Meow, we are closed currently, so if you were seeking a swig from a glass held for a time under the taps, well, that is not going to happen because the owner is in the back room engaged in a somniloquy of gibberish as he naps.
Meow, as well, I hear the farmer’s kitties will venture down to the acequia when their saucers of milk are not refilled and they find themselves in need of assistance washing down the mice they just ate and killed.
Would that suffice as an alt to this, your favourite drinking spot?
Or, would quenching by irrigation cause irritation for a stubborn, old sot?
Whoo-ee! Of course, this tavern cat is coated in both candor and causticness regarding responses to those who would encroach on territor-tree table sans offering of dish—by which I mean, specifically, a platter glazed with heavy cream and topped with slices of raw bluefin fish. ; )