Venera comes to clean the flat a little earlier than usual, though still close to noon. It's a job that usually takes her less than five minutes, and consists mainly of emptying the garbage, cleaning the toilet and sink and washing bathroom and kitchen floors. We're sitting about reading the papers electronically when, instead of leaving, she comes through to say something that sounds like cravat. We follow her through to the bedroom where she is pointing at the unmade beds, obviously asking if we want them made. No, no. Usually I have them done earlier and usually she comes later. Maggi later identifies the word, transcribed more or less as krevvati.
M has invited us out to dinner at the Ocean Basket. Was meant to be New Year's Day but they weren't open then so we all settled for the 2nd. Joined by her friends Pat and Andrea, both retired to Cyprus and both dog lovers/walkers. The restaurant is a chain, originally started in South Africa. Specialty is kingklip. It's actually a form of eel, which sounds offputting but turns out to be moist white fillets, available either dreaded and fried or grilled and very nice. Nice getting to know M's other friends as well. She and Andrea have a cruise in the far east planned for March.
After the meal we take the enormous bag of leftovers that Pat has persuaded the waiter to retrieve from the next table and head off to feed the harbour cats, a regular task that Pat has set herself. Calling would be closer to the mark than task, for it brings her here more than once a day and there is more than one feeding station. And she's out of pocket on a fair scale for cat food. So down we go to the end of the pier, opposite Europa Square where the Christmas tree is, and the buildings picked out with Christmas lights. When they hear (smell?) her coming the cats appear out of the darkness, squeezing through the marina fence to share the bounty. Six here and more will be waiting by the tourist office. The town used to be willing to neuter them but that service fell victim to budget cuts.