Whatcha doin' there, Peepers? Just what is it that you're doin'?
Actually...
Actually, now that I think about it, it's probably best you don't answer. You know, pretend like you're pleadin' the fifth. And I say pretend, on account of us not havin' that fifth pleadin' thing around here.
What? What's that, Peepers? What's that you babblin' on about now?
I read. I watch TV. And some of it's even Canadian.
WHICH IS WHY I know all about all of these things. I know all about how you can and cannot avoid self-incrimination, dependin' upon your locale.
Locale. It means...
Oohhhh... So Peepers knows what the word locale means.
Fancy.
Schmancy.
Not.
MOUSES!
But now let's get back to this mess.
Yes, Peepers, mess. Mess. That's one right ol' mess you've got there.
WHICH IS WHY I didn't need you to self-incriminate yourself by answerin' my earlier question. I, Seville the Cat, am perfectly capable of lookin' at what you're doin' AND SEEIN' WITH MY VERY OWN TWO EYES that what you are doin' is makin' a mess.
MOUSES!
What? What's that, Peepers? What's that you're babblin' on about NOW?
Why the mess, of course. That big ol' mess you happened to make.
MOUSES!
You know, if I, Seville the Cat, were to track in copious amounts of soil and earth and... Well let's just call a spade a spade - no pun intended - and say what it is: DIRT. And if I, Seville the Cat, were to track copious amounts of DIRT into the house after diggin' in the garden, I'd be gettin' a right tellin' off, I would. A right tellin' off, for sure.
Who am I kiddin'? I'd be gettin' a right tellin' off just for doin' the diggin'!
So why-oh-why is it that you, Peepers, think it's okay for you to go diggin' in the garden for several hours before trackin' all this dirt into the house, when you know darn well that if I were to do the same, I'd be gettin' in trubs.
Trubs. It's short for trouble. That second syllable was slowin' me down.
MOUSES!
And THEN, as if that weren't enough, YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY to complain 'bout your muscles bein' sore?
WELL!
Well it serves you right, ol' Peepers-be-jeepers of mine. All that diggin' and delvin' and makin' a mess FOR HOURS ON END was BOUND to make you all sore. You might THINK you're a spring chicken but honestly, you're more like a grizzled old hen, and...
WHAT DID I SAY?
By gosh and by golly, some peeps get all offended by the littlest of things.
MOUSES!
And if ANYONE has a right to be offended, it's not her, but rather, it's me. Why just last week, I spent a good hour diggin' in the garden right where she planted those stupid lettuce seeds, and what did I get?
NOTHIN' BUT GRIEF.
MOUSES!
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Remember to mask up, too.
