Attenti Ai Gatti
The cats of Ravello sleep on sunlit patios of terra cotta church bells chime little girls with long black curls giggle. The cats of Ravello raid alleys of narrow medieval streets where white roses cascade ancient stone walls and ristorantes serve up sea bass al fresco Even their garbage is haute cuisine. The cats of Ravello sip warm milk at palazzos converted to five star hotels At the feet of wistful tourists gazing at the indigo sea these felines share croissants and steamed milk. The cats of Positano do not climb the vertical cliffs to pastel pink and yellow houses Feral and wary they dart among fishing boats painted bright primary colours. The cats of Positano lick lemony limoncello, munch on tidbits of el mare as they escape the encroaching tide. The cats of Vernazza live in a time warp They sit straight and tough on Vespas bits of ear missing, collar askew. The cats of this remote town, a claw on the sea lie on rocks above the cliffs, slide in for a pat as vespers chime at sunset. The cats of seaside Italian towns thrive No cars, no cares as church bells float on the wind.