The Cats of the Acropolis

Photo © Rob Jones

You can’t help feeling that the cats have got it made in Greece.

I know that’s not the case for all of them. Around my destination on Corfu, they are often to be found scavenging in the communal bins - there’s no house to house collections. Most are unvaccinated. Un-neutered. Un cared for.

I’m informed that cats are communal like the bins. Not many people feed them like pets, and when they do you’ll find hordes of them making the most of the bounty. Reproducing like nobodies business. I have also noticed rather a large cat-food section in the supermarkets so I suspect habits are changing.

Sitting patiently waiting for my food to arrive in a little taverna half way up a cobbled street on the way to the Acropolis one evening in Athens, in time for the sunset … I was aware of hungry eyes. Many many hungry eyes.

Surrounding the taverna, but curiously not invading the taverna itself, there were dozens of cats. All practicing looking adorable in order to get tidbits from tourist plates. Deciding strategy. Seeking weakness. And succeeding.

Now - I declare an ambivalence. I have an allergy to cats. So I can take them or leave them. I take them for their cuteness and warmth, I leave them for the streaming eyes and insistence on sticking their rear end in your face while you’re trying to watch the tele.

But the Acropolis Cats - who knows how long they have been hanging around here, on the waste grounds filled with fallen statues and columns - how many can trace their ancestry back to ancient Greece I wonder.

True survivors - albeit with the help of soppy tourists.

(And no… in case you are wondering. I didn’t give them anything off my plate. Human greed trumps soppiness.)

R