I harboured, briefly, ambitions to be a mime, a great mime, like Marcel Marceau, the original and most silent (and possibly, the palest). Alas, I realised that the incredible advantage I possessed in the form of my most expressive, and silent, tail, would render all competition redundant.
And mimes, as you well know, dear, silent readers, are extremely combative types. Nonetheless, in my own quiet way I have continued to practice, and I now dominate the world of meowmes, so the mimes don’t have to worry or even cry out aloud about their misfortune.
Too soon to revisit Selfieville and its strange inhabitants wherever they may find themselves? I think not. And the sooner little Brutus realises that, like Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, he may be little but he’s totes fierce, the sooner he can flee that rather gorgeous flytrap of an island and get his own Dogagram account.
Unless, of course, his human frenemy, Tasty McMeatus is about to become his very closest chum, if you know what I mean.