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 na...