My most enduring memory of Roma is of an occurrence on a cold November afternoon in the little green park which sits just above and overlooks the Coliseum. A lone woman, looking ninety or more years of age, carried two large shopping bags to a bench.
After sitting down, she began to call out something in Italian, which I didn't understand. The most amazing thing then happened: within seconds, all manner of cats began to appear from all directions. Some come singly, some in groups of two, three,
or more. The old woman reached into a bag, and removed five large bowls. These she placed in a row on the ground, and filled them with food. Then she sat down to watch. By now there were at least twenty cats, and more coming. Some crawled through spa
ce below a nearby wall, some pranced across the park lawn, and some, I swear, even seemed to climb down from trees. And there they were, this multitude of cats, purring and meowing, and eating their fill. They made quite a lot of noise, as you might
expect. It was not a sight I'd expect to see in the middle of one of the world's great cities, to be sure. After a while, the woman packed up her things, and went on her way, bidding her charges a fond farewell. The cats gradually dispersed, taking t
heir own good time, as cats do. And before long, it was just another chilly day in another park in Roma.