SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - U.S. Edition Read Online Free PDF Page B

there couldn’t much specific be spotted except for clinker extraterrestrials and heavy blocks of stone, truncated columns, a ground on which big flagstones and simple lawn took turns, and the already mentioned columns in different phases of disrepair. The whole scene was framed by high circular arcs and gates, which lay in darkness. Twilights’ reddish curtain had covered the stony witnesses of the former Rome, which by now cast very long shadows.
    However, the reason I was praising the name of the Lord in this desperate situation wasn’t that I got to see this famous site. As I knew that around here there were treasures like this in front of almost every doorstep. No, Largo Argentina had something very special to it. Because shortly after the first excavation straying and abandoned fellows of mine had begun to seek sanctuary in this deserted place where they were safe from both humans and cars. (There are about one hundred fifty thousand unsheltered of my kind in this metropolis!) And it stayed like this. Ever since, a couple of hundreds regarded this temple complex their natural refuge, and soon this matter became an even bigger tourist attraction than the historic site itself. Nevertheless, it also caused offence to the city administration. Thank God, there were the »gattare«, women with heart and mind, who provided food and medical aid for the poor creatures, like unforgotten Anna Magnani who passed away in 1973. Back in the beginning of the nineties the city administration finally issued a statute by which all Romans are under the duty of looking after the urban animals. This way they put an end to the scolding wrangling whether the feeding with leftovers at Largo Argentina was reasonable and legal. I had heard that nowadays even celebrities from politics and the showbiz posed for the press whilst feeding the finest delicacies to the »abandoned«. Which by the way fattened up a lot more than they had at their former »masters’«. So I had every re ason to shout out »Hallelujah!«
    Because by now, my growling stomach had taken control of my brains and insisted on the fact that the only real holiday treasure is what can be juic ily crunched between my teeth.
    It didn’t take long to find the usual suspects. A couple of dozen lay stretched on the cover plates of the stone battlements, which parted each barrier from the others. They let the last rays of daylight warm up their fur and used the occasion to string out their afternoon nap. At the bottom of the battlements and on the stairway, which excavation professionals used to enter the temple complex, I saw a bunch full of littered, almost molded Spaghetti Bolognese. It looked like a sick cow’s bowel movement. Though I was hungry, someone would have had to turn me into a limp zombie to make me eat this filth. Seemed like the Italian generosity wasn’t up to much. And no Paolo Conte or Eros Ramazotti showe d up with sliced turkey breast.
    I didn’t abandon hope yet, though. In the distance I noticed a bulk of the temple inhabitants, yes it was a real throng, which had gathered on the podest-like level slightly above the ancient staircase between the columns. Roughly fifty fellows formed an impressive cluster around... well, guess what? My life experience told me that it could just be a matter of lovely food when so many solitaries weren’t scared of close fur-contact and stood tightly packed. Seeing that, I didn’t intent to emphasize being a foreign snob and deny the local eatin g habits on my very first day.
    Quickly I slipped through the metal lattice fence, ran down the staircase, always carefully paying attention to not stepping in one of the Spaghetti hills with a hint of green, and headed towards the excavation site. Across boardwalks, which hovered above cleared walls, and decapitated stone heads of the size of giant snowballs, I eventually reached the gallery. There I was expected from a bunch of diversely colored hair, which swung and drifted back