It's Nothing

Saint Roley has fallen asleep in the moules frites bowl.

But he wakes up now.

First cat in space! How did that go?

Arthur doesn't know more than he's already said.

If I recall, says Gaius, Félicette parachuted safely to earth in a capsule. It was 1963. She was a black and white stray cat from Paris.

Good heavens, says Edith. How did she qualify?

Training, says Gaius. She was purchased by the French government. They fitted her head with permanent electrodes.

Stop! cries Saint Roley. That's horrible!

You find it horrible? says Gaius. Three months later they euthanised her to carry out tests on her brain.

That's unforgivable, says Belle. Félicette deserved a medal.

She taps on her phone to find more information: #Félicette first cat in space

Oh cool! There's a crowd funding thinger to raise money for a bronze statue. Who wants to contribute?

No one.

Shall we go? says Sartre. Early start in the morning. I've booked us all on the 6.07.

That IS early, says Belle. Come on Terence and Baldy, come out from under the table. What's the matter?

We were listening, says Terence.

Never mind, says Belle. Félicette will be a statue.

Will she have a Virgin? asks Baldy.

Of course not, says Gaius. She'll be a stand alone cat.

Yeah, says Sweezus. Man up, guys.

We weren't CRYING, says Terence.

I was, says Baldy.

Sartre calls for the bill.

Merde! It's a big one. How did they get through seven bottles?

Eh bien! We are bound by the physical world, and we pay for it.

At least he gets free train tickets, thanks to being a literary giant. First class ones, too.

I'll be going, says Edith. Thanks for the dinner.

My pleasure, says Sartre. It was a novelty, to meet someone who could out-quote me.

Did I do that? asks Edith.

You did, says Sartre. After which you subverted the night's conversation.

Apologies, says Edith.

De rien, says Sartre.

He wonders if anyone understands him.