I've had to leave the place in Malaga.

It seems the prime principle of squats is tolerance. That if there's something happening you're not copmpletely comfortable with one is meant to think, well, this is a squat. People can do what they like. So I think the main reason I don't 100% gel with the squatting scene is that there are some things I simply will not tolerate. And a grown man prottractedly bashing a puppy to death scores pretty high on my Oh-No-You're-Fucking-Not,-Mate o-meter.
I should point out that on the whole, the people in the squat were very, very sound. Super chill, well minded. I would have liked to stick around longer.
And I know, Tato, that now you want to find and hurt me, and that what I did was pretty extreme. But what you should appreciate is that outside the walls of your little kingdom; it was an excercise in restraint. Most people would have simply called in the police. A fair few of my mates from back in the UK, the ones with clear views on the treatment of animals, well, they would have simply done to you what you were doing to her.
They would have fucked you up.
Bad.
So I guess what I'm saying is that you're lucky it was me. That in slipping out of the house with Morena that morning, taking her west and finding her a new home, I was allowing you a level of tolerance that you arguably don't deserve, and most people would not have granted.
Peace.