Rabat is full of cats. They roam the streets and alleys and have their regular hangouts. In the afternoon they brave the crowded market street searching for handouts and then siesta in the sun around 2pm. Then it’s time to beg for dinner at the local butcher.
Life is hard for many in Morocco and you take what fate gives you. Cats’ lives are no different. There is no SPCA here, no bleeding hearts group campaigning for spaying and neutering. But a fresh sardine or chicken head is gladly offered and while I’ve seen quite few scrappy cats, I’ve not seen a starving one.