As a feline with quite useful paws, its pains me to say that it is rather difficult for me to play the ancient game of chess without mauling the innocent pieces before they even launch themselves on their board-y crusades.
The set in the fairly able hands of Octavia and Arpeggia was created by our beloved Lorrie with her own two versatile hands. She likes to fly under the radar most of the time, and is responsible for a lot of the tuna that gets slung my way. Thank you, Lorrie, for the loan of your lovely homage to Mr Graham, minimalist extraordinaire, if you ask me, and I know you do. And also for the beautiful chess board you also made with those same hands (as opposed to any borrowed ones).
You can read more about chess sets and see Mr Graham’s set if you look at this Smithsonian magazine article, and very interesting it is, too, even for non-players. Enjoy.
Psycatry has existed for as long as we’ve needed it, or since the first felis catus psycatus decided it was time to pitch in and try to save human- and other-kind from themselves. It may be a losing battle but as Dr On Mars says, If you have the tuna, I have the time. So let’s get cracking, shall we, and do a little therapeutic dance together. You never know where it may lead. (With any luck, to edible victuals).
There is no need at all for law enforcement on Mars, as you might expect. All residents are law- and paw-abiding, if a little skittish. And that thin line? Not that we need one, you understand. But if we had one, it would be red, Martian red, with an orange tinge for summer days.
The humble homophone is responsible for more wars than you might imagine. Also, funny and endearing confusion, leading to war. Then there’s misinterpretation, leading to war. Then there are moose, funny, confusing, peacenik moose.
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.]