I’ve always had a soft spot for cats even though I am very allergic to them. In fact, when someone tells me that they are not a “cat person” I usually become wary of them. How could you not love a cat?
In Italy there are a lot of cats. My favourite type is the Calico, which is a patchy mix of black, orange and white and they are more common in Italy than anywhere else I’ve been. I’ve always joked that one day I will be that crazy old lady who lives down the road with 20 cats! What’s amusing about this joke is that it’s becoming a half truth already. No, I’m not that old, and as far as I know I am not yet crazy (although some people may beg to differ), and no, I don’t have 20 cats. But, I have 1 cat in the city and I feed and play with 3 cats up here in the country.
Oh, but now make that 4! Rocky is the newest addition to the neighbourhood and he appeared to be homeless, that is until he met me. This misfit cat has wound his furry, dirty little paw around my heart and made himself quite comfortable here.
He’s already claimed one of my IKEA cushions on a deck chair as his own and yesterday he decided he wanted some of the ham my husband was eating so he jumped up on his lap and tried to steal it from his mouth! Did I mention yet that Rocky is a bit of a misfit?
We have a curtain on the kitchen door to keep the flies out but Rocky has figured out how to get past it and help himself to a lick of butter on the table and also make himself comfy on the kitchen chairs.
I’ve told my husband several times that if Rocky was taken to the vet to, ahem…adjust his aggressive maleness then he would be a much sweeter kitty and would not attack him whenever a ham sandwich was nearby. Aside from the ham incident, which apparently has already been forgotten, of course he’s defending the little guys “palle” saying that he is still a wild, homeless cat and that he needs his balls to survive. Men! They all stick together when it comes to their precious “palle”.