I have begun to dread the beginning of the summer season as I know it will generate a flood of emails from anguished tourists who have gone online and found Catsnip. They speak of holidays in various parts of the island that have been disrupted by an encounter with a small cat. What started out as blue skies and sunshine becomes overshadowed by distress and anxiety. It takes me back to my fateful trip in 2002 when Andrew and I stumbled upon Lizzie, setting in motion the chain of events that led to my forming Catsnip. I understand only too well their concern and longing to help in some way. I’d been lucky in finding a friendly vet but then I spoke Italian; apart from the larger towns and cities, it is often difficult to communicate otherwise in Sicily. For those who don’t speak Italian, I can imagine their frustration, scanning their phrase books in an attempt to contrive a few sentences. I can picture them in their hotel rooms searching the Internet for animal welfare contacts. I’m in England, they are in Sicily, but at least I can offer advice and put them in touch with someone on the island who may be able to help.

Helen wrote to me from a small tourist town on the western side of the island:

Hello, I found the details of your Catsnip online while searching for an animal charity. I’m currently in Sicily, holidaying in San Vito Lo Capo, and have today found a stray kitten, probably about nine–ten weeks.

I first saw her in the morning and then again later in the afternoon much further into the main town, trying to get into a local supermarket. Everyone ignored her and she seemed so tiny and helpless.

I’ve brought her back to the apartment we’re staying in and have fed and watered her (she was starving), but I was hoping there’d be somewhere that might take her in and rehome her.

I can’t find anywhere online so fear the answer is no, but wanted to contact you in case you know of anywhere/body that might help. We’re in SVLC until Monday then travelling to Palermo.

I must add here that Helen was on honeymoon when the small feline came into her life but, as she said to me later: ‘My husband knew what he was taking on.’

I had never heard of San Vito as I’ve usually worked on the eastern side of Sicily. That was my first question for Helen.

‘San Vito is on the very North West tip of Sicily, west of Palermo. That’s the only way I can describe it really. Nearest big town (other than Palermo) is Trapani. Hope that gives some clue! It’s basically a tiny Italian holiday resort,’ she emailed.

The moment I saw the word ‘Trapani’ I knew I had a lead. Remember the story of Dina, the elderly Dalmatian, of Susie and Esther’s long car journey from Cefalù to find her? Raimonda, the OIPA volunteer, had filled in the rest of the story. I sent an SOS email asking for her help once more. Meanwhile, I could sense Helen’s growing desperation as the hours ticked away. She continued frantically to search the Internet and contacted every lead she found, but with no positive results.

She wrote: ‘I have been through my other options which are to appeal to a Canadian-Sicilian lady we met in a cafe yesterday when we first noticed the kitten but she didn’t seem that concerned with her at the time. Or to cycle to a vet just outside SVLC to see if they would care for her until she’s big enough to fend for herself. Both are long shots. Added complication is that we’re staying in a hotel where they aren’t very keen on animals, which means we’re having to keep her out of view. I’m just dreading a situation where we have to abandon her again come Monday. I’ve even investigated taking her to Palermo and leaving her with someone there but (a) I can’t find anybody/place in Palermo and (b) I imagine Palermo is a much tougher place for a kitten than SVLC. You’re right… I feel helpless. And so sad for her.’

By now the kitten had been given a name: Gavroche, after the waif of Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. Oh dear, I thought, once you’ve done that it becomes ‘your’ kitten rather than just a stray. Throughout that Thursday, I waited for Raimonda’s response, while more emails arrived from Helen.

I’m getting more and more nervous by the hour, as we really only have Friday, Saturday and Sunday to find someone and of course the longer she’s with me, the more attached I’m getting. There have been a lot of tears today! And she really is tiny and not very old at all. I don’t think she’d fare very well on her own.

I’m going to explore car hire this evening, which will make transporting her a lot easier (slight hitch is that my photo on my licence has expired though, so not sure they’ll let me). I have never said a prayer in my life but I will tonight!

By now I was beginning to get as anxious as Helen about the fate of this little scrap. I dreaded how distressed she would be if she had to leave the kitten behind.

Meanwhile, it seemed that there were no romantic dinners à deux on this honeymoon.

So was I. I sent another message to Raimonda. Suddenly, an image of Dina appeared on the screen. Quickly, I sent Helen an email.

Raimonda has answered tonight and here is what she says:

‘To help this kitten you should contact the vigili urbani (the municipal police) and tell them that Oipa has been informed of this situation. San Vito has an agreement with a local vet and therefore the kitten should be helped.’

Think this is your best bet. Even if you plan to take this kitten back you need to find somewhere to leave her for the necessary quarantine.

But Helen’s reply worried me. She didn’t seem to have read my email properly.

Later, when we met, she told me: ‘I couldn’t leave her. I wouldn’t have got on the plane; I would have emailed my boss to say I’d be back in the UK later than planned. I even thought of smuggling her onto the flight, but guessed that wouldn’t have worked.’

From San Vito, Helen wrote: ‘I’ve asked my hotel to order a taxi for 10am so I’ll let you know. Just need to find a box to carry her in now.’

‘True to Sicilian hospitality,’ Helen told me when we met, ‘the owner of the hotel dismissed the idea of a taxi and said his son would drive us wherever we wanted to go.

‘At first he didn’t understand we wanted to go to the vet, until he saw Gavroche in the box. He looked pretty surprised.’

But the vet wasn’t there: Helen was told she would be back on Saturday.

‘This is really worrying for me because if the vet is not there tomorrow, or will not take her, then I have very little time left to help her. We go to Palermo on Monday and fly to England on Tuesday and do not have a car.

‘To add to the complication, now that the hotel knows we have Gavroche they have forbidden me from letting her in the room,’ she emailed.

I sent her a very concise email: ‘Take Raimonda’s advice and go to the municipal police. They are in touch with OIPA and will know where you should take the kitten. You can call Raimonda if necessary because she does speak a bit of English. You have the number, don’t you?’

It was by now Saturday and I was out during the day but always at the back of my mind was how Helen was getting on. The moment I arrived home I switched on my computer, once again dreading that Helen had been disappointed. What I read surpassed anything I had hoped for.

‘Hello. So some good news, I think. We took her to the police station in San Vito. When we arrived they said, “No cats, no cats!” I’m a woman with a career but I know how to become a helpless female when the occasion arises,’ she told me. ‘I sat on the floor of the police station and burst into tears. This did the trick and they fetched an officer who could speak a little English. I showed him Raimonda’s email and we telephoned her.’

Because of the language problem what happened next was surreal. Helen and her husband found themselves in a police car, presumably to go to a vet.

‘Instead they stopped just down the road outside a private house. A woman came out, holding back a barking dog, and Gavroche was whisked away.’

As Helen related: ‘I felt bewildered. We went on the beach for a couple of hours and I tried to read but just couldn’t concentrate. “We’ve just handed her over without knowing anything about what will happen to her,” I cried to my husband. Eventually, he agreed we should go and knock on the woman’s door. She greeted us warmly and invited us in to see the kitten. Gavroche was sitting in an armchair in the living room like the Queen of Sheba.

‘The lady’s name is Antonella Siino and with broken English/Italiano and un poco de Español we worked out that this nice lady is a volunteer with OIPA and that her dog is also a rescue. She often fosters animals but she had decided to adopt Gavroche, whom she has renamed Londres, in our honour. I simply couldn’t be happier that she is safe and well and being cared for by someone who is so obviously an animal lover.

‘None of this could have happened without you and Raimonda – thank you from the bottom of my heart! At times I felt like I was mad for caring so much, but you confirmed others care too. And now I’m going to go outside and enjoy the Sicilian sunshine with my husband, who I’ve barely spoken to over the past forty-eight hours.’

A week or so later, another email arrived from Sicily.

Hi, on holiday in Castiglione di Sicilia and my wife has found a helpless tiny kitten (feral, obviously and without its mother). Can you help with locating a home or a vet for it please?

Had they checked the mother wasn’t in the neighbourhood? I queried. My sister had just returned from Spain, where two kittens had turned up at their apartment. She fed them for two days and lay awake at night, wondering what would happen to them when the family left.

‘I prayed the mother would turn up the following day,’ she told me. ‘Then, I was looking out across the fields behind the apartment and I’m sure I saw her. The kittens didn’t return again.’

But Michael replied swiftly that they didn’t think there was a mother around. He seemed to be a lost soul, crying all last night and trying everyone’s affections that afternoon.

Doubt he has an owner – more like, as with other cats, he owns several humans!

OK, could they give me some idea as to where Castiglione di Sicilia was in relation to, say, Giardini Naxos/Taormina? ‘I think you are nearer to the eastern side of the island?’

‘We are about forty-five minutes from Taormina, and certain the mother is not around, it was crying all last night. We leave this Sunday (my wife would take her home if she could!)’ came the reply.

That evening I called them on their mobile. Michael sounded calm but Susan was very emotional. I told them about Qua La Zampa, the pet shop where, last year, Angela and Marco had cared for Lucky Star until a home could be found for her.

Later, Michael emailed: ‘Piccolino has been smuggled back into our room tonight, and we will take him to Taormina in the morning. Hopefully we can leave him there. The vet gave him a clean bill of health (I tried to explain to my wife that he was a street cat and therefore a little scrawny). Anyhow, he has just had the best part of half a tin of Royal Canin and is now exploring.’

The following morning, I called the pet shop. Angela wasn’t there but I spoke to Marco. He sounded very gloomy: Taormina was a chaos where cats were concerned. They were left outside the shop every day; he had six already. They could board Piccolino for a few days but couldn’t commit to homing him.

I related the news to Michael. In the background I could hear Susan saying that perhaps the best thing to do would be to take the kitten back to the vet and have him put to sleep.

I reacted strongly: ‘These feral cats are tough. As you say, they do look scrawny but they survive. There will be some elderly woman in the area who feed them. Why put a healthy little cat to sleep?’

I was reminded of E.M. Forster’s novel Where Angels Fear to Tread, of well-meaning visitors unversed in another culture, who create mayhem and tragedy. Though I could understand their distress, I asked myself yet again, Was it really wise to take in a small feline when you knew that, in a few days, you had to leave? What did you think would happen to it? This wasn’t Britain with shelters and animal welfare associations; it was a country that for the most part did not care for cats. What was worse was the notion of having a healthy animal put to sleep because you thought it was ‘best’ for it.

Meanwhile, Michael came back to me. They had contacted my lovely vet, Oscar La Manna, and taken Piccolino to his surgery, where it was found he was ‘suffering from every parasite know to cat kind: roundworms, fleas etc.’. Oscar believed there was someone who wanted a small cat and would collect it the next day. Later came news that Luigi had not turned up.

‘Don’t know what we will do if he is not collected,’ Michael wrote. ‘Hopefully Oscar will be true to his word and find a caring home – he cannot go onto the streets as he is too small to fend for himself.’

I felt defeated but was delighted when, a day or so later, Oscar contacted me.

‘We’ve had some difficulties with the little Piccolino because, as you well know, here in Sicily there isn’t a good culture where animals are concerned. There are no shelters or reception centres for ferals. The authorities speak constantly of helping animals but they don’t spend one coin to look after them. This is a very beautiful place but its inhabitants are too egoistical and stupid. Luckily, there are we vets who are freelance and give a hand at our expense to these poor little feral animals that need treatment. The state doesn’t help, only profits from our sensibility. Thus I have decided to keep this little cat and look after it until I can find someone to give it a home.’

Not all these stories have such satisfactory endings. Some are left unfinished and continue to nag.

Dawn contacted me, wondering if anything could be done to help a small sick cat: ‘The poor creature has scratched itself bald in places and sits hunched up with its tongue hanging partially out and drooling a small amount of yellow/pink-brown liquid. It seems to be obtaining food from inside the gate of the local residence where two other healthy cats live but now seems to be shut outside and looks in a bad state.’

The couple went to nearby Qua La Zampa and tried to make themselves understood, using a pre-recording on a translation app. However, as Dawn said: ‘We didn’t get very far due to the language barrier but the lady seemed to be pointing us in the direction of the Corso and mentioned the police. I bought a couple of pouches and the cat has eaten one, this evening.’

On my advice, they called Oscar La Manna. He told them he would come out to check on the cat if they could capture it.

Later, when I talked to Dawn, she said: ‘We were both very tired after a difficult year and this was supposed to be a relaxing holiday but we ended up worrying about Lionel, as I called him, most of the time.’

Although Lionel seemed quite friendly, she doubted if she could catch him without a cat carrier. They had planned a trip to Etna the following day, so I told them, meanwhile, I would call a friend, one of the rarer gattaro (or cat men).

Carmelo runs a garage backing onto a yard that throngs with cats. He is a dedicated cat lover and spends much of his salary on feeding and caring for them. Yes, he said, if the couple came round in the early evening, they could certainly borrow a carrier.

My plan failed. Returned from Etna, Dawn and her boyfriend were ravenous and went for a meal before negotiating the dark roads to the garage. They were too late: Carmelo had shut the garage and gone home.

Time was now running out, for the couple were due to leave a day later. They had been keeping an eye on the house where the cats roamed and noticed a woman coming and going.

‘We are unsure of her involvement and have not previously approached her, as we didn’t know whether we would be able to communicate.’

They were feeling confused because of this problem with language. Did the woman own Lionel or was he sneaking in to feed with the other two, healthy-looking cats? Meanwhile, Oscar was standing by for their call. I explained the situation to him and sent Dawn his reply.

‘These are Oscar’s thoughts: if the cat is sick and is a feral it needs care. Even if someone feeds it they would be happy that it was being given treatment.’

She remained unconvinced. ‘I would prefer to know whether the lady owns the cat before we proceed, as I am still worried about a confrontation and nobody being available to interpret in the event. I am also conscious the time is ticking by and not sure how long Oscar will be available now. Would he be available tomorrow, if necessary?’

In the end, they were faced by the situation I know so well, that of having to pack up and leave with the question hanging over them: what will happen to that cat now?

Sure enough, Dawn continued to agonise over Lionel after her return to England: ‘I have felt so helpless concerning Lionel, as I called him. I just wish it would have been possible for someone to have called over and assisted us in getting an expert opinion with a view to making him more comfortable. I feel so sad for him, but realise his case is just the tip of the iceberg. He was there on the step yesterday evening as usual at about 5pm and we gave him a pouch, which he gobbled down. We saw him again on the step at 11pm when we returned from the town centre, which was to be the last time – he wasn’t there this morning to give him a pouch, as planned. It is hard not to think about him and it makes me realise how lucky Kenny is – it is lovely to have him home.’

I, too, found it difficult to get the image of Lionel out of my mind. So I racked my brains and finally contacted Eleanor, an English friend and gattara who lives in Taormina and looks after twenty cats of her own. Could she find time to go along and clarify things? She promised to do her best and later wrote to me:

Yesterday afternoon I finally managed to locate Lionel, sitting in a plant pot in the garden at 23a Dietro Cappuccini, looking rather poorly. I guessed he was probably getting fed by the owners, seeing as he was sitting in there, behind the fence. I wanted to speak to the owners to ask if he was their cat, but didn’t know which bell to ring.

Luckily, I met Chiara, who lives in the same street and she said she knows you. She told me that the people who live in that house are nice and also animal lovers, and kindly volunteered to come with me to enquire.

We spoke to a nice gentleman who confirmed that Lionel is a stray and said that his father feeds him. I explained that Dawn wanted to help Lionel and has given a donation for veterinary fees, but he told me that Lionel has already been seen by a vet. He said that Lionel has had bad dysentery, and that is why he is so thin and has his tongue sticking out. Apparently, he is being given some pills for it, but he looked like he desperately needed to be on a drip to me.

Now I don’t know what to think or do. To be honest, Jenny, Lionel looked to me to be on his last legs. The man spoke of bad dysentery and him having had bad diarrhoea, but I think it’s due to something else, probably some organ failure. I’ve seen nearly all of my cats that have passed away go the same way.

I could organise trying to capture Lionel and get him to Oscar, but I don’t really know if it’s worth it. In these circumstances, any vet will do blood analysis and at best maybe diagnose kidney failure. They will keep the animal in a cage for therapy, which is very expensive and the animal usually dies anyway. I think it’s an unpleasant end, especially for a feral cat who isn’t used to being indoors in a strange chemically-smelling environment.

I asked the lady if they wouldn’t like a second opinion on Lionel, especially seeing as the costs would be covered by Catsnip, but they seemed convinced that Lionel was being taken care of and is being given something for his condition.

And there I had to leave the story of Lionel. There is a limit to how much we outsiders can interfere. However, I am grateful to Helen, Michael, Susan and Dawn for stopping to help these creatures instead of just walking away.

As Oscar La Manna said later: ‘It is fortunate that there are these animal lovers who give a hand and try to help these feral animals, taking them to us vets who cooperate by giving them the right treatment at a ridiculously low price.’

I’ve known Oscar for a year, but only comparatively recently have I realised what a truly remarkable and almost unique Sicilian vet he is. How did he become a vet, I asked him, and how does he deal with the general attitudes towards animals in Sicily?

‘Ever since I was a boy I had a passion for every kind of animal, including insects that I loved to touch. Once, I brought an entire ants’ nest into the house. Thus, when I grew up, I chose to become a vet and, if I had that choice again, I would do it a thousand times over.

‘However, after twenty years of working in the field here, I feel under-valued and limited in what I can do. I have discovered many things but the first and enormous lesson I have learned is that more than 50 per cent of animal owners in Sicily are ignorant and a threat to their animals because, at the very first hurdle, particularly economic, they are ready to abandon them. It would need the vet’s presence in schools to teach children that animals merit respect; they are not toys that one can throw away, they are living beings that need caring for, even if it turns out to be expensive. Thus, those who know they can’t afford it should never take on an animal because it will put the two of them at risk.

‘If one doesn’t have an income, it is necessary to be objective and not endanger the life of a companion animal – much better never to bring one into the house.

‘Unfortunately, civilisation will never arrive here, the people are too stupid and convinced they are right and teach their own children this erroneous stupidity and egoism.

‘In your country, England, things are very different – there is order, services, much more civilisation.

‘Here, there is nothing left for me but to fight this infinite ignorance in order to defend these defenceless little animals from the cruel hands of men who are uncivilised and egoistic.’

As Oscar has said to me: ‘It is fortunate for the feral cats that at least some of us freelance vets are concerned about them and at our own expense take care of them.’

The volunteers of OIPA I’ve mentioned several times before are another dedicated team of animal lovers, scattered across Sicily. Then there are people like Valeria Cundari and her volunteers at the ARCA refuge, overflowing with unwanted animals. Their daily battle is horrendous; fighting ignorance and downright cruelty, trying to cope with the over-population of cats and dogs. How they would welcome the very different approach of Trieste in Northern Italy.