Where chariots once raced and merchants bargained, silent paws now guard forgotten rites beneath the moon.
In the hush after market cries… a tabby with amber eyes surveys the plaza. She moves like memory given form.
Once, augurs read fate in bird flight… now, she reads it in shifting shadows. Beneath the Temple of Luna, her kin gather.
No mortal sees this nightly vigil. They brush past moss-covered altars, scent lingering incense. A kitten noses a broken terracotta offering—milk, long gone.
Moonlight gilds their fur like priestly robes. These cats remember what Rome forgot. They are not pets.
They are keepers of quiet truths. And as dawn nears, they vanish—into myth, into stone.