Cats are the forgotten princes of Venice. The skulk in the shadows and sidestreets, licking up rainwater from discarded plastic tubs and empty trays of food.
They were deposed many years before, and now scrape a living as beggars and pigeon hunters. Each one dreams as he dozes during the day (for they stay awake all night to have the city for themselves) of the time when they will rise again, storm the Basilica and take back their city, driving the tourists and the Venetians alike to drown in the canals.
Their numbers have dwindled, yet they have the advantage. Over the roofs, through the streets, under the canals, there is no passage through the city that they do not know. Only they know the hidden paths of Venice.