There is a yellow kitten on Borgo that is quickly turning into a fully-grown cat. Five or six months old, it is still accompanied by its mother, but it is ever more self-assured in its behavior. Uncharacteristically for street cats in Motovun, it is very endearing even though its mother is rather grumpy. As soon as anyone pays it any attention, it runs toward him or her with its tail raised high, starts rubbing itself against the person’s legs, and meows like crazy. My beloved and I call it Meow. Well, she actually calls it Meow Tsetung. I just saw Meow and its mother on the lower square, where many a table is taken by hungry tourists. The day is superb, and the tourists are in good cheer. It is Meow’s day, too. It dashes from table to table and ingratiates itself with everyone by meowing at the top of its voice. And it is handsomely rewarded for its ways. Even its slinking mother gets lucky here and there on account of the lively kitten. Come to think of it, Meow’s endearing behavior must be a genetic gift to be envied among the street cats. Chances are that it will spread up and down Borgo in time, too. Food is of the essence, after all.