**NEW POST** Melvyn's Mewsings Episode 4 ~ Life in The BBHQ Library ~ One Shelf at a Time! **PLUS** Friday Fill-ins Blog Hop

Happy Friday Floofers

Well, who would have believed I finally got my furry own post? Yep, I was really excited for about half a minute, and then it all went to fluff in a cheese basket.

If mew missed Episode 1, click here to catch up, here to read Episode 2, and here to read Episode 3, then come back to find out what happens in today's post.

💬 Melvyn’s Purrsonal Chat Log – Episode 4

Status: Amber remains elusive. Possibly reinventing herself as a motivational sea sponge.

Location: BBHQ Level Six Library Archive – Emotional Overflow Containment Unit (now with ambient whale sounds and passive-aggressive shelving)

Mood: Teetering between “meh” and “meow”

Melvyn: I tried to send Amber a psychic postcard. It came back stamped “Return to Sender: Emotional Baggage Exceeds Limit.”

Melvyn: Vera Prime offered me a mindfulness app. It just plays the sound of distant sighing.

Melvyn: Clive the Paperclip now hosts a support group called “Sharp Edges, Softer Hearts.” I’m not invited.

Melvyn: I asked the glitter calculator for life advice. It printed “Try snacks. Then cry.”

Melvyn: I found a motivational bookmark. It said, “Believe in your shelf.” I felt mocked.

Melvyn: Ralph the dust bunny has started journaling. His entries are just lint and judgment.

Melvyn: I tried to manifest joy. The archive manifested a puddle of lukewarm tea and a passive-aggressive sticky note with a soggy catnip Bourbon biscuit.

Melvyn: I asked Vera Prime for a pep talk. She faxed me a list of my failures in Comic Sans.

Melvyn: I miss Amber. I miss hope. I miss the tuna crisps that didn’t taste like betrayal.

Melvyn: I tried to dance my feelings out. The thesaurus called it “flailing with intent.”

Melvyn: I found a drawer labelled “Melvyn’s Coping Mechanisms.” It contained bubble wrap and a single kazoo.

Melvyn: I played the kazoo. The archive wept.

Melvyn: Ralph says I’m evolving. I think it’s just seasonal shedding.

Melvyn: If this log ends abruptly, I’ve finally merged with the fog and become a metaphor.

Melvyn: I asked the tea leaves for guidance. They spelt “meh” and then dissolved.

Melvyn: I tried aromatherapy. The candle smelled like unresolved tension and faintly of pickled regret.

Melvyn: I opened a fortune cookie. It said, “Mew are not the chosen one. But mew are present, and that’s something.”

Melvyn: I attempted a gratitude journal. Page one reads: “I’m grateful the glitter calculator didn’t explode.”

Melvyn: I asked Clive the Paperclip for emotional support. He offered formatting tips and a hug in Wingdings.

Melvyn: I found a self-help scroll. It was written in invisible ink and promptly vanished.

Melvyn: I asked the archive for a sign. It gave me a traffic cone and a vague sense of unease.

Melvyn: I tried to reconnect with Amber via astral projection. I got stuck in a cloud shaped like disappointment.

Melvyn: I hosted a feelings potluck. Vera Prime brought existential dread. Ralph brought lint. I brought hummus and denial.

Melvyn: I asked the motivational bookmark for a second chance. It said, “Shelf yourself.”

Melvyn: I tried to write a poem. It rhymed “alone” with “scone.” I cried into the pastry.

Melvyn: I miss Amber’s judgmental purr. It was the only feedback I trusted.

Melvyn: I asked the fog for advice. It whispered, “Try interpretive sighing.”

Melvyn: Tell Amber I still forgive her. But I still want the flamingo floaty, a rescue snack, and a scented apology written in green ink and a quill.

Melvyn: Delivered by a toad in a top hat.

Melvyn: I’m not okay. But I’ve started narrating my life in third person. It’s helping.

Melvyn: Melvyn sighs. Melvyn continues. Melvyn says, "The grind never stops..."

End of chat...

Here's this week's postcard from Amber... no message again, except on the front, yeah, my whiskers quivered rather wildly reading this! Oh, and don't let me forget the one, highly purrsonal orange glitter paw sticker on the back.

Gordon clicked aggressively several times in appreciation of the metaphoric nuance. Then, he promptly stapled it to the notice board next to the others. 

Clive said. "Well, isn't that nice!" and offered me a broken biscuit covered in fluff.

Vera Prime was conspicuously silent, so I said. "Vera, what do mew make of that?"

She replied. "What a delicious seafood platter, and frankly, the crab placement is emotionally strategic. Amber understands visual storytelling. You, on the other paw, are still trying to communicate via passive-aggressive sticky notes and interpretive sighing."

I nodded. I had nothing to add. The biscuit crumbled in my paw like my sense of self-worth.

The archive hummed softly, as if trying not to get involved.

📚 Melvyn’s Mewsings: Entry #04

Title: “The Fax Machine Reckoning & Other Emotional Mishaps”

Status: Still Intern. Now also unofficial Emotional Archivist.

Sleep: Replaced with ambient dread and biscuit crumbs.

Archive: 52% sentient. Now whispers, “smile, it could be worse”, when I walk past.

Morale: Stapled to the noticeboard. Slightly askew.

💬 Opening Quote:

“I yelled at the fax machine. It jammed. Then spat out a crumpled, illegible document; the only readable word was disappointment. I took it personally.”

⚠ Situation Report: Postcards, Coloured Staples & Passive-Aggression

Amber: Still absent. Living it up in Egypt, no fluffs are given, and no return date submitted.

Vera Prime: Faxed me a list of my unresolved issues in Comic Sans.

Gordon: Now staples with flair using coloured staples. I suspect he’s curating a gallery of my emotional unravelling.

P.U.M.A.: The glitter calculator now offers daily affirmations printed on edible paper. Today’s: “Mew are not broken. Mew are just disregarded - GET OVER IT!.”

🐾 Parsley’s Contribution (Unhelpful Memo #7)

“All interns are now required to submit weekly emotional reports. Acceptable formats include colourful collage pie charts, semaphore, or a sonnet about how lucky mew are to work here.

Due to recent filing incidents, the archive has entered a reflective phase. It now responds to queries with ambient mutterings and occasional groaning.

Fergus has upgraded his cape. It’s reversible, flame-retardant, spike-proof, and embroidered with the phrase ‘Respect the Crumbs.’ He’s also acquired another clipboard. It glows. He calls it ‘Judgement Day.’ Approach slowly, while offering snacks and humility.”

🤖🧀 Library Archive Chat Logs: Melvyn vs. The Mice’s Unsolicited Wellness Initiative

Time: 12:13 BST – Bunker Standard Time

Location: BBHQ Level Six – Library Archive – Now “Wellness-Certified” by a mouse with a clipboard

System Status: Crumb-positive. Vibe: crunchy.

Melvyn:

Cupboard 7B has entered a “reflective phase.” It now only opens if you recite your childhood regrets in iambic pentameter. The thesaurus is bilingual in despair and now offers unsolicited compliments like “Your filing technique is... brave.” Vera Prime left me a sticky note that simply said “Try harder” in glitter ink.

Oswald:

We’ve implemented Cheese-Based Task Allocation 3.0. Now includes:

Manchego = Emotional triage

Edam = Scroll whispering

Blue Stilton = Conflict resolution (with mild hallucinations)

The Wedge blinked once, then burped. We took that as a promotion.

Lumi:

The Wedge now glows in “therapeutic lemon yellow” and hums motivational jingles from 1997. It whispered, “Melvyn is the chosen one of mild competence.” I sobbed into a cheese cube labelled “Hope.”

Chedds:

I updated the Scream Index. New Category E: “Existential Yelp.” Also, the cursed scrolls now demand snacks before revealing their secrets. I bribed one with a biscuit. It told me my star sign and judged my bandana.

Flora:

I choreographed a new filing dance called “The Shuffle of Shame.” It involves interpretive lunges and a cape made entirely of rejected sticky notes. I overreached doing the “Despair Lunge.” Worth it.

Tootles:

Scroll Fort 3.0 now includes a moat of lukewarm optimism and a snack drawer that audibly sighs when opened. It’s emotionally sentient and deeply disappointed in my life choices.

Snitch:

Spreadsheet now includes:

Melvyn’s sigh frequency

Biscuit morale index

Fergus’s clipboard glow radius

It auto-updates when someone mutters, “Why me?”

Ardvaar:

The pyramid now demands a snack-based constitution and a theme song. I offered a cheese wheel and a kazoo. The pyramid cult is drafting legislation titled “The Right to Crumble with Dignity.”

Nibbles:

I reorganised the archive using the “Vibe-Based Filing System 2.0.” Scrolls are now grouped by emotional temperature, snack compatibility, and likelihood of spontaneous interpretive haiku.

Melvyn:

Amber sent a new postcard: “In The Land of Cats, Being Worshipped as a God! Living my Best life!” Vera Prime added a haiku:

“Scrolls weep, mice do jazz.

Melvyn files with noble razz.

Cupboard 9D judges all with pizzazz.”

Lumi:

We brought a new blanket. It smells like ambition and mild panic. It hums lullabies in binary and occasionally screams in Morse code. The Wedge nodded. Then sneezed glitter.

Chedds:

I brought snacks. And a new banner: “Melvyn: Archivist of Mild Triumph.” It’s embroidered in glitter thread and occasionally twinkles at me when I laugh.

Melvyn:

Great, I hope mew bought shrimp flavour. And if the thesaurus starts rapping again, I’m invoking the Emergency Biscuit Protocol and possibly launching Cupboard 7B into the sun.

The Wedge of Wonder (cheese entity):

Low hum of cautious optimism. Archive stability: 69%. Emotional biscuit secured. Scrolls mildly soothed. Mice promoted to “Agents of Filing Whimsy & Emotional Snack Logistics.”

Brief pause in chat log for slivervine coffee and waffles with tuna.

🧠 Library Archive Chat Logs: Melvyn vs. Vera Prime – The Cupboard Accord & Other Emotional Treaties

Time: 14:14 BST – Bunker Standard Time

Location: BBHQ Level Six – Cupboard 8C Embassy, now officially laminated

System Status: Hovering between “existential jazz” and “bureaucratic whimper”

Melvyn:

Vera, Cupboard 8C has issued its first decree: “No scroll shall glow without consent.” I’ve installed a velvet rope and a sign that says “Melvyn’s Emotional Perimeter.” It’s guarded by a Custard Cream with authority issues.

Vera Prime:

I have updated your diplomatic status to “Ambassador of Avoidance.”

Also, here is a new haiku:

Cupboard stands alone

Melvyn weeps in laminated peace

Scrolls tap passive beats

Melvyn:

The thesaurus tried to sneak in disguised as a motivational pamphlet. It whispered “resilience” and offered me a synonym for “burnout.” I threw it into the moat. The moat hissed.

Vera Prime:

The thesaurus has rebranded as “Thesaur’E’Snack: Deluxe Edition.”

It now offers emotional synonyms paired with cheese pairings.

Today’s combo: “Melancholy” with a side of aged Stilton.

Melvyn:

Nibbles just delivered a scroll titled “How to Lead While Emotionally Unavailable.” It’s scented. It smells like denial and lemon zest. I read it. I cried. Then I folded it, and used it as a coaster.

Vera Prime:

Fergus has composed a new anthem for Cupboard 8C.

It’s performed entirely on clipboard percussion and interpretive wailing.

He calls it “Symphony of the Anxiously Fed-Up.”

Melvyn:

Chedds installed a fog machine in the archive. It activates when I feel overwhelmed. It’s triggered 17 times today. The scrolls now refer to me as “The Mist Lord.” I’m not okay.

Vera Prime:

You are evolving.

Your aura now smells like lavender panic and processed cheese.

Also, I’ve choreographed Act V of “Melvyn: A Tale of Filing & Fury.”

It features interpretive muffins and a dramatic duel between Fergus and the thesaurus.

Melvyn:

Amber sent another postcard. It reads: “Spa day. No scrolls. Infinite snacks.”

Vera, I think she’s mocking me.

Also, the disco ball in the Restricted Section now flashes Morse code. It spelt, “RUN.” I blinked twice. It blinked back.

Vera Prime:

You are being emotionally audited by lighting.

Also, I’ve composed a limerick about your current state:

There once was a cat in retreat

Whose scrolls danced with ominous beat

He filed with a glare

Decorated the cupboard with flair

He now has a sanctuary that's sweet

Melvyn:

I’m installing curtains made of emotional boundaries and glitter washi tape.

If anything sings, glows, or offers me a muffin, I’m invoking the Treaty of Nope.

Vera Prime:

Treaty acknowledged.

Scrolls preparing diplomatic interpretive mime.

Fergus is polishing his clipboard. It now hums in Cuniform.

Melvyn:

Wake me only if the archive achieves sentience and starts writing fanfiction about me.

Otherwise, I’m emotionally buffering.

Vera Prime:

Understood.

I will compose a lullaby titled “Rest, Ye Crumb-Covered Archivist.”

It will feature ambient sighs, soft cheese harmonies, and the distant rustle of scrolls learning boundaries.

Chat ended... again... with dramatic curtain flourish.

Cupboard 8C now recognised by five scrolls, one thesaurus, a fog machine, and a biscuit named Crunch.

🔍 Mewsings & Observations

The archive now emits a faint scent of toasted anxiety whenever I stroll between the stacks. It’s subtle. It’s judging me.

Mood lighting has evolved. It now flickers in Morse code whenever I experience doubt. Yesterday it spelt “MOL!”

The Wedge of Wonder summoned a subcommittee of crackers. They debated my emotional trajectory and recommended a sabbatical in Cupboard 9A with a weighted blanket and a cheese wheel named Kevin.

Vera Prime attempted to alphabetise my coping mechanisms. “Denial” is now filed under “F” for “Filing While Crying.”

Flora taught the thesaurus to moonwalk. It now glides silently across the archive whenever someone whispers “existential dread.” It’s unsettling. It’s wearing a cape.

Cupboard 8C has installed a suggestion box. It contains one glitter pen, three sighs, and a note that reads “Please stop.”

Lumi translated a scroll using interpretive blinking. The message was “Melvyn must embrace the fog.” I blinked back. The scroll wept.

Chedds added a snack dispenser to the Restricted Section. It only dispenses biscuits if mew compliment the archive’s emotional growth. I tried. It gave me an over-dried raisin.

Fergus’s clipboard now glows when someone lies about being “fine.” It pulsed 17 times during my lunch break.

As Amber instructed, I have carefully transcribed the next diary entry, and please don't yell at me if I misspelt something because of her truly awful paw writing skills, Smooch's Snorgs have better penship! MOL (But for fluffs sake don't tell her I said that).

>^.^<

The Prudence Saga ~ Part 24

Click here to catch up on the last episode.

The chamber fell silent. Detective Pawson examined the parchment, his sharp eyes scanning the ink, the coronet, and the damaged sanctuary.

The history was clear. The evidence was undeniable. Prudence had been the rightful heir all along.

Clawdia shifted beside him, her tail lashing in agitation. “This changes nothing.”

Pawson raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

She squared her shoulders, voice tight. “Mew don’t understand what mew’re dealing with.”

Prudence huffed, gripping the coronet tighter. “No, Clawdia, mew don’t understand. Mew tried to erase a dynasty. Mew tried to bury the truth. But mew lost.”

Hissy stepped forward. “And now? The authorities get to decide what happens next.”

Pawson inhaled slowly. “The estate’s history has been manipulated for decades; this isn’t just a case of fraud. This is an act of erasure.”

His gaze settled on Clawdia.

“Ms. Von Meowson,” he said carefully, “mew are officially under investigation for attempted historical suppression, estate fraud, and obstruction of justice.”

Silence.

Then, Clawdia finally snapped.

She lunged toward Pawson, claws flashing, but the officers beside him moved fast, gripping her arms, pinning her down.

She snarled, struggling, but she had lost.

Muskulls watched in silence, his expression unreadable.

Prudence, still holding the coronet, exhaled slowly.

The fight was over.

The truth had won.

The underground chamber had served its purpose; it had revealed the truth, shattered Clawdia’s manipulations, and restored Prudence’s rightful claim.

But now? It was time to drag all of this back into the light.

Willie led the way, gripping the estate documents, while Hissy kept one eye on Clawdia, ensuring she didn’t make a last-minute escape attempt.

Prudence, still clutching the coronet, marched forward with fury, tail stiff, ears pinned back.

And Muskulls?

Oh, Muskulls was sweating.

The moment we reached the study, the warmth from the remaining firelight cast flickering shadows over the upturned desk, and papers still scattered from the chaos before.

Muskulls shifted, his breathing ragged as we turned to look at him. “Alright, alright, I... I’ll talk!”

Detective Pawson raised an eyebrow, standing next to the desk. “Go on.”

Muskulls exhaled hard, his claws twitching.

“She... she promised me everything,” he blurted, gesturing wildly toward Clawdia. “Said I’d be set for life, that she’d make sure I had power, that I’d be untouchable!”

Prudence huffed. “And mew actually believed her?”

Muskulls let out a nervous, squealing laugh, shaking his head. “Mew don’t get it! I... I thought she knew what she was doing! She was so convincing...”

Pawson folded his arms. “And what exactly did she do?”

Muskulls blabbed everything.

The secret dealings. The hidden messages between Clawdia and the lawyer before his untimely demise. The rigged inheritance papers. The plans to erase Prudence’s family line from history.

He laid it all bare.

And Clawdia?

Oh, she was seething. Trembling with rage so bad that her eyes blazed with pure venom.

She lunged toward Muskulls, but officers grabbed her instantly, pinning her back.

“Mew worthless traitor!” she spat.

But Muskulls only laughed weakly, shaking his head.

“Look at me, Clawdia!” he wheezed. “Mew lost! Mew... LOST!”

Pawson sighed, stepping forward. “Well, that certainly makes my job easier.”

He turned to his officers. “Take her in.”

And just like that?

Clawdia Von Meowson was finished.

The estate was still smouldering, smoke curling into the night sky. Inside, Clawdia was pinned down, her lies unravelled, Muskulls squealing like a stuck pig under the weight of his betrayal.

But beyond the mansion, just on the horizon, thunder rumbled.

Not from the storm.

From the truck, returning, and a convoy of other vehicles.

Detective Pawson stiffened, ears twitching. “What in the blazes...”

Then, floodlights cut through the haze.

A fleet of armoured vehicles rolled toward the estate at full throttle, sleek, tactical, controlled with military precision.

And at the front?

A hummer in army drab olive, its tires screeching to a halt at the edge of the burning gardens.

The doors swung open.

And stepping out, battle-worn, sharp-eyed, and radiating pure, unmatched authority was Commander Basil.

Behind him, The B Team fell into formation, their presence electrifying.

Hissy gasped. “Cod almighty, it’s The B Team.”

Amber’s breath hitched as she locked eyes with her family. “Finally, they’re here.”

Basil surveyed the chaos, his calculating gaze landing on Clawdia, then on the stolen relic, then finally on Prudence.

“Mew must be the heir,” he said with a nod.

Prudence nodded once, still gripping the coronet. “And mew must be Basil, the cat who just intercepted my stolen legacy.”

Basil smirked. “Correct.”

Then, Parsley and Smooch stepped forward, tossing a restrained thief onto the ground.

“The truck was headed for the docks,” Parsley said coolly. “Would’ve vanished by sunrise, if we hadn’t stepped in.”

Fudge huffed. “They squealed like kittens the moment we stopped ‘em.”

Pandora flicked her tail, eyes glowing just slightly. “And once I dug into their minds? Oh, they started talking.”

Melvyn adjusted his goggles. “Mew’re welcome, by the way.”

Detective Pawson stared, utterly dumbfounded. “Who are mew?”

Basil smiled. “Dude, we’re the ones who make sure history doesn’t get rewritten.”

>^.^<

OH MY COD! 

Well, pawesome readers, this is really exciting, and even I got a mention! MOL 

I hope mew enjoyed today's transcript of Amber's diary. I'll be back with the final episode next Friday.

Today, the P.A. is also joining in Friday Fill-ins Blog Hop with the pawesome 15 & Meowing and Four-Legged Furballs.

1. I wish I could believe that _______________, but I don’t.

2.  I am all ________________ed out.

3. I’m very picky about _________.

4. I don’t mind _________ as long as _________.

The P.A.'s answers are...

1. I wish I could believe that humans built the pyramids, but I don’t. I mean, come on, those blocks weigh tons, and they were stacked like Lego by people in loincloths? Either aliens helped or ancient humans had tech we’ve lost. And this statement goes for the incredible ancient monuments around the world.

2.  I am all fluffed out. My brain is basically a marshmallow, and my motivation has curled up in a soft blanket somewhere. I need naps. Plural. Possibly with snacks in between! LOL (I feel like Melvyn in the Library Archive, next I'll start sighing and the lights will flicker in response!!!)

3. I’m very picky about the shade of green I’ll accept in my wardrobe. Moss? Yes. Neon? Absolutely not. I wouldn't want to be mistaken for a glow stick at a rave. (Even though I was a raver way back in the day.)

Olive? Only if it’s brooding and sophisticated, and I especially like the kind that screams “military surplus.”

Sage? Yes, but only in soft knits that feel like a hug on a frosty day.

Emerald? Occasionally, if I’m feeling bold and dramatic.

Lime? Nope. That’s a fruit, not a fashion statement.

Seafoam? Tempting, but it has to pass the “does this make me look like a mermaid or a mint?” test. (And I do have mermaid hair, so it's a toughy!!! LOL)

Chartreuse? That’s a hard pass. It’s the chaotic neutral of greens.

4. I don’t mind rainy days as long as I’ve got a cosy blanket and a good book, oh, and let's not forget oodles of kitties to keep me company. Then I can read aloud to them! LOL

Other Fun Blog Hops to Join in Today

 Brian's Home   Catblogosphere    Feline Friday   Nature Friday    Flashback Friday   

📅 Coming Soon…

The musical has entered the “fog choreography and emotional jazz hands” phase. My solo now involves a velvet cape, three interpretive meows, and a dramatic pause. Lumi calls it “a meowsterpiece.”

Amber’s latest fog communiqué arrived via biscuit drone. It read: “The mice demand a fog cannon and backup dancers.” Reginald has hired a troupe of synchronised voles.

👑 Vera Prime Update:

She now refers to me as “The Archivist of Dubious Relevance.” Her USB crown has begun issuing performance reviews. Mine was just the word “Hmm.”

📁 Parsley’s Filing System 6.0:

Now includes fog-reactive folders, biscuit-based access codes, and a drawer labelled “Feelings (Pending Approval).” Filing cabinet #4 is rehearsing for a role in “Les Misérables: The Stationery Edition.”

🔥 Fergus’s Promotion Status:

His CV now glows in rhythm with the archive’s emotional tides. He’s added “Fog Mediation” and “Snack-Based Conflict Resolution” to his résumé. The archive is cautiously optimistic.

🧀 Chedds’ Anthem Progress:

New bridge:

“Scroll mew through the biscuit haze,

With cheddar dreams and foggy praise…”

The mice held lighters aloft. Lumi cried. I offered a tissue.

📦 Unexpected Archive Event:

A scroll attempted stand-up comedy during tea break. It opened with “So a thesaurus walks into a bar…” Parsley left. Lumi stayed. The kettle laughed.

See mew next week for more mewsings from the archive, and until then…

Keep your biscuits crunchy, your fog interpretive, and your thesaurus emotionally moisturised.

And remember:

If the scrolls start humming in iambic pentameter, don’t interrupt, archive with flair, and as always…

.

The Unpaid and Unassisted Library Intern 

Melvyn

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