[this is satire] I ditched my gastrointestinally overactive editor Fartolomeo — I mean Bartolomeo — in Venice, rented a Fiat and drove over to Pisa. I lunched at a sidewalk cafe, sipping on a macchiato — superb! — between bites. A young lady installed herself at my table and began speaking to me. “You’re the famous Rocky the Diabolical Cat from America, aren’t you?” she asked. I replied in the affirmative. We chatted for a bit, and then she told me that she was an artist. “Young lady,” I asked, “what is the Nature of your Art?” She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I am a love-artist.” After lunch we stopped by her place, got a bottle of wine and a blanket, and then relaxed in a park. It was there that the full depth of her artistry became apparent to me. Mamma mia! Later we strolled over to the famous Leaning Tower of Pisa. My friends, who knows what imps and dybbuks lurk in the mind? Who knows what causes us to do the things we do? Who can really say why one woman shops without a care, while another cannot resist stealing a purse? Who knows what compels us to commit utterly senseless acts? I have broached this topic because when I saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa, I was seized by an inexplicable but powerful compulsion to run up to it and try to push it over. So, I did. And got arrested. My new friend the love-artist picked me up from jail the next day. “Oh, Rocky, you’re so complex!” she said, stroking my tail. I bought a newspaper. The headline read, “Philosophical Feline Tries To Topple Tower.” I felt defeated. I retreated to the home of my friends the Bellusci family in the ancient city of Ferentino. Little did I know that my literary fame had been doubled by my crazed act in Pisa — the paparazzi descended upon the Bellusci home, I was bombarded with requests for interviews and sales of my book went through the roof! All in all, my Grand Tour was a success. I would like to thank everyone at Edizione Testa d’Uovo and NUVO for making the trip possible.