Wot no swimming pool, sqad? When it's such a long haul thru the olive groves to the public swimming pool all around you? Poor souls. You of course have a private beach, and no more killjoy rules about a dip after meals. Not that the cats are on to a particularly good thing in that respect.
I see NoMercy is giving you a duly merciless twitting about all this, too, with the pueblo and the tortilla. You just keep building up your own cat pueblo. The more the funnier - they do knock such pretty sparks off one another. Word is obviously getting around among them already. We are right beside the forest fence, like Wenceslas's peasant, with a correspondingly peasantier dwelling. (which wont stop me for the present purposes calling it a hacienda) and they make a beeline for it, squealing with excitement at a whole ecosystem to murder (er well, not the squirrels).
You may have made similar revelations before about your idyllic expatriatism, but if so I never caught them, and here I was slow to catch on. At first I visualized you at a bleak caff that's still out on the pavements gray and wondered why you would "have breakfast there most mornings", tho I supposed it would be rather nice to have a life like that. Then croissants, but not cake con leche, then olive groves; the build-up is finely crafted, what?
I jumped at the chance of now imagining you having made this idyllic setting your own. Don't bring me down with talk of time shares or dereliction in winter!