Goooooaaaaaawwwwll

Up the street and round the corner is a family (extended family or more than one family) living in a big old house.  They are possibly of Romany culture, which tends to make them pariahs in a lot of communities despite the fact they speak the local language (Greek in this case).

They appear to make their living recycling 'whiteware' - cleaning and fixing washing machines in particular, but fridges and stoves are also occasionally unloaded from the vehicles they use as transport - cars with back seats taken out for example.  Those women work really hard unloading those heavy washing machines.

The house they live in, like many around here, probably doesn't have a garden and the family often sits on the steps, watching the kids playing games in the street when we go past in the afternoons.

Football is popular.  

Small kids sometimes run alongside my Donkey chattering at machine gun speed in Greek and waving their ice creams about (or the cigarettes that Grandad just sent them up to the shop to fetch). Last week one finally stood in front and plucked up the courage to ask to touch the cat. (I just rolled my eyes).  His sister came racing over followed by a tiny toddler who could barely reach me.

Now every time we go past the toddler yells 'ee yata eenay' - it means "It's the cat".

I guess I am glad I am THE cat.

Yesterday as we approached I spied a teddy bear lying in the street at the feet of the lad, just as the lad spied me and Donkey, and in a split second the teddy bear had been football kicked, from a distance of about 15 yards straight into Donkey's tummy.  Gooooaaaaawwl.

Donkey makes quite good, if rather narrow, goal posts.  For power and accuracy that kid should have been on some football scout's list.

(He was immediately unpopular with the owner of the teddy bear, but it appeared to be unharmed, and in rescuing it they got to pat THE cat - again.)