It wasn’t often that this disparate group of friends – no, let’s just say acquaintances – got together for an outdoor do. And on this occasion there was no-one to naysay their menu choice, especially not the nameless mime, who was so dedicated to his craft that silence was his only riposte to the terrifying prospect of himself as imminent repast.
[Note: I have been reliably informed that the scene depicted below is an example of what is known these days as Fake News. So fear not, dear friends, no mime was harmed in the construction of this doolally setup. Well, perhaps a little singed, but them’s the breaks, or the breakfasts, as it were. Mmmmm, roast, mmmmm.]
When I was but a wee kitten, my parents and overly competitive sibling and I would travel into the hill country to visit Mama’s sister, Beck From Jupiter, and her husband, Lomas (we never worked out where he was from, lovely head of fur, though).
There I would play in the yard with my overly competitive sibling while the adults got on with their plans to rule the cosmos. He was older than me, OCS was, and could be relied upon to initiate ridiculous games and quizzes, such as, ‘How full is that water tank?’ Anxious to please, and win, I would spend most of the day tap-tap-tapping at the water tank with my tiny, ineffectual little knuckles (yes, of course, cats have knuckles, they’re just well hidden) and asking, ‘Is that it? Is that it?’ of my OCS who, of course, always replied, ‘No, it is not, young Last. Keep tapping,’ as he sashayed around the fenceline in search of, shall we say, playful lizards.
It was a source of persistent curiosity to my mother that, at the end of these idyllic sessions on the hill, I would be completely incapable of holding the tidbits of river trout Mama handed over to my OCS and me in the back seat. My bruised knuckles would refuse to co-operate, and eventually, after much meowing and consideration, she would haul me into the front seat and onto her lap where she’d paw-feed me the teeny morsels.
Needless to say, my OCS in the back seat all alone was rather livid with this outcome, but was I devoid of a master plan just because I was younger, tinier, adorable-er, bruised-er? No, gentle reader, no, I was not.
Fun fact: Did you know that Superman’s most famous but little quoted quotation is: ‘Cape me, Robin, and be quick about it.’ It is important to note, however, that Superman uttered this gem when he was in a delusional state due to over-consumption of Superglue (he thought it was a treat made especially for him), believing himself to be that other famous capester, Batman.
Other than that, we’re with our caped friend in the comic: we just love capes. They are particularly useful here on Mars when the north-east-south-west wind blows a gale, which it does quite often, bloody thing.
It seems like only yesterday – wait, it was only yesterday, in Martian days. That extra 39 minutes and 35 seconds simply flew by. Well, it seems like only yesterday that I, too, needed the extra heft of a meditation garden to see me through lunch. And now, here are Tim and Darren, similarly situated. I don’t think it’s a vegan garden, but I guess that’s something to chew on over the BBQ.
A quick meditation practice for all you wannabe breathabees: Count to 7 while inhaling. Hold for a few seconds short of bursting a vessel in your forehead. Exhale while counting to 7 and imagine the rainbow as you do it if you wish. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue Indigo, Violet. Yes, I get the Indigo and Violet mixed up, too, but then cats are colour-blind – what’s your excuse, cobber?