Chips ahoy

S and I walk down the road, chips in paper bags (it is good friday), and I spot a cat.

Here, hold my chips I say. S does, and as I bend down to snap the cat a rustling sound; the chips have fallen onto the pavement, as the bottom of my bag has disintegrated due to the half kilo of potato and dampening vinegar. The cat investigates the chips, S goes feral and protects our dinner, and we scrabble them off the pavement into the broken bag. Onlookers seem unsure.

Further down the road, the cat sits in a yellow doorway, and I feel that I've earnt my cat shot. I'm carrying the intact bag, but after last time I decide to place it on the pavement, supporting the base until the last second. Of course, in the last second the second bag broke, and we went back to scrabbling.

Was it all worth it for a scraggly cat?

Bye Barbara