Food service as usual for our feline birthday boys

Six years ago today our cats Beamer and Dusty were born. These two fellas are the only survivors of the litter of four born in the old abandoned casita on the other side of the wall at the bottom of our field. They’re also the elder siblings of three cats born later in the same year to the same mum.

Our finca quickly became their finca and their favourite restaurant. We serve a pretty good breakfast and dinner, apparently, even if the food is the same at each meal!

Being a bit of a softie, I’d love to treat them to something special to eat on their birthday. But, on the few occasions (such as Christmas) when we’ve bought them fresh chicken breast or rabbit, they’ve turned up their cute little noses and demanded their usual dry food diet. Cats are notoriously fussy…

Beamer and Dusty were, however, seemingly happy to pose for their birthday portraits. In fact, they were attentively waiting for the breakfast that they could hear The Boss preparing in the kitchen. For these semi-feral cats, having their food served to them twice a day probably makes every day seem like a birthday. Happy birthday, boys!

Beamer: “I can hear cat biscuits being poured into a bowl.”

Dusty: “Why sit on a stone wall when you can sit on a wooden chair warmed by the early-morning sun?”

 

 

 

 

 

No tea or coffee for Mallorcan tradesmen

You’d have to be very handy at DIY never to need a tradesman of some sort on Mallorca. Although The Boss has surprised me many times by his ability to turn his former-office-worker’s hands to a variety of tasks around our country finca, we’ve had our share of visits from plumbers, electricians, carpenters, and various ‘t├ęcnicos’ coming to install or fix things. And, in case you’re thinking I’m being sexist here, not one of these workers has ever been a woman.

We’ve noticed one major difference between workmen on Mallorca here and those in the UK: the locals don’t seem to need to be fuelled by hot drinks to get going.

I’d opt for the coffee if I were you

When I lived in the UK, I always offered any visiting tradesman a tea or coffee. Nobody ever refused, although those spending any length of time in the property rarely wanted a second mug of my tea; someone once told me I was the only person they knew who was capable of making grey tea. And it wasn’t Earl Grey!

My first memory of a hot-drink-fuelled tradesman was Bob, who – on several occasions – laid carpet or flooring in my home. The first time I opened the door to him, he said good morning and, before he’d even stepped over the threshold, asked: “What comes from Brazil?” Slightly taken aback by this strange question, I mulled for a moment: “Coffee?” “Thanks,” said Bob. “Milk and three sugars please.”  Our Bob turned out to be a constant joker, as well as an excellent carpet fitter.

A painter and decorator called Alan used to do a few jobs for me. He was a salt-of-the-earth character, good at his job (he loved decorating), and was super-trustworthy. Hearing his three-wheeled Reliant Robin roaring up the lane was my cue to switch on the kettle. Although I don’t drink tea (see above for the reason), I always had a large box of tea bags in the cupboard when Alan was due to start a decorating project. I’d make him the first one of the day and (for the aforementioned reason) he was happy to put the kettle on and make any subsequent cuppas he wanted. In volume terms he probably shifted more tea than emulsion.

Beware the Brits and their brews

It’s different here on Mallorca: we always ask tradesmen if they’d like a tea or coffee during their visit. And, without fail over the years, every single one has declined our offer. Could it be because they fear that Brits are going to serve revoltingly weak instant coffee, instead of the gutsy brew they’re more accustomed to in Spain?  Or perhaps my reputation for making barely drinkable tea has spread…

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tortoise alert in rural Mallorca

Signs of spring are springing up all over Mallorca and, in our neck of the woods, these include sightings of Mediterranean tortoises. We’ve seen quite a few in the past couple of weeks, either plodding across the lane or negotiating their way across our lumpy land.

Mediterranean tortoise, Mallorca

The spring o’clock alarm has raised this one.

These are dangerous times for the sleepy adults that have recently emerged bleary-eyed (I assume) from their winter hibernation. Life can be even more hazardous for the newly born tortoises as they are almost impossible to spot in the undergrowth.

Yesterday our part-time neighbours- and very dear friends – from Yorkshire told us they’d found three baby tortoises in their garden – each no more than the size of a British 50-pence coin. Sadly it’s all too easy not to spot these cute little creatures as they amble around the land; our neighbours fortunately saw their ‘foundlings’ before they came to any harm.

As a follow-up to my last post, if you’re planning to light a bonfire on Mallorca, please check the pile before setting it alight. In fact, if you’re lighting a bonfire anywhere this spring, it’s worth raking gently through the heap first: the heart of a large pile of vegetation makes a cosy winter refuge for hibernating creatures of all types.