I spotted her almost immediately upon entering the hotel. Opening my room door, I was greeted by a balcony that afforded a breathtaking view of the gardens of Villa Borghese. As I stood there, absorbing the beauty of Rome, a faint "meow" pulled my attention.
Searching for the source, I spotted her behind a seldom-used, rusty gate - a petite tabby kitten. She looked delicate and vulnerable from my high point on the second floor.
"Meow!" she repeated, more insistently, looking at me as if she were expecting my arrival.
"Oh, kitty," I said, "Don't move. I'm coming down." I searched my travel bag for leftover food and found a few shortbread biscuits. I hoped she'd like them. With the elevator occupied, I dashed down the stairs. But as I hurried out, Lucia, a friend from Milan who was joining me for my short stay, intercepted me. We embraced briefly, and she headed to her room while I darted across the street, narrowly avoiding an irritated driver.
But when I reached the gate, the kitten was gone, likely scared away by bustling tourists. I called softly to her. She emerged from the bushes only after tossing a couple of biscuits onto the path. Cautiously, she approached me, and after a brief moment of gratitude in the form of a purr, she began to enjoy her unexpected treat, being careful not to lose a single crumb.
Promising her a grander feast, I returned to the hotel.
Both Lucia and I shared a love for cats. Our dinner choices were influenced by what our newfound friend might enjoy throughout our stay. Often, this meant grilled fish or chicken and dishes like pasta with parmesan or risotto with cream and green beans. Every meal ended with a takeaway bag for our little companion. And every evening, we walked up to the hotel, smiling and happy, expecting our little girl to enjoy her dinner. Although we were tired from walking all day long in the streets of the eternal city, climbing its hills and admiring ruins, we always stayed in front of the little rusty gate as long as Babmi (as we named her) didn't finish her dinner. She never started eating before thanking us by coming close to the gate and letting herself pet a little bit.
But we worried about her future and discussed possibilities – Lucia offered to take her to Milan. She had a little house with a tiny garden. Would the kitty be happy, she, who was used to the vast space of Borghese gardens? And how to catch her? Although we could cuddle her a bit, she didn't tolerate being sized – she ran away whenever the touch of our hand seemed too firm.
One evening, wandering near the Colosseum, we encountered a woman feeding a crowd of cats. She told us she was part of a network caring for Rome's feral cats. They were called gattare, and each was in charge of a specific group of cats who usually gathered among the ruins of historical monuments. She also told us about the Cat Sanctuary in Tore Argentina, where stray cats were cared for, treated, and often returned to their familiar haunts.
We immediately thought that would be a perfect unfolding for our kitty. Our visit to the sanctuary confirmed our plan. We told them about Bambi and indicated her whereabouts and when she used to come to the gate. They promised to capture her, get her a check-up, and neuter her. Then, they would let her decide if she would like to stay in the sanctuary with other cats or be returned to the gardens. In that case, one of the gattare would feed her daily
Relieved, we generously donated food for the cats and some toys for Bambi's comfort once she arrived at the cat centre.
Just before we departed from Rome, we received a call. Bambi was safe with the sanctuary, settled in and playing with the toys we'd brought for her.
It has been quite some time since my last visit to Rome, yet I consistently receive updates from the kind woman who looks after the cats in the gardens of Villa Borghese. Apparently, Bambi didn't mingle well with other cats in the sanctuary. So they released her to her usual home, her green wonderland. She quickly got used to the new feeding place at the gardens' main entrance and was thriving.
With the arrival of the upcoming Autumn, I plan to return to Rome. I'll find myself at that familiar, slightly rusted gate and call out for my little kitty. I imagine her bounding towards me, greeting me with joyous meows, eager to get a few treats and a gentle kiss on the forehead.
Torre Argentina IS a wonderful home for cats.
What a beautiful story. I'm so pleased that Bambi is now happy & well cared for. More cities need to do this.