We are still chilling in Crotti. The Kandinsky is gearing up to leave, though we are not sure when. In what time we have left I am going to do another gig, get some new material down, and put the memory of getting lost in Duchamp to bed. I am in a deckchair covered in inspirational quotes, and stroking one of the cats. This one had the taste of peppermint.
The cats out here look the same as those on the surface. They don’t even have weird coloured, or bark like dogs, or fly through glass like the open air. All are friendly, and love a cuddle from any passersby.
That is when you learn their true effects. If you slip your hand into their fur, your tastebuds will light up. Maybe with the flavour of a tasty glass of chocolate milk, or some potato dauphinoise. A claw might dig into your wrist, and add a hint of salt.
This is not psychosomatic. These cats really do have different flavours.
Some animals are more popular at breakfast time. In their afternoon when it’s hot, you track down the ice cream tabby. If you fancy a coffee past eight, but don’t want to be awake all night, there is a lovely tortoiseshell you can give a pat. The residents who live on Crotti full time have their favourites. They combine two or three to make a full roast dinner, or a margarita.
There are no calorific advantages to these animal’s skills, and they won’t make you full. They are animals, not a diet suppressant. But still, these are the happiest and most looked after cats since Ancient Egypt. They have milk and sardines in a never ending buffet, and naps on any chair they want.
That’s enough for today. I’m sorry the blogs have been a bit short recently, but the weather is hot, and the air smells of freshly baked bread. Somehow I have to pull myself together to make people laugh. I’m not convinced even if we nail our routine, they will manage more than a sleepy chuckle.
One of the cats of Crotti.