As I explained in part 1 of ‘Pazzesca Burocrazia Gattesca’ (Crazy Cat Bureaucracy), getting Mimì the cat sterilized turned out to be rather more complicated than we had anticipated. In order to qualify for the free service which should be provided for gatti randagi (stray cats) we would be obliged to jump through all sorts of bureaucratic hoops and embark on a process that could take years! So, as is often the case here in Italy, we had to resort to L’Arte di Arrangiarsi (The Art of Sorting Things Out for Oneself).

We Italians view the senseless bureaucracy and laws that try to impede us not so much as obstacles, but as a ‘creative challenge’, and over the centuries we have developed ‘L’Arte di Arrangiarsi’ to a level that rivals the skill and imagination of Leonardo da Vinci.

How to have a cat sterilized for 50 Euros

We arrange to meet la gattara (the cat lady) at 9:30 am in the car park of a bar. At around 9:40 an anonymous battered white van pulls into the car park. La gattara (the cat lady), codename ‘S’, introduces herself, and we hand over ‘the package’, aka Mimì the cat.

‘S’, through her association with the organization SOS Randagi (SOS Stray Animals), has an arrangement with a local vet which allows her to take any stray cats that she happens to ‘find’ to be sterilized at a special price. We can’t go directly to the vet because we have rescued Mimì and adopted her, and therefore she is no longer considered a stray cat. Meaning that we’d have to pay the full whack of 110 Euros.

"Se non ci sono problemi ci rivediamo qua a mezzogiorno" ("If there are no problems we’ll meet back here at midday") says ‘S’, and rattles off in her old van with our beloved Mimì in the back. After a couple of hours during which we speculate about ‘catnappers’ and ‘cat trading’, and wonder whether we’ll ever see ‘la nostra bimba’ (‘our little girl’) again, we return to the car park at the agreed time.

Mezzogiorno e mezzo (half past midday): still no sign of ‘S’ and Mimì! Then a call on the cellulare (cell phone): ‘S’ is on her way, but the bridge over the river Magra is closed. She directs us to another car park on the outskirts of town.

After a quick cappuccino to fortify ourselves we set off to the new ‘drop location’, where we sit and keep a look out for the furgoncino bianco (white van). ‘S’ arrives five minutes later with a very groggy and confused Mimì. We hand over the 50 Euros in contanti (cash), no questions asked. ‘S’ gives us una manciata di antibiotici (a handful of antibiotics) and a piece of paper with some instructions scribbled on it. Ecco fatto! (Done it!) Within a few days Mimì is back to her old self, the only visible difference a lovely bare pink tummy with a neat row of punti (stitches), making us think of the section in a passport which asks for ‘any distinguishing features, e.g. scars, birthmarks, etc.’ Hmmm… ‘Mimì the Cat Burglar’.

P.S. We sometimes use the interesting expression ‘una gatta da pelare’ (literally: ‘a cat to skin’) meaning something that is ‘very difficult / tricky to do’: Devo dire che far sterilizzare una gatta, senza pagare un mucchio di soldi, è una gatta da pelare! (I must say that, getting a cat sterilized without paying loads of money is really difficult!).