Sol – 907-May I always be warm and well fed.

Sol 901

Summer’s drawing to a close. Not that it means much in the endless vacuum of space. Still, I try to follow the rhythm of the season’s as best I can, in a place where nothing ever grows it’s important to mark the passing of time. I like to believe it keeps me somewhat regular. As winter comes in the desert sands of Arrak will turn dusky red with the great storms that rage across its badlands. On watery Bardo the icecaps spread like frosted cobwebs over the ocean. And were my telescope powerful enough, I might spy the jeweled birds of Sumi flying south, to an easier climate.

The seasons change and the calendar races ever forwards, in a rush to get somewhere apparently.

The end of summer means something else too. (Whisper it): Picasso’s birthday is coming up. The ginger rapscallion has reached the grand old age of eleven and he’s starting to look it too. He’s gotten a bit beardy or something. He squints more. I think he’s getting cynical.

So with that in mind I’ve been spending my evenings trawling the net looking for a suitable gift. I have a satellite dish but the connection’s still atrocious in this starry backwater. My research has taught me two things, One: There’s a lot of extremely angry people on the internet and Two: You can get practically anything for cats these days.

But, after what felt like a virtual eternity, a pop-up ad caught my eye.

‘The Cosmo-kitty Spacesuit.

Spiffy helmet. lightweight oxygen tank. Resistant to scratches and tears.

100% machine washable.

Share the fun of zero g with your feline friend.

The Cosmo-kitty Spacesuit is the galaxies first spacesuit designed exclusively for cats.‘

I pressed the order button. My only worry is it won’t arrive in time for his birthday.

SOL – 902

Speaking of spacesuits, the other morning I put my own on and found it to be decidedly snug about the midriff. I stood in the big mirror admiring my well-earned paunch and lamented that I was no longer the svelte silver rocket man of my youth.

Middle age has come it seems, not all at once, but rather as a long slow car-crash. An explosion in slow-motion.

Alas, I have an exceedingly catholic love of biscuits. Toffee pops, Fig Rolls,Jammie Dodgers. You name it, I have coveted them all. I’m an addict, a junkie. As far as I’m concerned a packet of biscuits, once opened, is as good as empty. For sure, sometimes I might lie and coddle myself.

One or two I’ll say to myself, just a little treat before bed.

But before you know it I’m running my finger around the tin trying to gather up enough crumbs to get one last measly fix.

Sometimes I really do only eat one or two, then I’ll put the packet back in the cupboard. A few minutes will go by while I bask smugly in the glow of my enormous self-restraint. I’ll glance down then and to my horror the biscuits have materialized once again in my hands.

I wasn’t always this way you know. In my younger days I was actually a bit of an athlete. I was even captain of the school swimming team. But like the planets drifting apart, youth got away from me so gradually I hardly noticed. I forgot what it’s like to dive into the great blue of the ocean, to feel your blood pumping and the hot sun upon your back.

I’m surrounded now by countless suns, pinpricks in the eternal firmament, but their heat never reaches me.

So I decided to meet the problem head on. No more lazy nights in front of the TV. A serious regime change is coming. Push ups, pull ups, squats, you name it. I’ll eat better too. Broccoli even, maybe, possibly.

I’ll start small of course, that goes without saying. Good habits are built in sensible, incremental steps that over time accumulate into profound results. At least, that’s what the self help book I never finished said.

However, even minor changes can be difficult to incorporate into a well trod life.

For a start the treadmill was more daunting than the flight deck of a space ship. All those blinking lights! All those options! The data!

Anyways, after a bit of bumbling about with it I got the belt to start running. It felt gentle enough at first, but quite quickly became uncomfortably constant. My belly was bouncing up and down like a watermelon in a bin bag. I tried to make out the whole thing was incredibly invigorating.

“Wooey” I said. “I can see why people get addicted to this.”

Sweat was lashing off me.

A few minutes later I dismounted. My legs were like gummy worms and I wobbled around bow legged as a drunk cowboy. I’d a terrible sensation that everything was going much faster than it was supposed to. Static objects seemed to be zooming towards me.

I nearly gave my breakfast to the floor if I’m being frank.

Picasso looked at me with his squinty eye.

“You bastard” I spluttered. “You don’t do anything but sleep, how are you so thin?”

No answer, as was the norm.

SOL – 907

Picasso’s birthday arrived and it was great. The Cosmo-Kitty spacesuit got here just in time. We had cake. I had to blow out the candles of course but I made a wish on his behalf. May I always be warm and well fed. I sang Happy Birthday and the Silurian diamond shone as bright as a star.

Special note – Cats do not enjoy zero gravity in any way shape or form. They do like boxes however.