Someone contacted me on Twitter to say that he always links Greece with cats. So do I. Wherever you go there are cats. Scrawny moggies which eek out an existence begging and eating what they kill. It is a fairly Darwinian existence - most cats cannot make it through the winter when the wildlife hibernates and the restaurants close down. And so as a painfully thin little creature begs at your table what can you do?
This little moggy came up to my table as I sat, almost alone in a taverna in a small mountain town yesterday and started miaowing and rubbing itself against my leg. It was my best friend. Yup.
I was eating Greek salad so offered it some bread. That was wolfed down. So how about a bit of bread dunked in the oilve oil and vinegar sauce. That was wolfed down. A bit of feta... yes please. Trying my luck, and concerned that I might not actually end up eating anything at all myself, I tossed a bit of cucumber on the floor. That was pushing it. Like my daughter the cat refused to eat cucumber.
And then being a cat it showed no loyalty and spotted another table and wandered off as it sought a new best friend who was rather keener on meat.
Wandering through that town I met two little kittens. I think that if I lived here I would rapidly become like one of those mad old ladies who has 27 cats and talks to no-one else.