Here's a ten-gallon cask of fresh mimosas made with the finest French bubbly. It is rolled into the Tavern by a handsome, wind-burned stranger who had to unstrap it from the back fender of his '45 Indian motorcycle. He sets it up in the corner, plugs in a spile and a hose, and commences to gfill glasses left and right. The bubbles are intoxicating.

God bless you one and all, my fellow Catters. May you sing all the year long!