Pompei-The Rest of the Story

 

It is crazy to think that we are walking through the streets of Pompei. In case you forget what Pompei is known for: In 79AD a nearby volcano named Vesuvius erupts (for the first time in 1,000 years) and covers the town of Pompei in approximately eighteen feet of volcanic ash. The eruption destroys the town but, ironically, preserves it, which is the reason why we can today stroll through the ruins and reach the center of town.

Experts see the streets as a marvel of engineering, a grid of paved roads, raised sidewalks and stepping stones that people used to stay dry and avoid the traffic:

We pass a property that is both a living quarters and a store that faced the street. I am fascinated by the stone counter with inlaid containers for vegetables, wine, grain or prepared food. It is a glimpse into how people made a living back then.

The buildings that have been unearthed so far still maintain some of their original color. There are paintings on the walls that were preserved; in some the architecture is stunning:

 

There is an original toilet:

How can a place so old be so modern and similar to our life today? I take some random shots to give you a feel for the Pompei of old:

You're probably wondering how Theo feels about this ancient Italian town. Well, it's a hot day in Pompei. The sun blasts down on us, and I'm forced to wear a hat to keep the overactive sun from blinding me. Theo, of course, is decked out in his gorgeous fur. Dan and I take turns carrying Theo. I carry him some of the time. Enough is enough, but with the crowds of tourists surrounding him, we don't dare let him down. He would either disappear in a split second or be trampled on. 

Finally, our very knowledgeable tour guide suggests that we check out the museum on site. Theo nods. 

"It's cooler in there," I promise. 

He wiggles around, anxious to get down on his own four paws.

"Okay. We'll let you down, but don't do anything crazy, Theo."

We pass a display of amulets, teeny tiny medals of gods that people would put into their coffins to insure safe passage:

Theo is on his best behavior. He trots along beside us. There are other tourists, but it isn't as crowded as I think it will be. No chance of being trampled on here.

We pass an assortment of cups and jugs and dishes:

We pass a colorful painting that was hanging on someone's wall:

We pass a shelf resting on a lion statue:

We pass an intriguing series of four plaques, depicting life in Pompei:

"Theo, check this out." I point to what looks like a pancake griddle pan,  glance down, and realize I'm suddenly talking to myself.

"What the hell?" I whisper too loudly.

"He has to be here somewhere," Dan reassures me.

I look right. Dan looks left. I move backwards. He moves forward.

No Theo.

"This is getting to be a habit," I grouse.

"We'll find him."

The end of this story is not dramatic. Theo is cat napping under the display table with the griddle. His eyes are closed. His ears are twitching.

I lift him out and up. "Did you hear us calling you?"

He gives me the stink eye.

"You know, Chucky (the past star of this blog) never would have done something like this. He was so well-behaved when he traveled with us." 

But even as I say the words, I know they're not true. Chuck was a rascal. This is exactly how he would have behaved. A cat is a cat is a cat. There is no doubt about it.