Originally published at: http://boingboing.net/2017/04/14/heres-how-cats-became-our-d.html
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This little lady lives in Baja, Mexico, in and around the “Quatro Casas” surf spot about 3/5 down the peninsula. She much appreciated the fresh lobster and fish scraps at breakfast/dinner but was very definitely Not Down for a surf. Guessing she’s a light forward operator, gathering intel among the transient surfers and learning the local operators moving to/from Acapulco so they can seize the port and then choke the peninsula at Ensenada.
Once they’re the overlords, will they make us eat our food raw? Will we cook it for them?
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Last I checked, the Mexican rock lobster fishery was a planet killer when it comes to by-catch, but it has been a long time.
So, I’m hoping that you captured those space bugs yourself.
You probably know this stuff, but I bet there are those that do not and would care. So I think it bares repeating.
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No, I bought my critters from four dudes in a somewhat shaky open boat who’d put out right there at the Casas. We kept an eye out for them during the day as we surfed, but it was easiest to wait for them in the early mornings at their launch point. I took what they’d offer, we’d bargain a little but not much–I bought…a tuna or maybe mahi…from them but they were clearly reluctant to part with it so I trebled my offer and they seemed pretty pleased with things.
The tacos de pescado we had on the drive in and out, though? Haven’t a clue and probably don’t want to know anyway. Also, once we crossed the US border we hit up the nearest steak place for a magnificent t-bone.
I try my best not to play the ugly American when I travel, and what food we ate down in Baja that we didn’t bring ourselves was bought from local purveyors as best available. However, I did drink and enjoy a lot of the entirely hard-to-miss Tecate cerveza.
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That cat is going to suck the breath out of that child.
When we snorkeled over on the peninsula, except in reserves, there were no fish to speak of.
The methods of the lobster fishery are to blame.
Here’s two of my supervisors waiting for their share of the ham from “my” lunch. Tybalt - black & white with tabby stripes. Agatha - the very fluffy one that’s staring right at me, willing me to put down the damn tablet and feed her already. I’ve long ago accepted my role as dedicated servant and will be quite happy to continue to provide catnip and petting once the mother ship returns to Earth.
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