Those hats, I just adore those hats. And imagine what a useful water bowl they could be in an emergency for a kitten caught out on the Syrtis Major Planum in need of just a few short gulps of kidney-disease-avoiding H2O. I’m talking to you, cats of the universe. Do you really need to be reminded to have at least one slurp of renal sustenance a day? Do you? Of course you do. And so do I. Excuse me now while I borrow a Bobbie’s helmet, and a bottle of water, and a human with an opposable thumb and forefinger who happens to be strolling nearby.
P.S. ‘Bobbies’ are named after Sir Robert Peel, who established London’s first official police force in the 1830s. They were also called Peelers, but I think Bobbie sounds far more cuddly, don’t you?
While I’m not given to effusive celebrations here on the red planet at this time of year, I fully appreciate the excitement gathering speed on the third rock.
I well remember Mama and Papa and my sibling, Sibmo, enjoying each other’s company way, way back when we’d dip a delicate paw into the backyard pool before emptying it so we could stretch out and sleep on those cool, cool yule tiles in the midst of tropical summer heatwaves.
And is there anything more sublime than Bill Evans on the old CD player as you barbecue your tuna steaks and sip a delicate and frothy tunanog while swaying along to one of the coolest dudes in the jazziverse? I think there is not, my dearest friends, so I’m off to get in some practice before the big day in my rainbow robes of wondrous, all-inclusive hue.
Meanwhile, let’s all send healing vibes of peaceful energy from wherever we may be to surround and suffuse little mother Earth with kindness and the calming balm of love. I mean it, dudes, let’s start vibing the positive before the place does itself an irreversible injury, okay?! Okay-a-rooney.
I have a lovely, luscious, yellow banana every single day, viewers and readers, and others of that ilk. Mmm, banana – a simile for perfect fruit, yeah …
Yes, the banana can travel anywhere at a moment’s notice, fully suited up, ready for anything from biting and nibbling to slicing and dicing to mashing and smashing.
Never mind the avocado toast, friends, try some fork-squashed Lady Fingers on Sourdough, or even Happydough, with a soupcon of cinnamon sugar and a teeny, tiny squeeze of original lemon juice, just a few citrus-y drops. You will love it, it will love you. That’s all.
I once lived in a tiny house – turned out it was a cardboard box my loving Earthling servants had saved from their latest Amazon delivery for my amusement.
It had everything a feline could need: matching scratchworthy sofa, bed, and sofabed; climbing curtains in ancient, priceless Oriental silk, and a constant supply of tuna bites.
Alas, the Martian atmosphere played havoc with its recyclable doors and walls, and now my tiny house has renewed itself as a rustic red welcome mat at the entrance flap to my far more palatial Mars Manor where the tuna constantly bites.