Last Cat On Mars Presents: The Tenor of the Times

When I was a very small cat, I remember being placed upon a grand piano one evening in the games room of my Aunt Felicia’s pub. Luckily for me, the lid was down. Everybody was drunk and, with one minor slip of the paw, a kitten could have easily ended up as catgut, or worse, in that very large musical instrument.

I was exhorted to sing by all and sundry (the sundry being a couple of passing pub rats up from the cellar for the night), though I stood there in my flannelette pajamas (Shrank’s brand, for those in the know) and red and white chenille dressing gown, hardly appropriate attire for a debut concert.

I don’t remember if I sang, or not, but I think a lovely evening was had by all (and sundry), and it was arguably the only time in my life that I knew what it felt like to be that tall. That tallish, then.

Singing tenor and clocks, the tenor of the times

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