My point, and I do have one, is that most felines avoid pointy things like the proverbial plague. You know, claws, fangs, those sharp bits when the toast is a little burnt – they can really lacerate the tongue and inside cheeks. Also, people who point me the wrong way to the tuna festival are the worst of all and I shall take my revenge – what? no, that wasn’t me, it was my evil twin, Second Last Cat On Mars. Calmer now, pointiness in its place, tuna on the way with Martian Eats: It’s Here or It’s There, or It’s Free.
Monkey business – who knew they could concentrate for so long, so simianly long. I, for one, have always said that there but for the grace of an ancestral divergence, go those pesky humans. Actually, I’ve never said that, but it’s probably true in one dimension or another. Calico Pawn to Feline’s Bishop 4, check.
Here on Mars there isn’t a lot of call for gears – the dust tends to gum them up, but gear sculptures, now there’s a lovely thing. Also, we like our sundowners, although we tend to have them indoors away from the dust and redness, and things that make us testy, like the temperature (too hot, and too cold, really, for a koala bear, let alone a feline bear). Other than that, cheers, friends, and bottoms up, for Cissy Fwoppingham-Smythe is already breathless for her next flagon.