Rupert the Seagull

Every evening, just before the sun slipped behind the hills, our humans put a bowl of food on the roof.

It wasn't for us.

It wasn't even for the cats who lived with people.

It was for the stray cats who wandered through the fields when the day was done.

"We may not always understand each other," Oma liked to say, "but everyone deserves a good dinner."

Marie and Olivia didn't entirely agree.

"They're cats," Marie muttered.

"They're supposed to be annoying," Olivia added.

I wasn't so sure.

Hungry is hungry.

One evening, just as the bowl was placed on the roof, I spotted a familiar white shape gliding through the sky.

"Oh no..." I whispered.

"What?" asked Olivia.

"He's back."

"Who's back?"

I pointed with my nose.

"Rupert."

There he was.

Standing proudly on the roof as if he owned the whole house.

He looked down at us, puffed out his chest, and gave a loud...

"KRAAA!"

Then, without the slightest bit of shame, he began eating every last piece of the cats' dinner.

"RUUUPERT!" barked Marie.

"That's not yours!" shouted Olivia.

Rupert didn't even look worried.

He swallowed another mouthful, fluffed his feathers, and looked at us with what could only be described as a very smug expression.

"If you wanted it," he seemed to say,

"...you should have learned to fly."

"Oh, I don't like him," Marie grumbled.

"He is impossible," Olivia agreed.

The three of us barked with all our might.

Rupert listened politely.

Then he ate another piece.

When the bowl was empty, he hopped onto the chimney and looked down at us.

"Thank you," he squawked.

"I was starving."

I blinked.

"You... were?"

He nodded.

"The fish weren't biting today. I've flown for hours."

For the first time, I noticed how ruffled his feathers looked.

The wind had clearly been strong.

"And the cats?" I asked.

Rupert glanced at the empty bowl.

"I know..."

His voice was quieter now.

"I shouldn't steal their dinner."

He looked away for a moment.

"But sometimes being hungry makes you forget your manners."

None of us said anything.

Even Marie.

Even Olivia.

The evening suddenly felt very quiet.

Finally, Rupert spread his wings.

"I'll try to leave some next time."

With that, he lifted into the air and disappeared towards the sea.

We watched until he became nothing more than a tiny white dot against the sky.

Olivia nudged me.

"So..."

"...he's still rather cheeky."

"Oh yes," I laughed.

"The cheekiest bird in the Algarve."

Marie smiled.

"But perhaps..."

"...he was hungry before he was naughty."

I wagged my tail.

"I think that's an important difference."

Because sometimes...

before we decide someone is bad...

it helps to wonder what happened to them first.

Paws for now...

BoBo 🐾