Posted by on May 17, 2014 | 9 comments

imageimage

 

Well, it’s spring and Rome is filled with visitors. Just like the days of the canonization out there, it seems as I gaze from my balcony. I don’t know if I like a city so full. I’m a small town kitty and love my peace and quiet, and now I wake up to cars, taxis, horns blaring because someone has parked across a drive or doorway, kids yellling, doggies yapping, and always, those %$!#*!! seagulls swooping and screeching and letting me know that THEY own the town, not lil’ ole me.

Ah, well, I just sit here and drink in the history and gaze at the Doria Pamphilj museum across the street and wonder if I should have been trained on a leash. God knows I can’t go out there now—it’s too traumatic, plus there are lots of kitties out there who aren’t really receptive to an intruder who speaks in French! Hey, I know a few words in Italian, too, like mozzarella, mozzarella and mozzarella.

Mama gives me a taste when she makes pizza and oh, boy, that is heaven. Maybe they’ll take me out in the country where they make the stuff and just let me wander through the farm and watch the guys pulling the curd, whatever that is. Mama and papa visited a mozzarella factory once and mama actually tried to make it at home, but…well, we won’t go there. She used about a gazillion gallons of milk and the cheese came out the size of a golfball.

Back to the drawing board, I say.

But here in Rome, you can find it everywhere and it’s white and soft and juicy and squirts milk when you bite it and it’s just about the best thing on earth with little tomatoes from Sicily and fresh basil. I leave those last two off, but you get the picture.

So even if I am a captive here, I have my mozz!!

imageimageimage

image

That mozz was so, so gooooood….