Fish Openers.

Now you would have thought cats were already armed with them, fish openers I mean, but it seems not everycat knows how to use them.

Saturday evening after the high winds had abated and the sea they had tossed up had calmed down again, we went to the beach. What was meant to be a little relaxation time was immediately interrupted by the vision of a huge rubbish raft in the corner of our cove. F can never turn down the opportunity to swish her net around in a collection of floating plastic. Talk about an obsession!

The two big rubbish bags we had with us were quickly filled and she started filling up bags and crates she had pulled out of the sea. In amongst all this debris, floating bellyside up, were a dozen or more fish, big fish most 12-15 inches long, all the same species.  They seemed quite fresh, and as fish don't generally die in storms at sea, we assumed they had been washed, or fell, off a fishing boat.

I think F is scared of fish.  She didn't seem to want the dead fish to touch her legs as she carefully netted plastic all around them.  They swished back and forth on the gentle surge, but seemed to have magnetic attraction for her legs which made for an interesting dance.

Eventually she started netting the fish as they headed for her legs and threw them up onto the rocks.  We know loads of cat-cousins live down here so they might be pleased for a free meal.

8 large fish, 3 very large (80 litre) rubbish bags, several smaller ones (large shopping bag size),  a plastic crate full, and a few large loose items later, it was too dark to carry on. We started the first of quite a few trips to lug the bags up to the bins. On our first return we could see the locals had started to gather - a clowder (I've been waiting to use that word) - starting with Mrs Black.  She's the one who greets fishermen and is often seen scouting the shoreline for 'fruits-de-mer'. The end missing off her left ear suggests human intervention in her reproductive health. 

Close behind her a selection of local Toms - the white one that lives near the stairs, a black and white who is very cagey about humans, and the ginger and white Worried Cat (who these days still looks worried, but is very filled out, sleek with fine fur and a big mane having benefited greatly from Effie's generosity with food).

Clearly they are either attracted by fish smell, or they have a very efficient messaging app, and with 8 fish (some the size of a cat - well cat body ), between them there was plenty to go around.

Mrs Black, possibly wary of so much testosterone, backs off a bit. The white tom grabs a fish by its tail and drags it off (lion with wilderbeest style) into some rocky cave where it will not be disturbed or stolen, and the others address each fish in turn as if deciding which to buy.

On our next trip back, white tom - or an identical white cat (at least 2 live down there) - has reappeared and is starting to chew up another fish. The other cats have yet to decide which to purchase and all come to the same conclusion, that white cat must have the best one.

After watching them for a while WE conclude that, with the possible exception of Mrs Black and definite exception of the white cat, none of the others had any idea how or where to start eating a fish. It looked like having a sardine tin without the key. They would alternate between head and tail a few times, then sneak over to where white cat was doing business to see if they could steal that one already opened up.

They've all got their own tin openers and no idea how to use them.

When we went to the beach on Sunday morning all the fish had disappeared. Not even the smell remained. No scales, no bones, nothing to suggest a fish feast had happened here last night.  Maybe in the end the white cat did a roaring trade as a fishmonger.