AtoZ of Animals I Have Met: “E” Is for Endless Black Cats#AtoZBloggingChallenge#

It seems that from the time I moved to Italy and got married, that I had nothing less than an endless stream of black cats. I’ve always loved cats as much as dogs, and usually gave space to both of my loves, but this is a different sort of endless black cats. It’s one of the tales I could tell about my first Italian cat, Panterina (Little Panther).

Panterina (or Rina Bina, as I usually called  her) was a feisty little character and was curious about EVERYTHING. One day she was curious about what would happen if she were to sneak up on me and insert her claws in my rear end while I was studying on my bed. I believe that was her first (and only) flying lesson.

She did a fine job of it, too, flying 10 feet and landing on her feet, as cats are wont to do. She had her question answered… And she never tried it again, so I guess she learned the lesson well.

She was also interested in learning how to knit. Ah, she loved those knitting needles immensely; she always tried taking them out of my hands. I will admit that she made it rather difficult for me to knit with her hanging on the needles while trying to add new stitches. One thing could be said about living with Rina Bina: life was never boring.

When she reached a certain age, Nino decided she should have kittens. He thought totally black kittens would be nice and he knew just where to take her: there was a place with a seemingly endless number of black cats. He’d been living in that neighborhood far longer than I had; I just took his word for it. I wasn’t convinced it was the best idea he’d ever had, but I gathered her up and we walked to the black cat street, as we ended up calling it.

I had never seen anything like it before. The picture to the right might give a general idea if we multiply it by 50, but even that might not reach the mark. There were black cats everywhere: on stairs, on abandoned cars, on fences, in doorways, on the roofs of the houses, sitting in trees, under trees, in the shade, in the sun and clinging to torn screens shielding broken windows. There were black cats everywhere imaginable. 

With some misgivings, I let the miniature panther go join all the other cats; immediately, some of the pushier cats came forward. From their attitude of studied nonchalance, I knew they were males. There were others who studiously ignored her, which I assumed were females. They might have been males who thought she was below their level of expectations, though.

We decided to let her stay over night and then go get her the following afternoon, figuring that 24 hours in that group would be more than sufficient. Arriving there, however, we ran into a snag that I thought might present itself. Which of all those cats was my Rina Bina? They all looked exactly alike, and when we called her name, she nonchalantly ignored us, just like all the others in the neighborhood. So now what?

Well, I came up with a viable solution that only a musician might think of. One of my favorite songs from the ‘60s was Eddy Albert’s version of “Guantanamera”. I love to sing and I would sing this song all the time to Panterina, inserting the words Pantera Nera, tu sei la Pantera Nera (Black Panther, you are the black panther) and the song became hers. So, when she decided to ignore us, I started singing “Pantera Nera…”

One of the cats lounging on the porch started twitching her ears. Nino went and picked her up. Since she was also the only who didn’t scramble out of his way, we knew we’d found the right one.

She presented us with six beautiful kittens, five of them with pure black fur, and one, an adorable, sweet-natured male, was black. No doubt about the color of his fur, but the tips were white, giving the impression of being dusted with a light layer of snow. We gave the other five away easily, each one a mini version of their mother, including the feisty attitude. We decided to keep Dusty, though.

 I like orange cats, but I guess black ones aren’t all that bad, either. I’ve had that endless stream of black cats, and they’re okay.

  Copyright © 07 April 2021 Mary E. Purpari. All Rights Reserved.