I, Effing Feline, don’t believe in this human nonsense of reviewing the year that is ending. You wouldn’t want to look behind either if the only tool you had to wipe your butt was your tongue. The view ain’t great.
Christmas is over and so are the snippets from Alien Contact for a Christmas Nutcracker. (Ed might disagree; he played a performance of Nut C Saturday and has another today — but tough. I declare it OVER.) In its place, I’m snippeting from a book that Ed is revisiting, renaming, and re-covering, It used to be called The Midas Rush. Now it isn’t.
Here we meet the hero of the tale, Tresky Buffrum, a rather naive young shepherd from the mountains of the colony planet Jones. A few days before, he came to visit the planet’s largest city, population 50,000, for the first time. Here we find him on the morning after overindulging on his wedding night.
Tresky made the mistake of opening his eyes. Light stabbed his brain like a firespear thorn. He groaned.
“Awake, are ye?”
The words filled Tresky’s ears with boiling agony. He groaned again and rolled onto his side. The speaker was a short, squat man, bald except for a fringe of kinky auburn hair with a gold streak over his ear.
Moving his head as little as possible, Tresky glanced around the dark hovel where he lay. One wall stood open to a corridor where the stranger was sweeping. The hovel was smaller than the stall for birthing sheep, back home.
Effing Feline here again. All I need to know about the New Year is that, looking forward with 20/20 vision, the coming year will be better for me. I’m certain of it. It will, it will, it will.
Or else somebody is going to pay!
And finally, Ed got a neat Christmas present from InD’tale magazine — a five star review of Love thy Galactic Enemy.