The cat in the picture – who, I’ve just realised, was one year old yesterday – would, presumably prefer to have dinner on the wing than settle for the supermarket kibble we bought last time.
The birds actually built the nest directly above the cat-house where the kittens were being nursed last spring, which seemed a little fool-hardy. I assume it’s the same pair that have come back this year and refurbished it.
If I thought long enough, I expect I’d come up with a pun on ‘swallow’, but since the blog has been a bit neglected recently, maybe I’ll leave that up to the readers.
don't confuse the narrator 
Do you live in a pueblo? And if so, is it a small pueblo?
I used to live in a small pueblo near Aranjuez, but belonging to Toledo, and I lived in a casa baja que tenía una cueva.
Most of my neighbours had caves and they had lived in caves. I am not so very sociable at all, and in that pueblo that became a problem. Example:
I wanted to change the way people parked their cars, each in such a way that nobody could leave without first talking to the neighbours. This concerned about 20 people.
SO I WROTE AND COPIED 20 LETTERS, fool that I am, and put them EACH IN AN ENVELOPE, and distributed them to 20 letter boxes when I was new there, and after about 4.5 minutes there was the first knock at my door.
A lady holding up the envelope:
Eso, ¿hay que leerlo?
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‘pueblo’ covers such a range of possibilities, doesn’t it?
This is a rural town, rather than a village, but after nearly twenty years in Madrid, I think of it as a village, particularly as we are on the outskirts, with an olive grove on one side and brambles on the other.
It’s a strange mixture of modernity and local-yokelism, and I suspect that most of the neighbours would have diffculty writing very much, even if they manage to read ‘Marca’ and thepies de foto in ‘¡Hola!’.
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The Hola!
In my pueblo I tried to hide it when I bought it, which I did in June and in December, because we don’t watch TV.
I hid it when I found out that my neighbours thought I tried to be more than they. I lived on the Communist side of the pueblo. It was tough.
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I was startled when an ancient toothless vecino offered to pass on the back numbers of ¡Hola! his daughter had brought with her from Madrid. I got the impression he read it every bit as keenly as his wife did.
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My neighbours could not read. I asked one of them about it, and she said she could read only the big titles. So I asked why whe could read big titles butd not small print, and she very simply said it was because she was so slow in putting the letters together that she could not face longer sequences.
In Madrid I knew people who kept telling stories about their “chachas” who could not read, but were often given instructions in writing and knew how to read them.
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