Here we go again, thought the salty old fisherman, making his way from the dock with the last of his catch. He’d pretended not to notice their begging eyes when he made his previous trips to the truck and back. But it was the same thing every time—always watching with their sad, hungry and wanting eyes. That was the one thing about returning to the wharf—everyone expecting free handouts. “Not today—go away”, he muttered. But then the small one showed up and melted his heart. He grabbed a large handful of cut-bait and tossed it. He smiled and thought—damn cats.