The Bookworm Abroad

Nobody owns the cats

When I first came to look at my house there were four of us officially, two from the agency, me and the lady of the property. And it became immediately obvious that I was being scrutinised not only by my prospective new landlady but by half a dozen cats.

I came a second time before making my final choice of property. Then I came back again, dragging along every willing friend I could find to endorse my choice and exclaim in an approving fashion. And every time, a different and varying assortment of felines watched.

Now I’m not stupid, I know the score, and everyone already told me there are lots of animals in the campo all just waiting for some mug to move in. But I did ask, honestly, whose are all these cats? Given their somewhat proprietorial air in the grounds of my intended new home, I thought I ought to know. A shrug and more than a suggestion of “who knows”, an outright denial of ownership, and quite probably an inward snigger greeted my enquiries. And a flock, or herd, or whatever, of cats greeted my removals.

 I knew it was only a matter of time but I didn’t want to be a pushover. The smallest, coal black shadow stared me out from a safe distance with her beautiful green eyes. The first tentative offering of (would you believe) salted fried soya beans was received with a modicum of decorum to suggest “I am not quite desperate thank you” and a polite withdrawal to bring her slightly larger ginger stripey sibling to share. See, I have nice manners, but don’t think you can stroke me. And that is how it started.

 I lasted another week, during which she and her tribe accepted stale bread soaked in water and a smidgeon of milk now and again, and then I bought the big bag of cat biscuits. When I got out of the van, the whole lot were assembled. Have they got spies at Lidl?? Are they telepathic? Well the little black one is, that’s why they sent her first, those green eyes have been sending messages all the while “feeeeeeed us you know you want to” and she looks the smallest therefore the most harmless and needy. Hmmm. So I counted heads. Seven. Then I stared the lot of them out and the thought messages went something like this : What are you lot waiting for? – You. You’re going to feed us. – No I’m not, I haven’t got anything for you. – oh yes you have – oh no I haven’t – yes yes you bought us biscuits – bugger, how do you lot know? Oh go on then…….

Another four days has passed and the posse (pardon the slight pun) are frequently waiting outside the door in a lazy hint of expectation, nooooo we’re just sunbathing but if you insist…

Today we have had cat biscuits, the remains of a jacket potato and some more stale bread. Yesterday it was the grilled fish from Monday which  nobody actually liked as it wasn’t proper fish. Day before, some caraway seed cake I made last week. A varied diet, and a very begrudging hint of gratitude (or not). I’m still getting “you needn’t think you can cuddle us you know” signals, but I’ve been working on my own intimidatory tactics and I started on Shadow when she started on me. You’re going to be mine if I’m going to feed you. Ohhhhhhh no I’m not. Ohhhhhh yes you are. Nooooooo just feed me (and my family), no strings attached. We’ll see about that, Shadow.

Did they live here before, were the last tenants willing victims or just accomplices?

Look you lot, I live here now. Yesssssss and so do we………..so you have to feed us, see?

We own you now.

Hmmm.