A cat's tale

And the cats patrol the rubbish skips on the corner of our road. In among the poo bags, the vegetable peelings and a fluorescent tube a kitten could use as a lightsaber, they might find a fish head or two.

At every skip and wheelie bin, there is a cat, guarding its territory. A large ginger one, a tortoiseshell which is surprisingly fluffy given the climate, copious black and white ones and the odd fat tabby.  One with a stubby tail, another with a weird eye. Nobody wants them.

And in the valley, the dogs bark, setting off a chain reaction among hounds and mongrels chained up outside what look more like shacks  than houses. The geese start to honk and turkeys scuttle through the olive groves.

In the village square, a cheeky golden Labrador is young, footloose and fancy-free. His Alsatian-cross-collie paramour, with looks only a mother could love, waggles her tail at him in flirtatious abandon as they weave in and out of each other through the narrow streets of Agios Magikades.

I go to the waste ground to collect some mint and a peacock butterfly flutters by. This evening, the smoke of a dozen bonfires will lie low across the plain, like ribbons of mist.

And in the market, people are shopping for the weekend. The wild greens, Xorta, spinach and cucumbers still at four for a euro. Calamari at fourteen euros a kilo, John Dory at fifteen and giant prawns at eighteen. Lamb chops, beef steak, pork and sheftalia for those in the know.

So more leftover fish heads for the cats.

That’s about it.

Love Maddie x