Very few, in Rome during the nineties, sterilized their house cats. Indeed, they were happy when their female gave birth because, of course, kittens were so cute, so sweet. The problem is that, when they reach two or three months of age nobody knows what to do with them. If you cannot and generally you cannot give them to friends and relatives, there is always Torre Argentina, where there are so many others already. Another place often designated for the disposal of unwanted cats was the Colosseum. But since the arcs which give access have been closed off with iron fences and only one passage left open — where tourists line up for hours in order to buy tickets — the monument was no longer accessible as a dumping ground for unwanted cats; Torre Argentina was and still affords far easier access..
In short, there are many problems related to cats, but few consider them as something to be taken seriously. After all they are only cats: People who take them to heart surely have nothing better to do, and are usually endowed with limited wisdom. If they are young, they must be mentally challenged, if older, well … at a certain age one becomes dimwitted … In any case they likely try to compensate for lack of affection, or even their own inability to feel affection for their fellow humans by feeding and taking care of cats.
So surely, in a certain sense, providing them with new objects on which to shower their affection is for the best. The other lady was Lia.
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She passed daily by the area and often stopped to talk with Franca. Not being able then to volunteer because of her commitments, often and willingly helped Franca financially to buy food for the cats. She told me, later, that she had never particularly loved cats until she met the man who would later become her husband, the sculptor Oreste Dequel.
An exceptional man, full of life, humor, genius and small curious eccentricities typical of artistic temperaments which Lia, always poised and upright, had managed to channel … so that Oreste became more responsible, gratefully relying on her for all daily and practical tasks. Besides loving cats passionately for themselves, Oreste often made them the subject of his paintings and sculptures, much appreciated all over the world. Once married, their life and home was happily crowded with cats of all sizes and colors.
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When I met her she had been eight years a widow of the great love of her life, she felt closer to him when stroking cats and taking care of them. Since I showed interest in the cats, Lia, always practical and direct, unhesitatingly asked me the fatal question: There were not enough people to cover the busy schedule. Why not, I said, of course. By now I am free woman. I will come on Monday. At the end, I thought, this will be a limited, transient engagement, that will not affect my future plans, which are still not well defined. The following Monday I kept my appointment and found Lia already there.
She always came on Mondays. She then confessed that she had not entertained much hope of seeing me, but were I to keep my word, she thought it better to come and keep me company as an encouragement … Wise and cautious, Lia was absolutely right. I confess that alone in that cold, dark and damp cave that besides cats was populated by cockroaches who used it as their hunting grounds, was not the best one could hope for in life.
The horrible place was then far from being what it became a few years later: One had to open and distribute the cans in the various feeding stations, all around the area, inside and out, to clean what could be cleaned and above all, fill the many canisters at the water fountain a block away. A burden one would have rather avoided, boring and tiring, had not it been for the poor animals.
The commitment soon became weekly, then twice a week and a little later Lia also became fully operational, so to speak. We started pooling our savings to buy the necessary food, but soon we realized that we would go broke if we did not find another solution. You may read the details of our story and its developments elsewhere on this site, so I do not need to reiterate them. Meanwhile sympathy and mutual trust was fast growing. Combined forces do not simply add up: Now we worked together tirelessly, every day.
Already after two or three years, Torre Argentina took on, at least in part, what would be its present appearance. Lia spoke English quite well. Before she met the man who would become her husband, she had lived three years in the United States, where she had worked and learned the language. So it was that within a few years she managed to see a lot of the world. It was during one of these trips that she met Oreste.
It was always so pleasant to hear her tell about this time of her life: She herself was happy, even when sharing these memories with me. Then came marriage, the choice of Rome and Trastevere, at the time, and still today, the neighborhood preferred by artists from around the world. It was in Vence that Lia showed her gift for learning languages picked up her French. Traveling around Europe and the United States, where Oreste was asked to give courses in sculpture or exhibitions of his works. In short, almost twenty years of happiness and satisfaction. Unfortunately, nothing is eternal in this world, let alone happiness.
In 85 Oreste contracted a serious illness and passed away. It was just when, in his early sixties, on the threshold of an international reputation, he could have seized the fruits of his labor to make a name for himself and be acclaimed beyond the narrow circle of his chosen customers, experts, and art critics. She chose solitude and austerity.
Her youth began to wane with the death of Oreste. Yet she learned how to conquer depression and live her life with great dignity, modesty, submission and, of course, much less exciting than it had been with her husband. She had the very rare gift of appreciating what life offered, whether great or small. She knew how to accept her lot.
She knew how to value what she had: And she was happy at Torre Argentina. She was happy to see it develop month after month, year after year. It was now her whole life, not merely a part of it. She was certain Oreste would have approved of what she did. For years we worked side by side, together with a wonderful company of volunteers that joined: Only after much persuasion of these volunteers, who loved us, we yielded to their entreaties to rest one day a week and then two days a week.
- Robots, genèse dun peuple artificiel: Les robots : histoire et perspectives (French Edition).
- The Land That Knows No Parting.
- Histoire de vivre : Mémoires dune féministe (Documents, Actualités, Société) (French Edition).
It was a concession to age, we were after all no longer young saplings. She cared very much for her health. Some days of rest she would devote to analysis, tests, ultrasounds, and check ups. And she submitted to them with enthusiasm almost, and with the joy of being reassured by the positive outcomes.
She felt healthy, strong, and free in body and lucid in mind. She was always well-kept and elegant. But it is no secret, in fact I think she prided herself in letting it be known, that her elegance cost her very little. Every Sunday morning before coming to Torre Argentina,, her weekly diversion was to wander around the stands at Porta Portese, the Sunday flea market well known by Romans and foreigners alike.
There you can find everything at incredibly low prices. Lia knew it well and knew where to go to find the right garments, often designer clothing, sometimes even originals, always elegant, to add to her wardrobe. Always guided by her common sense. She always maintained her slim figure and so with her new clothes she would always cut a great figure, as if she had come out of one of the great boutiques in Via dei Condotti or Via Borgognona. We also cannot forget, and she herself would not have let us, her forthright character, headstrong and not very diplomatic. That petite woman, elegant and fragile in appearance could instantly turn into a marine sergeant.
Legendary at TA were her sudden entrances some mornings, like a cyclone, ready to take everyone to task, distributing orders left and right and a series of inspections, all of which were unsatisfactory or did not meet her criteria. Then, as the day wore on and things began to shape up according to her diktat she would begin to soften up, but woe to whomever would interrupt her while busy at her task … they risked being admonished in so sternly a manner that it frightened more than one new volunteer who would run away if he or she were too sensitive. These outbursts, however, the more weathered volunteers took them as one more medal earned in battle, and they turned out to be, in their own way, a form of selection and filter.
Only the more alert and seriously motivated remained, those who understood how much kindness and generosity was hidden under that hard momentary shell was because she felt so strongly due to her love for cats, for everything had to be done well and in the right sequence. Later, in a moment of relax, everyone would get to see the sympathy and sense of humor of this generous and kind woman.
So kind, perhaps, that she sometimes had to pretend to be made of iron. No one could help but be baffled whenever two seconds after a scolding, even when it was extremely harsh, she would turn to the victim with a sincere smile, and totally oblivious to the previous outburst which she would have completely forgotten … But all those who learned, perhaps at their expense, to know her better could not help but love her. And so she led her life with regularity. Taking care of cats occupied most of her time, along with her great passions; cinema at least once a week of which she was always up to date; and books, always reading, especially in English and French, so as to keep her knowledge fresh and up to date.
Occasionally a visit to an exhibition as a tribute to her husband and very rarely a trip abroad for a few days. Perhaps that was why we complemented each other very well, completely different, but definitely complementary.. Knowing how distracted and careless I was regarding everything practical, she would imagine that my being at the computer all day heavy socks would come handy in those early cold winters before we had heating, and so they would materialize.
The same would happen with fingerless gloves, or whatever she happened to find at Porta Portese that could contribute to my well-being,: Sometimes she would bring items of clothing that she wanted me to wear, but that I would not since they were too colorful for my.
She would have wanted me to be always as elegant as she was. Don't Tell the Teacher. Notes to my Mother-in-Law. A Birmingham Backstreet Boyhood. How Shall I Know You? Gift from the Gallowgate. Diary of an Ordinary Schoolgirl. A Nuneaton Childhood in the s. Me and Ellan Vannin: A Wartime Childhood on the Isle of Man. Corner of the Kingdom. Just an Orange for Christmas.
Ten of the Best: School Stories with a Difference. Where Shall We Run To?: A Northampton Childhood in the s. Tales From A Stone Cottage. Fish Heads and Roses. The House that Built Me.
Roma Cats Rome Largo Argentina Cat Santuary
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