This lucky git and his crew live in the greenbelt - the woodchipped, tree lined path which swooshes down from the north eastern tip of Manhattan Beach to Hermosa's south western edge. They are on the stretch of greenbelt that I pass through when I trundle Lady P along to Von's to get our cheese grated.
I like how they roll. They are cats. They can live wild pretty easily, especially somewhere where it doesn't rain often and there are plenty of small edible creatures around. And yet they have hoodwinked the good people of Hermosa Beach into catering for them and cushioning their hedgerow while they're at it.
It made me think of Jack. Dear, lazy, fat old Jack. Our lovely babysitter back in Saltburn was soft enough to take him in. She'd spent enough time on the sofa with him, squashing her like the 20lb deadweight he is, to know what she was in for, and we were very happy that he had such a good home to go to.
I fear she doesn't have our discipline with his fitness regime. He has already hoodwinked her into letting him eat scallops off her plate. Well, if he does eat her out of house and home, perhaps she can stick him in on a towel, in a hedge, with a sign and let the good people of Saltburn chip in.
I fear she doesn't have our discipline with his fitness regime. He has already hoodwinked her into letting him eat scallops off her plate. Well, if he does eat her out of house and home, perhaps she can stick him in on a towel, in a hedge, with a sign and let the good people of Saltburn chip in.
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