The wonderful people at the European Space Agency in Darmstadt, Germany are a bit sad, but hopeful, just as I am hopeful for my shiny (and rather glary) new friend, Schiaparelli lander’s recovery. It’s touch and go, and yes, the chocolate bars helped, but you can never be certain on the Red planet, especially with all these jostling space-o-nauts scurrying around and recklessly stealing tuna pies.
In the meantime, my dearest Earth peeps, keep dreaming of Martian playing fields just as I dream of my feline ancestors who lived a mere furball’s toss up the A5 from Darmstadt, in Frankfurt am Main. Many are the imaginary plates of tuna-wurst helpfully digested with a litre or three of catnip schnaps I’ve shared with my great-great grandparents, Charles Gustav and Margaret (or Meowgaret, as she was known in the family). Ah, those could have been the days but for pesky physics. Dream on.
Currently, my dear friends, and others, I communicate with you from this year’s movable convention (and tuna smorgasbord) of fellow Last Cats:
Last Cat On Mercury (very sweaty, and living on a transiting show-off and shrinking domicile, too, but more to the point, how do cats perspire? Let’s pause a moment and answer with: paws – who knew? Well, me, naturally, teehee),
Last Cat On Venus (always trying a new dating app – sigh – and you should see the litter left by the last tenants),
Last Cat On Saturn (who actually lives on Titan, Saturn’s moon, in the Dunes of Shangri-La: ‘biggest litterbox in the universe,’ so Dr On Saturn tells me),
Last Cat On Uranus (a somewhat mysterious member of our troupe, but very happy to live on a rainbow-y planet even if it overcompensates somewhat with those 15 moons – 15, jeez),
Last Cat On Neptune (and it’s just as well Dr On Neptune is a Russian Blue, if this image from Voyager 2 is anything to go by), and last but never least,
Last Cat On Pluto (not a dwarf planet, never ever a dwarf planet, but a proud and bewildering solar system perennial: brought to you by Puffer-Upperers of Piddly Planets Way Out There Somewhere, of which Dr On Pluto is Chair, Vice-Chair, Secretary, Treasurer, and Committee Members, okay? Okay.).
Take a breath, sisters, brothers, and others.
So, as I tuck into my lovely and luscious outer space tuna delicacies, please enjoy a snapshot from my dear little pals, Rita and Frank. Bon voyage!
Here on Mars, there’s little space for large kitchens, but the space we have we dedicate to delicacies close to the hearts of all self-respecting Martians: tuna toast, tuna pie, tuna salad, tuna bake (very hot this close to the Sun), tuna fritters, tuna pizza, and so on, and occasionally, a lovely side of totally, totally Martian red Truss tomatoes with deep-fried tuna steaks. Bon appetunatit!!!
Didn’t every kitten play cowboys and aliens and lemonade stands and baguettes with their siblings and neighbouring cats of all the lovely varieties under the Martian sun? I know I did.
So it was no surprise at all to find this gaggle of upstanding equines and not-terribly-wild westerners discussing the important thing in life: hats and their place in the synchronised scheme of things.
Also, tuna-flavoured lemonade – the next big thing at your nearest pretentious cafe – move over coconut butter latte frappe-cino with hundreds and thousands, your time is up.
I don’t know D’Arcy or Anthony personally, but the fact that they exchanged their spaceship here on Mars with some rogueish southerner from the Medusae Fossae Formation seems to follow a family pattern. Two of my actual friends, Cy and Clark, have already committed to the Red Canoe Cult – you can check them out enjoying a little angling in the Hale crater. They bear a remarkable resemblance to these two soon-to-be fishin’ fools.
In the dim dark long ago, this little cat owned a VW Bug. Red it was, and gorgeous, and I drove it to college and back each day. Sometimes, my dear mother, Mrs On Mars, would accompany me over to the city where we’d pay bills and otherwise enjoy a day out. It was, however, a lightweight small vehicle and was often buffeted by not-very-strong winds as we crossed the bridge from the northside to the seething metropolis that was my regional hometown in the – well, a while ago. Such adventures we had, eh Pip.
Furthermore, there is nothing nicer than a trip to the beach, a fish and chip lunch, and an ice-cream with your beloved. Enjoy.
Hello sports-a-rama fans, and it goes without saying that we say from Mars: Congratulations and Celebrations to Chloe Esposito, a true all-rounder. Go you good thing, as we say in the Martian classics. Wait, you’ve already been and gone – yippeekyay from far away!!!!!