Hola to you, my preening imbeciles! We left you last time amid a throng of birds that had come in accord with a magical summons you yourself had issued. However, such a gaggle of avian glamour as arrived at your door was accompanied by an armed gaggle of the local animal and avian husbandry persons, seeking the return of their stock. Bang goes pussy's chicken dinner, quite literally, given the weaponry these backwoods fellows carried!
So what dire events will transpire as the month of fractious February unfolds? We shall have to consult the vile and bitter prognostications and so discover. Open wide your feline gobs and prepare to receive them, my tiny hair gel vanities! Mischievous Mercury and narcotic Neptune float like angry and obscuring clouds as they clash with jolly Jupiter. Thus there is much shouting and many peculiar gyrations as those gathered at your door attempt to find their own poultry but avoid the frequent excreting and random attacks from all others, especially those of larger size. It appears, my mewling folk, that you have avian allies in number, as the birds magically begin to speak, voicing a preference for being part of your spell rather than being harvested for eggs and meat.
As marauding Mars returns to his retrograde point, you once again are confronted by a band of doughty locals, as you were in obnoxious October by the cowmen. Only this time, the birds themselves fight on your side as they drive back the intruders with a storm of avian excrement. You join in with this midday version of the dawn chorus, chanting instinctively an outre spell that makes a tide of fear to drive the poultry farmers even further from your door. All this transpires as mischievous Mercury moves to Pisces and the Full Moon blazes triumphantly in your own ghastly sign. Thus are you the victor on the battlefield, the monarch of all you survey and the king of birds as well as beasts. The haughty hawk shrieks your name aloud while the ancient crows croak 'fark' in the background.
And so, my tiny bird tribe things! Marauding Mars enters idiot Gemini and the birds are your friends and will do your will and bidding. But what's this? Great gods alive and dead! It's the great Sol Invicti, slithering into damp and nasty Pisces, clashing with the psychotic war god as he does so. You're charged with the warrior spirit and decide it's time to launch a first foray against your old enemy, the mysterious Mr Griffin.
Mischievous Mercury clashes with dark Pluto, the underworld god, and you see that you must send a flock of birds to assault the crime lord in his felon's castle. Come the New Moon in tear-stained Pisces, you're secreted in your palace of the occult, experimenting with nasty spells as the birds fill the air with dazzling colour, shrill shrieking and whirling excrement. You've almost come to enjoy this rain from the skies, feeling that somewhere within it lies the magical secret of a new styling mousse.
Perhaps that will be another business success to add to those of Pussy's Bow and Mighty Boots. We shall see, shall we not, fatuous felines. Click here next time for more. In the meantime, ave atque vale, hairdressing types!