On Wednesday, we left Arthur to his specimens and headed out to breakfast along Pattanatongtin Road. At a stall by the pavement, we found porridge so plain it needed just an egg and a dash of dark soy to bring its flavour to the fore. Perhaps not wanting to dilute the goodness of their gruel, the stall doesn't serve beverages, so we headed down the road in search of a steaming cuppa. A suitable server was spotted but before that, a pair of plush pussies distracted our senses as we passed a shop that stored rice in gunnysacks.
A purring machine in grey and brown licked himself on a stone bench and invited Joe's fingers for a feel of his fur. Behind, his companion crouched in a fortress of pots. She was much shyer, declining to lay her belly bare for a free serving of scritches, while her buddy flopped and flapped on the tiles, taking in the morning sun. For now, it's fun and games for these probably guardians of grain who receive elsewhere no thanks but torment for their service to heartless cities.