EMERGENCY MEETING: WASH THE COMB!

Yesterday, the Fourth of July, mom woke up after sleeping for about 3 days, taking care of us, eating and drinking a little bit, but mostly sleeping. She wanted to give each one of us individual attention, so placed us, one by one, on her tummy while feeding us fresh, organic spinach and gently running the flea comb through our beautiful tresses. How sweet.

UNTIL...she looked at the comb! It was covered in something. Somethin' NASTY!

She is getting the next microscope she sees at the thrift shop, but in the meantime has diagnosed us with mites. We don't have mites! She should have washed the comb! We are not all going to the vet to be examined for mites, and are holding a "sit in" PROTEST to avoid it. That went O.K. until she announced: "Hey, you guys know I can jump to conclusions." To which we all nodded and squealed.
MacNutPie got so excited he started popcorning into the air, spinning 'round with a squeak each time!

She then announced that before taking us to the vet to be examined for mites we would each be bathed and she then left a message asking the vet what she could put on a washcloth and how she could bathe us without actually putting us in a little tub of soapy water. None of this is going down well here at the Caviary and we are waiting for Calvin the small and YumYum before deciding how to proceed as the PIRATE PIGS WE ARE, CAN BE, AND ARE ABOUT TO BECOME: AAARGH! We ain't got mites, we ain't gettin' no bath, and we will let you know what happens next because it gonna happen to mom once we figure out how to build a gangplank - Captain JACK SPARROW, CALLIN' CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW! ALL PIRATEPIGS ABOARD-SHIP!