On any day ending in ‘y’ – and there are a few, seven, perhaps – I try to add a few words, syllables, phrases, paragraphs, to my meowmoir. It’s a humble little thing, but it grows by degrees, and claw marks. Routine is the answer; work, the solution. Begin yours today, my dears.
As a violent pacifist, I sympathise with Linda, and all of us, really, we, the many pawns of the universe, all of us made from atoms billions of years old already. You’d think they would have acquired enough wisdom by now to have nothing to do with war and mayhem. Hmmph – evolution, so protonically, neutronically, electronically slow.
It’s true that it’s quite difficult to get lost on Mars. After all, Mars is only a bit more than half the size of Earth, there are no oceans to sail, and its mass (whatever that is, hahahahah) is almost 10 times less than Earth’s’s’s’s (and made of tuna – no, really!!). Getting around is a much lighter affair on Mars, too, and we all make merry lollygagging around leaping to and fro, and so on, and etcetera – you know the krill, sorry, drill.
While 9 out of 10 cats prefer to stay out of the way when centaurs are stomping around (innocent tails and all that), the other 14 have no issues with them at all. In fact, felines and centaurs tend to group together to gossip about the latest social media mythological trends over lattes and ceviche at every opportunity. Prove me wrong, go on.
Did you know that the humble bumbling bee is a threatened species? Well, it is. Read this very interesting article from the Climate Institute about the 20,000 or so bee species on Earth and tell me it isn’t important that we care for Mzzzzz Janice Flybeewaxy’s mental health? You can’t, can you? No, you can’t. Climate change, peeps, it’s a thing.
The thing about theft is that, as in a post-truth world, it’s all in the eye, or hand, of the beholder, or the be-stealer. One cat’s burglary is another cat’s night-time stroll around the neighborhood. I mean, just ask Cary Grant in To Catch A Thief. Was there ever a more handsome, urbane, lovely and gorgeous two-legged feline as Mr Grant? The answer is: there wasn’t, and Gracie knew it, too.
In fact, do whatever you can to obtain a copy of the film so that you, too, can share in the joy of watching two thoroughbreds going through their paces. Not to mention Alfred’s involvement in the minor role of director. And while I’m at it, gather in Sabrina (the 1954 Billy Wilder version, the best and only one to watch), too, and make a rainy Saturday afternoon of it with Audrey Hepburn, Humphrey Bogart and William Holden. Now they were real movie stars, grasshopper, and don’t even get me started on Ava Gardner, Virginia Mayo, or Greer Garson. Or Errol Flynn, or Gary Cooper, or Randolph Scott. Just don’t – well, maybe another time, then.
While I’m not given to effusive celebrations here on the red planet at this time of year, I fully appreciate the excitement gathering speed on the third rock.
I well remember Mama and Papa and my sibling, Sibmo, enjoying each other’s company way, way back when we’d dip a delicate paw into the backyard pool before emptying it so we could stretch out and sleep on those cool, cool yule tiles in the midst of tropical summer heatwaves.
And is there anything more sublime than Bill Evans on the old CD player as you barbecue your tuna steaks and sip a delicate and frothy tunanog while swaying along to one of the coolest dudes in the jazziverse? I think there is not, my dearest friends, so I’m off to get in some practice before the big day in my rainbow robes of wondrous, all-inclusive hue.
Meanwhile, let’s all send healing vibes of peaceful energy from wherever we may be to surround and suffuse little mother Earth with kindness and the calming balm of love. I mean it, dudes, let’s start vibing the positive before the place does itself an irreversible injury, okay?! Okay-a-rooney.