In the dog days of summer, the afternoons are very hot, but the mornings are really nice. So every morning this week I've set up the sunshade on the terrace and had my coffee and eggs with my book in the chair in the cool air and this little fellow has come and sat with me.
He's one of Annamaria's little tribe of Farm Cats. They're feral and only barely tame enough for her to feed twice a day. They won't come near me, but one morning last winter, as I was off to Mass at Sant'Andrea, I met up with Anna walking up the long drive towards the house with a long parade of little grey cats following along behind her.
They live rather rough lives, but seem contented enough, sleeping in the shady spots in the day and roaming all over the farm all night. The population remains pretty steady; every year we lose one or two and gain a few new little ones that bounce around very entertainingly for a few months before settling into their lives.
This is one of the newer ones, born into the tribe year before last. He won't let me touch or get near him, but he doesn't run away now when I sit down near by.
I've been leaving the big stainless steel roasting tin filled with water on the terrace, and the Farm Cats like to come and have a drink. He's waiting for his moment when he thinks its safe to sidle through the kitchen door to see if Pippin has left any food in his dish.
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2 comments:
Had to laugh at the bookshelf shot from the 1P5 article.
I thought I was the only person with a copy of Father Vincent Miceli's 'The AntiChrist.'
Cheek-by-jowl with all the Belloc reprints, to boot!
Enjoy that Tuscany Autumn, Miss White.
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