The thing is, my dear mother, Mumma On Mars, is a worlds’ reputed violinist (Mars and Earth), even without the aid of opposable thumbs and forefingers, which, I must admit, makes for some rather amusing evenings with Mozart’s concertos. Here’s a tip: being a little inebriated on a good vintage of Ye Olde Catnippy helps to pass the time, and the notes.
On a rather more prosaic side note, it must be acknowledged (must it? well, yes) that the physiological possession (as opposed to the ooky collector’s possession) of aforementioned thumbs and forefingers, is no recommendation of brilliance, given that the typical human is in thrall to the least little adventure of the smallest and sleepiest of felines. Just sayin’.
What can I say? I work cheap, but never think that cheap equals quality issues. No, no, never. Blissed out to be at Cafe Night Parrot, I would work for tips, and tuna bake crumbs. Really! Don’t tell Efraim.
There is nothing like a well-groomed human or feline. I’m happy to say that here at the Last Cat On Mars House of Hair and Furry Beauty, we proudly present the best of both worlds. Take a bow (but not a bow-wow), Headley.
The good oil is to check twice and book once, based on the carpenter’s rule of thumb (if he hasn’t already lost both to overly eager sawing) to measure twice and cut once. In Princess Tiffany’s case, one suspects that the so-called ‘wrong’ escort team is actually the perfectly ‘right’ team, for her. Go, you good things.
I admit it, I have a long-standing, and sitting, and lying down and relaxing obsession with Edward Hopper’s magnificent painting Nighthawks. It is one of Mr Hopper’s most famous works, probably his very most famous, really and truly. There is something about the melancholic absence in that diner, despite its’ peopling, that reminds me of beautiful Mars and her silent, contemplative landscapes. So, I created Cafè Night Parrot as a homage to Nighthawks. Respect, Mr Hopper, respect. I dips me feline lid to you.
Here, we have a teaser for others to come, where Efraim, our marvellous barista and 24/7 counsellor of the lovelorn and lonely, meets some of his most ardent fans.
Yes, indeed, his name is Efraim. Mr Hopper may not have mentioned that.
Cyclists: they’re a hardy, though sometimes argumentative and clannish crowd. Nonetheless, we applaud their efforts to champion, and bring, carbohydrates into the healthy dietary choice fold. Or something like that. Or else, they simply want to go to a lovely cafe after their ride and pack on the kilojoules. If they play their carbs right, they can surely devise a route to take in all three destinations, n’est pas so?