There's a new kid in town (I don't want to hear it)

Routines were established, preferences discovered, alliances made, quirks revealed.  Things, sort of, settled down, to the extent that is possible with six kittens in the house. Lupo was neutered in October, little Notte was spayed in November.  

And "the girls" outside continued to show up daily, while the other "regulars" showed up intermittently. Among those there was Funky, Mr. Gray, another tortoise shell that we believe is Funky's mother (and spayed) and a creamsicle (orange and white) male that is relatively harmless and skittish, "Due," the other black cat that always looks pregnant, as well as a large orange male whom everyone hates.  I call him the Orange Creep, my husband has a more profane name for him.  He comes stalking through our piazzetta periodically and starts fights.  The other cats do their best to avoid him but it isn't always possible.  He's a mean, miserable cat and my neighbors cannot stand him either.  Unfortunately, this little monster has a flea collar on, so he "belongs" to someone but we don't know who or where they are.  I refuse to allow him to eat anything meant for "our" group. He hates the sight of me anyway because I always hiss at him and shoo him away. 

There I was, with two trays ready of both dry and wet food inside the courtyard.  I had my keys, my mask on, my winter jacket.  I opened the door with its inevitable loud clicking noise which alerts the cats, and in ran Mamma and Ink and Mr. Gray.  Mr. Gray claimed the wet food, the girls shared the dry.  Then I saw Orange Creep, only it wasn't Orange Creep, it was yet another orange cat.  "Who are you?"  He stayed outside, politely.  

My hope that his visit was a one time thing disappeared as he reappeared, day after day.  He was dirty, but orange all over.  He liked coming into the courtyard and quickly started eating once he knew the regulars would not begrudge him.

If I thought Lupo was unusual and readily affectionate, this boy was Lupo on steroids.  He jumped on my lap and purred so loud it echoed in the courtyard.  He fell asleep in my lap.  He followed my husband on dog walks.  He wanted to stay and nap on the bench inside the outer door and one day, since it was pouring outside, he did just that.  **sigh**  

The name "Percy" landed in my brain and this cat learned it was his name, I swear, in one day.  He came, like a puppy, when he was called.  

By this time, Lupo and Notte bunked for the night in one large cage, Imp and Zini bunked in the other and the third cage was occupied only for eating and bathroom access.  Scruff and Missy Titi enjoyed total freedom all night long.  There was room for the slightly smaller 'condo' cage to be resurrected and set up in the back.

Since it was clear he would be easy to capture - I won't say trap because that wasn't necessary - we planned on getting him neutered as soon as possible.  With that, in January, Percy entered our lives.  Percy, the wild card, the complete unknown.  Where did he come from?  How old was he?  How would everyone else react to him?  

He didn't mind being stuck in the cage much since he had food, water and a pan.  He had time to clean himself up.  He got through surgery with no problem at all.  Back at home, there was some hissing and a few "fat tail" moments, but for the most part, my gang of sweet babies adjusted in a matter of days.  Some of that was probably due to Percy's outgoing personality.  He was delighted with the menu, with toys, with scratching posts, with playmates, with everything.

The tunnels!!  They played a large role in his assimilation.  He adored the tunnels and would cannonball into them, run through and do it again or just sit in one and play with a ball inside which eventually led to Zini and Titi and Lupo wanting to play chase.  The biggest holdout was little Notte, but even she overcame what I think was fear and accepted Percy into the fold. 

He is a handful.  He is very vocal, very active, completely addicted to food and quite large, although we think he is a young boy somewhere around one year old.  He likes to climb up high (not good) and has been a bit of a bad influence in that regard.  On the other hand, he is a lap cat, like Lupo, easy to handle and a love bucket when he's calm.

Here we are, with seven freaking cats.  With Covid still ravaging Europe (and the US) we can't go anywhere anyway.  I won't be travelling anywhere anytime soon.  Heck, I barely venture outside at this point.  So, we saved seven street cats, neutered nine and saved hundreds of unwanted kittens from being born into misery.  

This is the end of the introductions, but not of the story.  Stay tuned. 

And they call it "Bella Notte"

Total lockdown lasted several months.  Our bustling town was so strangely quiet, like a ghost town.  I planned shopping lists and meals and with five cats, there were ever changing needs, small crises, and living adjustments (for the cats) with yet another large cage added to what would have been my reading/storage/guest room.  There weren't going to be any guests for the unforeseen future anyway. Rather than guests, I had five residents!

The "clowns" enjoyed the windows all summer long.  This picture is the bedroom window.  The bars are for safety as there is a sheer drop outside.  (There is virtually no crime here, other than petty vandalism, by kids...and an occasional, VERY occasional theft.) Also outside is the space between buildings that is filled with trees and greenery and lots and lots of birds.  Kitty TV!  Hours and hours of entertainment!

It was amazing to me how well they got along, but, then again, most of them "knew" each other in the street before being rescued.  Lupo had the most difficult time assimilating and it really didn't take long at all and no fights or blood letting were required. 

I continued to feed Mamma G and Ink outside, in the courtyard where they could lounge for a bit, with Inky sometimes sitting on the bench with me.  Sib came often. There was and still is a large gray male who comes by, with yet another uninspiring moniker, Mr. Gray.  Unlike the other predatory males, he is laid back and the others don't mind his presence.  Calzini looks just like him except Zini has the white socks and bib. Another small gray female, who purportedly "belongs" to a neighbor down a side street, sometimes wanders in, too. We call her "Funky" because she has odd eyes, a strange face for a cat.

Lo and behold, Mamma Nera showed up again in late summer.  She...and her two tiny kittens.  One was completely black, the other totally white.  Oy vey.

Mamma N came into the courtyard and the white kitten would wait outside and cry.  So, one day I put a tray outside for Mamma and a little paper plate with mushed up cat food out right next to her.  The white kitten approached and ate, the black one was too timid.

Soon, the white kitten jumped up the step to our courtyard and ventured in, but only because Mamma was eating inside.  I could see this kitten was larger than the black one and the eyes were green, which was good because pure white cats with blue eyes are deaf.

The tinier black one was still too timid to venture inside, or even, for that matter, to approach the food!  At least, not when anyone was looking.  

Ferragosto is a huge holiday in Italy, the 15th of August.  However, the entire country pretty much shuts down for the entire month.  (Should anyone ever get to travel again, avoid Italy in August.)  People go to their "summer houses" or to the shore.  Stores cut back to minimal hours.  It's hot, it's quiet.

My husband took the dog out for his walk and said someone had put what looked like little meatballs in the piazzetta.  After briefly wondering who might do that, we forgot about it, but I was not happy that Harry, or any other dog around, could pick one up and snarf it down.  We forgot about it until the next day.

The little white kitten was under a car.  Antonio, a neighbor, was sitting on a stoop across the street.  When my husband went outside, Antonio said he thought the kitten was dead.  He had been sitting there for a while and he said the little one had not moved.  No sign of Mamma Nera, either. 

Sadly, he was correct.  Those "meatballs" had been poisoned.  People had their suspicions.  We were told this had happened before.  Too bad we were not aware of that, since the sight of the odd meatballs would have alerted us immediately.  

I waited most of the day, anxiously, to see if Ink, Mamma, Sib, or Mamma Nera would come around.  All told, Mamma Nera was gone, Sib was gone, another large white male was gone and the baby kitten. The tiny black kitten was alive but orphaned.  Her timidity is what saved her. 

  

One lazy afternoon afterwards, we were heading to a cafe for a prosecco under the cool arches...we were just a few steps from our doorway and the sound of a kitten wailing filled the piazzetta.  The baby orphan!!!  She was wandering all around the periphery of the piazzetta wailing as loudly as she could.  "Mamma!"

Forget the prosecco...back inside...get some food, add some broth....c'mon kitty....come to us!!  

She might not have eaten in a day or two.  Heaven knows where she spent the nights.  She did, in fact, come.  After that, my husband went outside every day and sat in a folding camp chair.  He took food and a teaser toy.  Eventually, kitten got used to him, she got used to being fed regularly and she started to play.  Then, she let him pet her.   We called her Notte (Night).

Before the month was through, we had her inside.  She was just a little thing, about four months old.  

Probably because she was so young, the others put up no fuss at all.  She latched on to Lupo, though, almost immediately.  I suppose because he looked the most like her mother. She wouldn't let him out of her sight, it seemed.  So, once again we had to fiddle around with sleeping arrangements so she could snuggle with her beloved Lupo during the night. 

Here we were, with six cats.  THIS after "No more cats, no cats, not one, not ever."  Six. Freaking. Cats.