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He was an expatriate cat. Born somewhere in about 1990, he was abandoned in a state park in Norfolk, Connecticut. Friends who lived adjacent to the park were able to lure him into a cat carrier with food – he was such a scrawny adolescent boy – and they gave him to us because the Captain had a hankering for a marmalade kitty.
He lived in our bathroom for a week; I spent several hours daily just sitting on the floor, talking to him softly, coaxing him to come for a treat, a little scritch, and finally to sit in my lap. Turns out he was a lover. And a talker. That’s how he got his name. He used to walk down our long driveway with me every morning when I went for the paper, and he sang the whole way down. So we named him after Pavarotti.
When we moved permanently to Italy he moved too, becoming a very cosmopolitan cat. He never let it go to his head, though. He stayed his usual lovable, talkative self, and he grew hugely fat, like his namesake.
He used to love to sleep on the roof of the rustico below our house. There was just one problem – while he could get up on the roof, he couldn’t get down, so his penchant for going there always ended up with me at one end of a long board and him delicately tiptoeing down towards me from the other.
He was such a well behaved and lovable gentlemen that friends were always willing to take him in for several months when we began to return to the States for annual visits. That was lucky for us, and even luckier for him. This year he was with two young women who adored him and cared for him beautifully. They asked to watch over him, knowing that he had renal failure and that it was likely he would die while we were away.
That’s just what happened today. He slipped away in his sleep at the age of 18 or 19, and has been buried next to the dog Balto, who probably would’ve eaten him in life, but who will guard him in death. He had a pretty interesting life for a cat and I think it was a good life. I know he made our life much better just by being the cat he was, and we will miss him so much.
An Ex-Expatriate 
Pidge and Hilary ~ Thank you for your sweet thoughts. To know Luciano was to love him, or at least to think he was a cool kitty. How odd it will be not to have him ever underfoot in the kitchen…
I lost my best boy while I was away last spring. I saw him out of the corner of my eye just yesterday. Love doesn’t die.
You are so right. I’m sorry you lost your pal…
I’m sorry for your loss. I know how hard it is to lose a pet. I am sure he had a very happy life and knew it every single moment!
There’s never a good way to have an animal die, is there? Thank you for your kind words – sounds like you’ve lost pets too.
I’m sorry that we never got the chance to meet. (I only seem to be meeting everyone’s dogs these days). Fare thee well Luciano!
Thanks, Rowena…
Oh best friend – I grieve with you for the loss of your magnificent feline friend. He sucked every ounce of goodness out of life, and you gave him so much to work with!
Never have I known a cat so cosmopolitan, so eager to love and be loved, and so mellow and accepting of his failings as time went on. This, of course, had much to do with you and Louis, who provided so well for creature and other comforts as Luciano got older. We should learn a lesson from the value of your care for him and his adaptation to the predations of age.
What a lucky kitty! What a lucky couple to have shared his life with him! Now, a good cry is in order for all of us…
I will miss him too, very much so.
As you say, he was a “perfect gentleman,” sitting on the couch, politely listening to conversation and never interrupting grown ups. He always looked as if he understood every word being said.
Wherever kitties fly when they leave us, I know he’s surrounded by admiring others and basking in the love that warms all souls.
Rest well in the arms of Mother Earth, dearest Luciano, and return soon to bring joy to the lives of another family. For you surely brought joy to ours.