Quintessential South. Limestone facade. Multi-paned windows opening in. Flaking painted shutters opening out. Pots of géraniums rouges.
The wall is several feet thick here. The kitchen sink, carved from a single slab of stone, is set into the inner sill.
This does not phase the feral cats, who scope out the house from the surrounding roofs and steps and walls. They leap and dive and claw for the window, slither through the gap when the door is not shut tight. They are bold, those cats. They live by the skin of their teeth. They survive on instinct and impulse. On wiles. On opportunity.
You are likely to find one in that pot of ribs you left on the stove, while enjoying a leisurely meal out in the garden. You might interrupt another covered in goose fat from the confit. Nothing is safe.
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