Venice. In San Pantalon a seagull is yelling as it lands on an eaves of an house near the bridge. Soon as it settles the yell is morphed by the gull into a sort of meowing lament, so strikingly similar to that of a cat that an old man, crossing the bridge ahead of me, mumbles "here, kitty kitty" by himself. On the other side of the small campo another seagull has started meowing the same way now, apparently answering to the first one.

A little boy and his father enter the picture crossing the bridge, directed to school.
"what's that!" says the boy.
"A seagull, mona", answers the dad.
"what's he doing!"
"He's just bragging that this is his territory and all", explains the dad. All the documentaries are working. "They do this with their voice all the time", he says.

Down the bridge we enter the large campo Santa Margherita. Few market stands are setting up their display of foods here, the air smells like chimney smoke and is damp-- above the gray gray sky is rugged and broken.
Behind our backs the church bells of San Pantalon start blaring, and halfway to the other side of the Campo, the bells of Carmini start blaring too, very loudly.
I don't know if the little kid is ever going to ask his dad what's that, even thought it is, not metaphorically but literally, exactly what the seagulls were doing.