SALVE ROMA! A Felidae Novel - By Akif Pirincci Page 0,73

journey to Rome. Although I really wasn’t in the mood, I couldn’t help but admire the stunning looks of this angel of death in his long cassock. The elegant hair, which was combed backwards in shiny thin flicks, the sharp facial outlines which reminded of a master painting, the delicate hands, everything on this guy redounded to heavenly perfection. He paid close attention to me though his golden glasses, and the reflexion of the silver cross around his neck blinded me so much that seemed to translucently shine at me through a halo.

I knew this cross very well, as it was the same that the Roman macho in my dreams used to wear. This figure inspired by Antonio’s confessions had never existed though. Il mio amico had lied to me, he had never been abandoned. Quite the contrary, master and pet got along so well that it even created a deathful, extremely mysterious symbiosis. And also the other figures had never existed. The hooded guy was Umberto in a theater costume, who collected donations for his research from the theosophists at regular intervals. The hobbling priest, who had gone into the chapel with me and Miracolo to prepare the blessing ritual, was Umberto, who always had shown his back to us and had grabbed the bowel with both hands at the moment of the reputed miracle; from the gunshot wound at his right arm blood had run into the water through the sleeve. But it was also Umberto, whose family had died in the infernal assassination on 9/11 in New York and who had vowed vengeance after that.

What this vengeance was actually supposed to be and what kind of stunts the missile on the table was able to perform, I had failed to find out. And it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to find out anymore. Adieu, you beautiful world, adieu you beautiful ears! I yelled in my mind and was close to laugh and cry at the same time. Umberto bowed out in his own way.

»Thanks, Antonio!« he said in a mellifluous voice that what a match to his grace. Then he used his free hand to press the little anesthetic mask on my snout, which was connected to a tube and especially designed for my kind.

15.

When I regained conscience, I was in heaven. And this heaven looked like a church! But somehow I had always sensed that the pipe dreams of a heavenly Disneyworld, where fried pigeons fly into one’s mouth and Mercedes sport sedans grow on trees, are nothing but pipe dreams. No, when you return to God for good, you have to worship Him all day. And this works best in a church.

Although I felt pretty dizzy – I probably still battled the aftermath of dying – I managed to pull myself together. According to old custom, I stretched myself a little and then moistened one paw to rub it over my face and behind my ears. At that I noticed with some surprise that my good old funnels were still in their place. The real ones in the living world of course had already been converted into gyrometers by Umberto, but in this pseudo-life at least I still had the illusion of ears. Without ruffle or excitement I dwelled on thoughts for a while until I finally started to suspect that this might be the afterpains of the anesthesia – and until in the distance I saw Antonio!

Instantly I felt like I got a kiss from a power cable, and even the last remains of anesthesia deserted me at once. I turned my head and looked around nervously to find out more about my whereabouts. And then I saw it: I actually was inside of a church. But it wasn’t a heavenly church but an earthly and actually pretty big one: miraculously I had gotten to St. Peter’s Cathedral!

The more than 160 000 square feet big site lay in the pale twilight of only a couple of torches and giant candles. It was still dark outside, and one could hear the rushing rain, only now and then interrupted by roaring thunder. Streaking thunderbolts, whose glaring light shone through the building-sized windows, enlightened a kingdom of unbelievable dimension and opulent art but also of papal vanity. It was the pomp and the glory of the Catholic Church, a baroque landscape of bold arches and superb arrangements of the folds, showroom and manifestation of faith in perfection.

I stood in the center nave of the infinite looking