Tracy’s invention was particularly impressive during her trip to the Aran Islands. Their stone walls had never thought such independence could be possible for seemingly permanent, and pretty heavy, geological structures. That was when their thoughts turned to cruises to Rapa Nui to lift their stony spirits, or at least drown their stony sorrows. Tracy and Lucky, being travel agents of the first, and stoniest order, arranged everything.
Would anyone really begrudge the rightful brooders their rightful right to enjoy the spacious broodiness of Cafè Night Parrot? You wouldn’t think so, but when I attended for my usual tunacino with extra foam (sea foam, to be precise), it was standing-room-on-the-counter only. Luckily, my perfect balance saw me through, that and Efraim’s way with wayward foam. And an extra tuna mint on my saucer.
You may be thinking, well, Dr On Mars, you don’t look like a pretzel, ho ho. And you’d be right, friend, I do not, except when I have had the misfortune to eat a pretzel that has seen better days. On those occasions, when I resemble and feel rather like a green pretzel, it is best to visit my local tuna taverna and drown my pretzelly sorrows in a tuna Tanqueray on the rocks.
The thing about black cats is that they are surrounded by superstition and manufactured mystery. They are quite normal creatures with the average habits of the average moggie (which are, of course, anything but average, and everything superior). But do you think I can convince the humans of these facts? Correct. I can not.
It should be mentioned that Gerard, the hapless sculptor, has previous form in locating his exhibitions in ‘interesting’ places. The Mariana Trench for his sand sculptures, for instance; remote Vostok Station in Antarctica for his replica build of Superman’s Fortress of Solitude. You get the picture, friends, Gerard enjoys a challenge, but you don’t have to. Simply go to his next slide night and be amazed, and then immediately sleepy. You’re welcome.
The only advice I can give that poor, deluded canine is to ensure that his owner, this poor, deluded Neal person, doesn’t walk too fast when they’re out walking. It is a well-known fact that small dogs benefit from short walks for short periods of time due to their short legs. Dancing, though, a-okay.
Every self-respecting night-shifter needs a place to brood, and where better than Cafè Night Parrot, a place that so closely resembles a 1942 diner we can’t even slip a Tally-Ho paper in between them. So sally forth, fellow brooders and buy yourselves a beverage at midnight at Cafè Night Parrot on the corner of Pensive Terrace and Melancholy Lane.
If only the curators had included a ‘Don’t Bloody Touch The Silver New Something’ sign, Claudius – a law-abiding fellow who wanted only to be told what to do every minute of every day (why else, after all, did he join the army) – would have enjoyed his accidental cultural jaunt, free of any useful thoughts at all. And don’t worry about Strawberry, the cow, Claudius is vegetarian.
The thing is, my dear mother, Mumma On Mars, is a worlds’ reputed violinist (Mars and Earth), even without the aid of opposable thumbs and forefingers, which, I must admit, makes for some rather amusing evenings with Mozart’s concertos. Here’s a tip: being a little inebriated on a good vintage of Ye Olde Catnippy helps to pass the time, and the notes.
On a rather more prosaic side note, it must be acknowledged (must it? well, yes) that the physiological possession (as opposed to the ooky collector’s possession) of aforementioned thumbs and forefingers, is no recommendation of brilliance, given that the typical human is in thrall to the least little adventure of the smallest and sleepiest of felines. Just sayin’.