I wish my Grandmothers had kept a better log of the wildlife on Buber. They were far too busy terraforming to worry about what insects were buzzing about. Since then her laissez-faire attitude to arrival checks means the natural world of our little planet must be a constant battle for survival.
A group of Butter Mice visited last night. They always wear their uniform, even when ‘off duty.’ As the old joke goes, their uniform is yellow so they don’t shoot each other, and there isn’t much chance of missing them in here. I always give them discount drinks. They always cluster in the booths. They always sing. They always drink too much.