The one with the sacred cats

At the site where Julius Caesar was betrayed and murdered, known as Largo di Torre Argentina, there is a cat colony. This colony is quite possibly my favorite thing. Ever.

There is a yacht-load of volunteers that are dedicated to caring for some 150 stray cats, with their work involving the trap-neuter-release program, and providing appropriate medical care for injured or ailing cats. And this all happens on an incredibly important historical site. These cats don’t care that they’re chilling on top of a site that is learned about all over the world.

Largo di Torre Argentina seems to emphasize the attitude that modern-day Romans have towards their city and its many (so many) ruins. They don’t just live next to these monuments, they interact with and adapt to the historical artifacts. And they actually care about what these sites represent and the history behind each one. While telling me how to get to il Colosseo, my host here became genuinely upset at the use of the amphitheater’s marble exterior during the construction of St. Peter’s.

After the soul-searching that occurred at the cat sanctuary, I decided to be adventurous and try a true Italian coffee. I wandered into a cafe which ended up being filled with construction workers and painters on their break, all standing at the crowded bar. Feeling quite pleased with my success in ordering, I took a sip of the water I was handed and almost immediately choked. I forgot that they prefer mineral water here, and the fizziness can be…startling if you aren’t prepared. The barista had no sympathy for me, and tossed a saucer at me for the eensy cup of espresso that I stared at for about a minute. Ever the chameleon, I ended up watching the large painter next to me to figure out how to drink it.

Once I understood the process, I gave it a shot (pun intended). And had to immediately duck my head so no one could see how much I didn’t like it. So that was fun. It did, however, clear my palette and prompt me to remember the Italian word for croissant.

After that, I went to La Prosciutteria Trevi, where I almost passed out from sheer happiness. I didn’t know bread and salty meat could be the best thing I’ve ever tasted, let alone while sitting on a tiny stool in a hallway so narrow that I couldn’t even stand comfortably in.

To be honest, most of my exploration thus far has involved looking for, and thinking about, food and animals, which really isn’t that far off from my thought process in the US.