Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat ...

It's that time again when the streets of Agdal suddenly appear considerably less populated. No worries: the Not Very Nice Men still abound, trawling the streets & cafés for prey. I'm referring to the vast majority of Agdal's cats. They have gone missing; more accurately, its kittens, who should now be about 12 weeks old, have seemingly pulled a Keyser Soze & disappeared into the night.

In the past week, I have not had to replenish the ziplock bag of Whiskas cat food that I keep in my purse. Frankly, my purse is getting a bit whiffy.

In truth, I don't want to know what's happened to the city's kittens. It's *just* possible that something quite malevolent happened in the deepest dark of an Agdal night. Something involving trucks and sacks and villainous men. Rather, I prefer to delude content myself thinking that Agdal's cats are all off on some wonderful adventure in the Gulf of Mexico. Perhaps they all trotted down Follow the Leader, popped into Majestic Tours, and booked an all-inclusive vacation to Puerto Vallarta. I would wager to say that at this very moment, scores of tabbies & calicoes are sipping Mai Tai's by the floating bar & batting langorously at catnip mice.

Having said that, there are herds of very pregnant females with their pendulous teats lumbering about the streets, hiding under cars, and peeking out of underground parking garages; their advanced state of pregnancy making them eschew human contact and - by extension - my baggie of kitty kibble. Thus the cycle continues. Morocco's ubiquitous storks will soon be making a visit, bringing with them a gazillion mewling kittens from the heavens, and plonking them down in Agdal where they (the kittens not the storks) will wander the streets starving & abandoned. In anticipation of the next influx of feline holiday-makers from Rabat - because there will be another nocturnal round-up vacation en masse - this season's missing kittens will soon be dog-paddling across the pool to order another round from Juan the bartender.