This morning we went for our usual jaunt to the cemetary to visit the cats. Life is good in the cemetary, well, if you are alive and a cat. Several different people feed them daily. They even get fresh fish every morning.
“What’cha up to cat? Oh, just ripping the heads off anchovies, I see. Whatever floats your back-hoe.”
These wild cats are so well fed that they can be selective about their fresh fish. Apparently the heads are the tastiest, so they bite those off first and then let the wasps wander through the rest.
“Hey Mom, this is kind of cool, in a really gross sort of way.”
And because I know you are just dying for a close up…,
Appetizing, hey. Just helping out, in case you are dieting this week. Doing my civic duty. You can thank me for removing any cravings you had for fish and chips. Or a pizza smothered in anchovies.
When the sun came out from behind a cloud and things started to get smelly we moved on to the kibble feeding station.
Old fish breath up there is our buddy and he doesn’t even flinch when we chat him up during breakfast. But this orange guy hasn’t really warmed up to us. It isn’t for lack of trying.
Much to Yago’s daily disappointment, this is the view we usually have of cats.
But there was one more potential feline friend ready for round two at the kibble. Yago sauntered up for a little small talk. But you know how this ended, don’t you.
“Here, kitty kitty kitty. Mom, even the cats won’t talk to us!”