Katz among the pigeons

Living on the fourth floor of a block of flats has advantages. No-one upstairs to make a racket (which I do get in Castelldefels, unfortunately), lots of light. Then there's the downside. Having lost my darling Rosalía de Castro from myocarditis after she fell from the balcony, I can never relax any more when the cats go out. I have bought one of those balcony net things, but I need someone to put it up (that's one of the problems of being middle-aged and living alone).

Another feature of the high life is pigeons, lots and lots of pigeons. And Ruff is longing to sink his claws and teeth into them.

It makes it hard to air the flat properly - not such a problem in winter, but in summer, when the outside temperatures regularly exceed 35ºC it means living with the air-conditioner on.

I open the sliding doors for ten minutes while making the bed, keeping a weather eye out as Ruff and Tumble go out on to the balcony and peer through the railings to see if there are pigeons on the floor below, or crane their necks to see if there are any on next door's rooftop. I feel really sorry for them on these occasions because cats should be allowed to run free and hunt (I have no love for pigeons, obviously, filthy creatures!). Still, I must console myself thinking that at least they have a good home and would probably have died as kittens if I hadn't taken them in.

I dream of having a little house in the country where they can roam free outside...