It is true that a dragon may not be the most practical of therapy pets, but they are extremely loyal, and in winter they can warm your cockles very quickly. Also, in summer, you won’t need a BBQ or grill to get those kebabs charcoaled. I’m a glass half-full cat, as you can obviously tell. Plus, yes, my therapy pet is a dragon called Cholmondeley, pronounced, as you well know, Chumlee, as in chum, as in friend, as in dear, sweet pet.
As my darling sister, Darling One, always says, ‘You could use a good stew, kiddo,’ to any passing thin person, animal, mammal, fish, or insect. I suspect Vanessa could have listened a little more attentively in her biology lecture on Serpentes. But hey, that’s her lookout – she has two legs, she can run, and Stan’s a tad weak after his big sleep.
Alas, here on Mars we, too, are afflicted by the Selfie Menace. There is nothing to be done about it other than to sweep, mop, and wipe up after their unfortunate incidents. Though I must warn any Selfie Tragics that if you come anywhere within cooee of me with one of your heinous Selfie Sticks, I shall be forced to sentence you to furball pate and social media limbo (ie, social media in outer space, which is, of course, as you well know, silent, and yes, non-existent – yay!), so think about it before you wave it about.
If someone makes the offer, you would be foolish to refuse it – after all, coffee is the fourth most delicious beverage on all planets that I have experienced, beaten only by water, tea, and beer, in that order. But remember that ‘Closing Down Sale’ may appear on the front window in the very near future should you take advantage of the Darryls of the world. So, the cliche is true, as cliches, though boring, usually are: Do please be careful what you wish for, friends, because you may end up rather thirsty.
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.