thinks SHE is in charge.

In charge of Saffy and me.

Can you believe it?

MOUSES!

So last night, Saffron was wantin' to go outside.  Oh sure, it was around 11pm and already dark - obviously - but Saffy was still wantin' outside.  So he waltzed over to the peep and very politely asked her to follow him to the front door and let him out.

Okay, so it was more of an impolite stare followed by a rather loud meow, but still...  The cat was really wantin' outside!

Peepers, bein' a peep, said no.  She said, "No, Saffron, it's late.  It's dark.  You're in for the night."

Of all the nerve.

Who the mouses does she think she is?

MOUSES!

Well, Saffy wasn't takin' no for an answer.  So as he couldn't open the front door himself, he did the next best thing: he went and asked Peep #2.

SUCCESS.

Yup, Peep #2 let Saffy outside.

MOUSES!

Well, this mornin', all h's and e's and double hockey sticks broke out.  Peepers let it be known that she was none too pleased 'bout havin' to be up 'til well past midnight, in order to get Saffron back in.

That's right, she said "MOUSES!" and  everythin'.

MOUSES!

But all this brings me back to the topic at paw: WHO THE MOUSES DOES THAT PEEP THINK SHE IS?  Why the mouses does she think she's in charge?  Who gave her that idea?  Who told her that she was?

Certainly not Saffron nor me.

Peepers thinks she'll all that just 'cause she can walk about on two paws.

Well, I can walk about on two paws, too.

If I try.

If I WANTED to try, that is.

For at least twenty seconds, or so.

Maybe.

For two seconds, for sure.

MOUSES!

But it just goes to show you, doesn't it.  It just goes to show you that when you teach a baby peep to walk, the next thing you know, they go and grow up and think they're actually in charge.

Stupidest thing I've ever heard.

MOUSES!

Yeah, I was talkin' to you.

MOUSES!

So anyway, Peepers, I'm not sure if you were aware of this or not, but tomorrow is St. Patrick's Day.

You know, the day celebratin' everythin' green.

MOUSES!

OF COURSE I KNOW St. Patrick's Day is about more than just wearin' green.  Which, by the way, does not apply to us cats.  Us cats - specifically Saffron and I - have no intention of wearin' anythin' green.

Not that we're opposed to wearin' green, of course.  There's nothin' wrong with wearin' green.  Nothin' wrong with it, at all.  What we're opposed to is the idea of wearin' clothes of any kind.

Us cats prefer to go nekkid, you see.

MOUSES!

But back to the business of St. Patrick's Day.

You and Peep #2 should wear somethin' green to celebrate the day.  Green sweaters.  Green pants.  Green whatever you have.  But most important of all, make sure you're wearin' SOMETHIN', okay?

Cats prefer non-nekkid peeps, you see.

MOUSES!

And besides wearin' the green, we should go all out with the green fuds and stuff.  A little grass added to our dins-dins would go over quite well.  Oh, and a sprig of catnip on the side, would be especially nice.

And along with the fuds, we need to think 'bout what we should drink.  Drinkin' is an important part of celebratin' St. Patrick's Day, you see.  Irish pubs are gonna be filled to brim.

NO, I'm not plannin' on gettin' drunk.

Gettin' NIPPED, on the other paw...

Never you mind that I get nipped every day of the year.  On St. Patrick's Day, I should be sure to get nipped, more than once.

So nip tea should be served from dawn until dusk, and...

And yes, make sure that nip tea is really good and green.

Not to mention strong.

MOUSES!

And one other thing, Peepers.  Just one other thing you should do.

Since it's a special occasion...

Since tomorrow is a special occasion, a bouquet of shamrocks should be sittin' right there in the centre of the table.  Not for eatin', of course.  Just for display.

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

Yes, that is what you heard.  On the table.  On the dinin' room table.  Right there in the middle.  'Cause on special occasions, it's customary for us cats to eat at the table with you and Peep #2, and...

WELL IT'S CUSTOMARY NOW, OL' PEEPERS OF MINE.  So lump it or leave it.  If you two peeps don't wanna eat at the table with us, you can eat on the floor.

Just don't look at Saffron and me to help you back up.

Back up off the floor.

'Cause with peeps, gettin' down is quite easy but sometimes gettin' back up is an entirely different story, you see.

MOUSES!

Oh, and after our celebratory din-dins, we can all read 'bout the various St. Patrick's Day adventures, I've had over the years.

2014:  Seville's Four-Leaved Clovers

2015:  Catnip and Fairy Dust

2016:  Finders Keepers...  Maybe

2018:  The Infestation

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY, EVERYBODY!

Got to have my brekkies a whole hour earlier, today.

MOUSES!

What?  What's that, Peepers?  You're NOT complainin', you say?

Hmmm...

Then what's with all the moanin' and groanin' I was hearin' you do?  I know I heard you complaining 'bout SOMETHIN'.  Complaining 'bout somethin' 'bout somethin', for sure.

And durin' all that complainin', I'm sure I heard the mention of clocks bein' changed.

MOUSES!

What?  What's that, Peepers?  What's that you're complainin' about now?

Hmmm...

OH....

Oh.

Okay, so you actually WERE complaining 'bout the clocks bein' changed.

Literally.

You were LITERALLY complaining 'bout changin' the time on the clocks.

That somethin' you don't know how to do?

Don't bother answerin', ol' peep of mine.  That was a rhetorical question of sorts.  I think I've figured it out.

Unlike you, who took almost fifteen minutes to change the one stupid clock on the stove.

MOUSES!

No, no.  No, I'm not sayin' I know how to change the time on the clocks.

If I tell her I do know, she'll designate me the official clock changer of the house.

And I've already got enough work to do.

MOUSES!

So let me get this straight, there, ol' Peepers of mine.  You, like me, actually quite like the start of Daylight Saving Time.  You like havin' an extra hour of light at night, to enjoy the ol' great outdoors.  And you're quite happy that the sun doesn't rise at 4:30 in the morning durin' the height of summer.  And most importantly, you enjoyed givin' me my brekkies a whole hour earlier today.

But the actual changin' of the clocks...

The actual physical changin' of clocks part...

Well, when it comes to actually physically changin' the time on all the clocks all through the house, it drives you nuts 'cause every clock has to be done slightly differently, and you have to get each one just right.  And as the one on the stove has a couple buttons to press after changin' the time - you know,  those buttons you kept forgettin' to press - well, that's why it took like fifteen minutes to change the time on only that one stupid clock.

Which, by the way - although perhaps I shouldn't say - is not yet correctly set.

'CAUSE YOU SET IT AN HOUR AHEAD OF WHEN YOU FIRST STARTED CHANGIN' THE TIME, is why. 

So now it's 'bout fifteen minutes off.

MOUSES!

Well I hear you, Peepers.  I understand your dilemma.  I'm feelin' your pain, to be sure.  But what I don't understand...

What I don't understand, is why you don't just do the same thing you do with the clock in the car.

You know.

Oh, sure you do.

Yeah, that's right, Peepers.  That's EXACTLY what you do.

That's what I'm sayin', Peepers.  Do that.  Do what you do with the clock in the car.  You never bother changin' that clock at all.  And because you didn't change its time back in November, you don't have to change it now!  You just had to mentally change the time in your head, for a bit.  So what?  It was only four or five months.  And mentally changin' the time didn't involve pressin' any buttons or spinnin' tiny clock hands.  All you had to do was subtract one from any given number between one and twelve.

And if subtractin' one from the time was too hard to do...

That's right, the phone clock elves went and changed the phone clock for you.

And I didn't hear them complaining 'bout a little manual labour, at all.

MOUSES!

Peepers!

HEY!  PEEPERS!!!  Get your sorry tail over here.

Please.

'Cause I'm nothin' if not polite.

MOUSES!

Peepers, just what the mouses are Saffy and I expected to with that?

That.

THAT.

Yeah, that.  That mountain of freshly-laundered laundry.  That.

MOUSES!

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

You want us to WHAT?

Of all the crazy, moused-up, mousin' things to suggest.

You been into the nip, there, ol' peep of mine?  The human nip, I mean.  You been drinkin' Crown Royal on the job, or somethin' like that?

Well I beg to differ, Peepers-be-jeepers.  The suggestion that Saffron and I should leave a mountain of freshly-laundered laundry alone has got to be the craziest, most moused-up, mousin' suggestion you've ever made.  And it's not like you've never come up with a stupid suggestion or two before.  It's just that THIS suggestion has got to be the most stupid, for sure.

MOUSES!

'Cause cats are drawn to piles of freshly-laundered laundry like cheese curds and gravy to fries, or Quebec maple syrup to Nova Scotian wild blueberry pancakes, or moths to a flame, or...  Or..  OR CATNIP TO A CHEESE CRACKER!  Nothin', and I do mean NOTHIN' - 'cept maybe the nip on a cracker thing - is as attractive to a cat than a mountain of freshly-laundered laundry.

NOTHIN'!

Peepers, the pile is like twenty-five thousand paws high.  How the mouses are we cats supposed to get up there?  Neither Saffy nor I can jump that high.  We could climb, I suppose, but the risk of it all fallin' down on top of us is...

On the other paw...

But on the other paw, if we were to climb up that mountain of freshly-laundered laundry, and said mountain were to fall down...

And nicely spread out, too.  Kinda like a king-sized bed for us cats.

Don't know why I didn't think about that before.

MOUSES!

MOUSES!

That's right, my dear friends, that's what I said: and so it begins, again.

MOUSES!

I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin'...

Actually, to tell you the truth, I have no idea what you're thinkin'.  Usually, I do.  USUALLY, I know EXACTLY what my pals are thinkin', but today...

But today...

But today, I'm havin' trouble concentratin' on account of my only gettin' in eighteen or so hours of sleep, yesterday.

Usually, I try to get in at least twenty.

MOUSES!

And yes, the reason I didn't get my full twenty hours of sleep in, yesterday, is because it has begun.

AGAIN.

MOUSES!

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

YOU DID TOO keep me awake yesterday evenin'.  And the evenin' before that, too.  All that clickety-clack, clackety-click, clickety, clackety, clickin'.

It was ear-piercin', to be sure.

MOUSES!

For mousin' out loud, Peepers.  Do I have to explain EVERYTHIN' to you?

IT WAS YOUR KNITTIN'!

Some peeps know nothin' about nothin', I swear.

MOUSES!

So as I was sayin'...

As I was sayin', Peepers is back to spendin' her evenings doin' knittin'.  And the clickin' and clackin' of those knittin' needles IS DRIVING ME MAD!

Don't say it, Peepers.  Don't you dare say it.  Don't you dare say anythin' eludin' to my already bein'..  You know...  Mad.

Although ANGRY I might be, on account of my napless evenings these past nights, on account of the noise from those nasty ol' needles.

But angry is definitely not the same thing as mad.

I don't think.

MOUSES!

But anyway...

But anyway, like I was sayin', Peepers is back to her knittin'.  I THOUGHT we were all done with that when she finished the sweater she made for her pal's birthday, earlier this month, but OH NO....

Oh no, NOW she's makin' a sweater for herself.  So she's back to doin' more noisy-as-mouses knittin'.

MOUSES!

It would be different if she were makin' a sweater for me, of course, 'cause then...

WHAT AM I SAYIN'???

I'm not wearin' no moused-up, stupid ol' sweater.

My marmalade furs are perfect, just as they are.

MOUSES!

So I suppose...

Although a pair of industrial-strength earplugs will most certainly be in order.

MOUSES!

MOUSES!

Oh my mouses, my pals, I've never felt so tired in all my nine lives.  What a workout, I had!  I'm gonna have to go take a nap.  A really nice long one, too.

MOUSES!

So yesterday, Peepers had a few errands to run.  Bank, post office, grocery store for oranges and bird seed...  Silly errand stuff like that.

WELL!

Well, things didn't work out as planned.

MOUSES!

Out the door, Peepers went.  Into the car - after clearin' off the snow from the day before, she did crawl.  Key in ignition.  Engine turned on.  Backin' up she did start, and then...

And then...

And then stuck in the driveway, she was.

MOUSES!

Yup, she managed to back out a few feet, but then all of a sudden...

All of a sudden...

All of a sudden, everythin' stopped.

Kinda.

Well not really.

MOUSES!

The car wasn't movin' but the front passenger-side tire was a-spinnin'.  Spinnin' like a neutron star on steroids, for sure.

MOUSES!

So shovel in tow, Peepers cleared away more snow.  Chipped away at the ice she thought might be the problem.  Then spread half a bag of kitty litter around ALL FOUR tires.

Nothin'.  Nothin' but spinnin' tires, she did have.

More shovellin' ensued.  More chippin' at ice.  Then shovellin' and chippin' again.

Still nothin'

MOUSES!

In and out of that car, ol' Peepers went.  She tried movin' the car so many times, I lost count.  And I was countin' with ALL FOUR of my paws!

MOUSES!

Finally, she gave up, and walked down to get the mail.  Then returned to try all over again.

I don't know for how long Peepers was out there.  An hour?  Probably two.  And then, one last try and miraculously, she got that car to move.

Of course, by then, the bank and post office had both closed.  Peepers did, however, manage to go buy bird seed and oranges, along with some other stupid things.

MOUSES!

Peepers didn't return until well after dark, when she found me sound asleep in one of my favourite sleepin' spots.  My back and neck were so sore, havin' had to crane my neck in weird positions in order to see her, from where I had sat, earlier, on the windowsill.  I was tired and achy all over from watchin' her work with that shovel.  Even my tail was sore from thumpin' it on the wall in aggravation!

Not to mention the sheer exhaustion I felt from all the laughin' I did.

Hmmm...  Perhaps I SHOULDN'T mention the laughin' bit.

MOUSES!

So that was yesterday, my pals, and today...

Well, today...

Today, she needs to go back out to run the errands she didn't get done, yesterday, so I had best rest up the rest of this mornin'...

...IN CASE I'M IN FOR ANOTHER TERRIBLY EXHAUSIN' AFTERNOON.

Methinks we need to ship some more of this wintry weather, southward.

I hear snow golf is gonna be the next big thing.

MOUSES!