The beautifully ragged cobblestone streets of Manarola, Italy, were no place for such an unkempt cat. Shabby and dilapidated, the stray wandered the bright avenues of the coastal community. This creature was as misplaced as the bumbling American tourists who ambled about the Piazza del Popolo.

From behind, fur matted tightly to its bloated torso, the feline easily could have been mistaken for a canine. Its misshapen form hobbled along, the left leg dragging, bringing up the rear. Ears mauled, the animal was oblivious to the distant crashing waves by the sheer cliffs on the Cinque Terre. One eye held the cloudiness of a murky pond, blind to the passing pedestrians who gawked at the scraggly figure.

Paved paths, absent of cars and the grumbling sounds that accompany them, allowed for this beast's existence. Slinking among villas shaded in every hue of the spectrum, the vagabond sported a gray-black coat like a spilled drink on the white tablecloth of an open-air café. Dirt-encrusted hair trailed wherever the nomad treaded.

Fresh, salty ocean air blanketed Manarola, but this aroma was marred by the fetor of the feline. Some attempts were made to disconcert the grimy degenerate by brashly swinging brooms in its direction. Elderly local inhabitants sympathized and embraced the outcast, leaving gourmet scraps of pastas, breads, and fish that added to its rotund belly. A quaint town is the last place to find a bedraggled alley cat. Such a desirable location for such an undesirable animal.