The back streets of Salema were like a scene out of the Aristocats with a slightly battered but lively cat on every corner. They seemed to come alive in the darkness, spurned on by the lack of the daytime heat and the chance of a chasing a wandering moth in the streetlights or finding a discarded fish on the shorefront. Likewise battered looking were the houses. Sun baked and crumbly but very much full of history and life.