Old toys, new toys, we all love ’em all, whatever their age, whatever their state. I have a Teddy Bear – they’re named after Theodore Roosevelt, you know – who was passed down to me by my brother. Actually, to be truthful, my brother didn’t so much pass Teddy down to me as throw him out of his cot in fright. He really didn’t like the ursine furball. But I did, and do, and we are often to be seen snuggling on a cold Martian night, searching for Earth in the evening sky. Even more often, though, we are searching for that wretch of a takeaway delivery hound with our Honeyed Tuna Melt Bites.
It is also suggested that Theodore ‘Teddy’ Roosevelt said this: Start where you are, use what you have, do what you can. It will be enough. Try it out next time you are suffering in extremis and see if it helps. I think it will, friends and grasshoppers. You can only do what you can do, Honeyed Tuna Melt Bites notwithstanding.
The lesson for all of us here is never to volunteer to hold the oars, not even for a second. Splinters are the least of your worries when you’re facing very strong headwinds, and space junk up to wazoo. Don’t say you weren’t warned, friends and others.
It only remains for us to make a booking and turn up for Chef Francesca’s delicious tuna-themed slices.
Well I remember a little pizza joint just around the corner from my alma mater, the august and september-y University of Queensland, in Hawken Drive. It was truly a dive, because you had to dive down below street level, with the aid of a set of stairs as I recall, or perhaps simply a well-timed roll, in order to enter its very Bohemian portal – well, it seemed extremely Bohemian to a little cat from Central Queensland’s sticks still trying to find her city paws. Great pizza though, and drinks. Oh, the drinks. One was far too many, friends, and, as usual, a hundred more were never quite enough. Good times … the little I well remember of them.
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.
They’re always on the lookout for new ventures, they just lack the capital to convert them to heavenly success. But don’t feel too sorry for them, fellow viewers; after all, they have a very red canoe, and the possibility of members of the largely adorable Leporidae family visiting sometime soon. D’Arcy and Anthony – gotta love ’em, or not – oh, why not, harmless they are, and as cute as the Leporidaes (yes, the furry, mammalian Leporidaes from Edam-on-Rye, or was it Bungles-Upon-Bungles)? Or, was it, Rabbitproof-Under-Fence?
The wonderful people at the European Space Agency in Darmstadt, Germany are a bit sad, but hopeful, just as I am hopeful for my shiny (and rather glary) new friend, Schiaparelli lander’s recovery. It’s touch and go, and yes, the chocolate bars helped, but you can never be certain on the Red planet, especially with all these jostling space-o-nauts scurrying around and recklessly stealing tuna pies.
In the meantime, my dearest Earth peeps, keep dreaming of Martian playing fields just as I dream of my feline ancestors who lived a mere furball’s toss up the A5 from Darmstadt, in Frankfurt am Main. Many are the imaginary plates of tuna-wurst helpfully digested with a litre or three of catnip schnaps I’ve shared with my great-great grandparents, Charles Gustav and Margaret (or Meowgaret, as she was known in the family). Ah, those could have been the days but for pesky physics. Dream on.
Currently, my dear friends, and others, I communicate with you from this year’s movable convention (and tuna smorgasbord) of fellow Last Cats:
Last Cat On Mercury (very sweaty, and living on a transiting show-off and shrinking domicile, too, but more to the point, how do cats perspire? Let’s pause a moment and answer with: paws – who knew? Well, me, naturally, teehee),
Last Cat On Venus (always trying a new dating app – sigh – and you should see the litter left by the last tenants),
Last Cat On Saturn (who actually lives on Titan, Saturn’s moon, in the Dunes of Shangri-La: ‘biggest litterbox in the universe,’ so Dr On Saturn tells me),
Last Cat On Uranus (a somewhat mysterious member of our troupe, but very happy to live on a rainbow-y planet even if it overcompensates somewhat with those 15 moons – 15, jeez),
Last Cat On Neptune (and it’s just as well Dr On Neptune is a Russian Blue, if this image from Voyager 2 is anything to go by), and last but never least,
Last Cat On Pluto (not a dwarf planet, never ever a dwarf planet, but a proud and bewildering solar system perennial: brought to you by Puffer-Upperers of Piddly Planets Way Out There Somewhere, of which Dr On Pluto is Chair, Vice-Chair, Secretary, Treasurer, and Committee Members, okay? Okay.).
Take a breath, sisters, brothers, and others.
So, as I tuck into my lovely and luscious outer space tuna delicacies, please enjoy a snapshot from my dear little pals, Rita and Frank. Bon voyage!
I don’t know D’Arcy or Anthony personally, but the fact that they exchanged their spaceship here on Mars with some rogueish southerner from the Medusae Fossae Formation seems to follow a family pattern. Two of my actual friends, Cy and Clark, have already committed to the Red Canoe Cult – you can check them out enjoying a little angling in the Hale crater. They bear a remarkable resemblance to these two soon-to-be fishin’ fools.
You may have heard rumours that the aquatic life on Mars is less than satisfactory. However, I’m here to tell you that, but for a little dust storm every so often, the fishing is extratunaordinary with bells and whistles, and an occasional crabby crustacean. Soon enough, Hale crater will be invaded by reckless teenagers from other, less salubrious (read extinct) water flows and I’ll be forced to seek out new life and boldly go, or go boldly, down the avenue.
Meanwhile, well, meanwhile, stay a while, and doze in a daze. When the time comes, you may hitch a lift with me in the PeskyCATarian-mobile.
No, I confess, I have never attended a Star Warsfilm event, though I have watched the series. Given the dimensions of some of the costumes and the placement of feet upon unsuspecting felines’ tails, justified my reticence surely is. I have one simple question: are we certain that Darth is Luke’s father? Are we really, fretting fans? Just asking. Respectfully and with Leia adoration, Last, xxx