Foto Friday: A Street Cat with Desire!

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Hi and welcome to ‘Foto-Friday’

As the name suggests, I’m planning to share a single photo with you each Friday, but miss-spelling photo to combine the double F of the 2 words. Yes I know, not my most creative moment (it is spelt Foto in Portuguese though!)

Unlike the other articles on my site, this will be one shot and a few words.

I was recently exploring yet another part of the city.

The light was harsh, the heat debilitating. You know when it’s hot… the cats of Porto bask languidly in the sun, the strays to heat high to run away

This cat seemed to toying with the idea of moving, it was desiring something… I wondered if it wanted petting and a picture

As I crept towards it, the look it shot me said no to some petting, but a trade of a shot look for a shot picture and I’m happy with this image!

A Street Cat with Desire

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4 Replies to “Foto Friday: A Street Cat with Desire!”

  1. A cat, I think, with some confidence.
    – – –

    I come to think of an episode from
    Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog):

    We were, as I have said, returning from a dip, and half-way up the High Street a cat darted out from one of the houses in front of us, and began to trot across the road.  Montmorency gave a cry of joy—the cry of a stern warrior who sees his enemy given over to his hands—the sort of cry Cromwell might have uttered when the Scots came down the hill—and flew after his prey.
    His victim was a large black Tom.  I never saw a larger cat, nor a more disreputable-looking cat.  It had lost half its tail, one of its ears, and a fairly appreciable proportion of its nose.  It was a long, sinewy-looking animal.  It had a calm, contented air about it.
    Montmorency went for that poor cat at the rate of twenty miles an hour; but the cat did not hurry up—did not seem to have grasped the idea that its life was in danger.  It trotted quietly on until its would-be assassin was within a yard of it, and then it turned round and sat down in the middle of the road, and looked at Montmorency with a gentle, inquiring expression, that said:
    “Yes!  You want me?”
    Montmorency does not lack pluck; but there was something about the look of that cat that might have chilled the heart of the boldest dog.  He stopped abruptly, and looked back at Tom.
    Neither spoke; but the conversation that one could imagine was clearly as follows:—
    The Cat: “Can I do anything for you?”
    Montmorency: “No—no, thanks.”
    The Cat: “Don’t you mind speaking, if you really want anything, you know.”
    Montmorency (backing down the High Street): “Oh, no—not at all—certainly—don’t you trouble.  I—I am afraid I’ve made a mistake.  I thought I knew you.  Sorry I disturbed you.”
    The Cat: “Not at all—quite a pleasure.  Sure you don’t want anything, now?”
    Montmorency (still backing): “Not at all, thanks—not at all—very kind of you.  Good morning.”
    The Cat: “Good-morning.”
    Then the cat rose, and continued his trot; and Montmorency, fitting what he calls his tail carefully into its groove, came back to us, and took up an unimportant position in the rear.


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