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.
The thing about sculpture, as my dear mother always says, is that there is always a way to find a worthy scratching post within any work of art. You just have to start somewhere, as black cat Felix is doing, and dig in. Let this be a life lesson for all of us: Start where you are, Use what you have, and Do what you can (by way of appropriate claw-centred activity in the feline example). And thank you to Arthur Ashe and Teddy Roosevelt for that exhortation.
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.
Bernard wasn’t the sharpest pin in the cushion, though his competition, Felix the astounding black cat, was fierce and put everyone else in the shade (there’s very little shade on Mars, just by the way), including the bicycle fellow, who wore his own cappy little shade.
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.
