Mamma Gatta (Mama Cat) was the first friend I made when we bought our home in Italy six years ago. I was sitting on the edge of our then crumbling terrace, surveying our then jungle of a garden, when I felt a nudge at my side. And there she was. At the time I didn’t know if she was a “he” or a “she”, but we were instant friends regardless, and I don’t think she minded that I called her Orange Cat. It would be some weeks before I would know her real name, Mamma Gatta, and that she was sneaking over from our neighbor’s house to visit.
Since then Mamma Gatta and I have spent many an evening together surveying the garden, (thank goodness, the garden is no longer a jungle and the terrace is no longer crumbling) and she often appears first thing in the early morning when I open our sportellone to take in the day. Those morning visits usually include a saucer of latte or maybe a little foam from my cappuccino.
Mamma Gatta appreciates good, frothy foam. I, of course, appreciate the entire cappuccino, because nothing, but nothing, says “Italy” like a cup of cappuccino. That is other than vino, pasta, truffles, cheese, olive oil …