Mother's last words were: take care of the cats.

She was referring to the felines living in Spain.

Two house cats: siblings Pete and Sophie.
Their dying mom left them on our doorstep as kittens.
And three ex outdoor strays
we managed over time to capture and spray.

Back home in Italy, I also had two blue-eyed Siamese; Minu and Paco
who migrated from Spain many years ago.

All 5 cats got a rabies shot,
and each was given its own personal passport.

We opted to take three cats on our first trip,
so two of the outdoor cats were left in a pension,
recommended by our vet.

On the morning of departure, we lowered the back seats of our car
to create more space and light
and moved the boys in place minutes
before leaving Tossa de Mar.

It was the 7th March 2007.

The plan was to do the one thousand kilometre road trip
back to our main home in Northern Italy in two days with
one stopover in France.

I was very nervous because usually our pets
are agitated and noisy when going by car to the vet.

Pa filled up before crossing the border.
I recall he struggled to walk straight
holding onto what he could not to blow away.

We felt the wind's fury all along the French Mediterranean coast from Perpignan to Montpellier.
The land there is flat with fields of wind turbines turning fast.

Every two hours pa would stop so I could check on the boys;
they were unusually mute, all 3 following, for once, in suit.
I think they understood this was more than just a drive around the neighbourhood.

As dusk came upon us, we left highway A8
to reach Draguignan, a small French town.
Here, years ago, we had found a motel
that accepted four-pawed clientele.

Unknown to us though, it had been sold since our last visit
and cats and dogs were no longer welcomed.

Luckily the new owners didn't have the courage to send us off in the dark with three cats in tow.

In that moment, I felt my mamma's presence strong and aglow.

That night Sammy Davis Jr. slept in the bathroom
and sister and bro under my bed.

We were all exhausted.

Getting Junior back in the cage, next morning, was child's play,
on the other hand, to retrieve the other two rascals, I had to lift the bed to my dismay.

To avoid traffic and save time
we drove on the outskirts of Cannes,
here the French celebrate their
International Film Festival every year in May.

We then breezed past Monaco, with its port full of towering yachts, and Nice;
all three locations are part of the French Riviera, where the rich and famous like to hang out.

From the French town of Menton, following a narrow and winding road, we reached the Italian border of Ventimiglia.

Home was now only 300 kilometers away.

Going past the port of Genova
and onto A26, has always been
a nerve recking experience for me: I fear heights.

The highway, in part, clings onto the rocky mountain side
and in part, is built on vertiginous bridge roads.

There are more than 20 galleries just in the first 24 km.
Drivers are neurotic and traffic chaotic.

Reached Arona we paid our fee and exited the highway:
we were now only 30 minutes from home.

The beautiful scenery became familiar;
on the right, 'cross the lake, the castle of Angera,
on the left mounts covered by green pines, chestnuts and secular villas.

The scent of home neared and slowly all my fears disappeared.

As we entered town, I swear I heard the church bells cheer.