I looked sideways and saw him, an older man, with glasses on upside down head. With an interesting attachment in a bag, which was a little tabby cat who lay soundly asleep. The word mackerel came to mind, her markings resembling this species of fish. What on earth has fish to do with cat? When it’s only a little kitten and has specific cat baby food.

Hm I’m seen her around this Festival several times. A specific change of character occurring, or is it an ageing process. When one so young i.e. four months of age, ages so much so quickly.

On this day Tabatha appeared on Twitter and then twitter bred other images which appeared like filings round a magnet. Each becoming a force, until a whole plethora of little Tabatha’s life in this Book Festival come together like a school of mackerel swimming together. Hopefully not to attract a predator like the elegant white greyhound who patrols the Festival. An unlikely fellow he is, having retired from racing he’s decided he’s got a much better present to himself. Cockroaching on whatever comfy couch he can sniff out.

Human contact is all very well but it has its limitations. I mean when such a gentleman aristocrat greyhound could be lying on his back waving his legs in the air imitating Gregory’s girl. Except from being an absolutely handsome greyhound wearing a coat Cruella would love to adorn. We came abruptly to view this greyhound’s brother, a snappy-dressed jack Russell in his glossy furred approach to cat gazing.

Now this is no gentleman Joe more a streetwise hunter, and tiny predator of kittens watch out Tabatha better to reach high in the festivals on your owner’s shoulder or even scale the yurt. As you know it’s good to make friends with your enemies, maybe not this Jack Russell.

Tabatha fell asleep much to my relief. I could squeeze a few more minutes depicting what I saw around me. Whereby avoiding rain pitter-pattering down in streams, much like the red rain which occurs when sheltering in a yurt in Kyrgyzstan or was it also the same in Kazakhstan.

When walking in the mountains around four o’clock this particular month. The skies opened and one had to have found shelter or woe betide. Whereas looking outside the Yurt here the sun has overtaken the rain and time to exist with the man with the upside down head and little Tabatha still asleep.

Esther P. P.