The cats of Aegina and the stories that go with them.
A Greek island is not a Greek island without cats. They are not pets, and not simple strays but citizens in their own right that shape the place and keepers of the stories of the human inhabitants. This is the story of five of Aegina’s feline leaders.
The island’s fashionable gentleman
The story must begin with Valentino, a gentleman of a cat with his own Facebook page, who held court at the front of the Anchor clothes boutique. Here, where everything is neatly hung and folded, Valentino and his friend Ziko were often found napping amidst the high end Greek linen, under the handmade hats, or seeking refuge in the air conditioning of the meticulous store.
Store owner Jim, along with shop keeper Lillian, cared for Valentino through the years, including vet checks and food access during Covid lockdowns. When age brought arthritis and vulnerability, Jim began driving the old cat home every night for safety, only to drive him back each morning so Valentino could return to his essential work: snoozing with Ziko.
Ziko, I claim, is the reason that we moved to this island. We were living in Athens at the time, exploring the mainland and nearby islands to know Greece better. “We spend so much time in Aegina hotels, we might as well rent a house,” my husband quipped. Jokes have gravitas in our lifestyle so the next time we visited, we hired a car to look at properties. We were won over by the second property we visited, a two-storey house amongst the pistachio groves was pink inside and out that we nicknamed Strawberry Villa, a nod to the Durrells.
The following morning, passing motorbikes woke me early in our cheap hotel room by the port. I went out for water, coffee and baked goods - the essentials of a Greek morning and sat contemplating the sea. Old wooden caïques straight out of a children’s book, the sun rising from behind the port, the metallic musical ting of yacht masts. Are we making the right decision?” I raised my question to the warmth of the autumn sun. But in answer Ziko clambered into my lap and made himself comfortable. Coffee and spanakopita can wait. Ziko had a message, and the message was: we should move here. And so we did.
Strawberry Villa was where our second cat came in: Spot. She was so named because - you guessed it - she had a spot on her. Her whole family had spots on them but hers was a single distinct mark and she was equally distinct in her demeanour. She was most confident - as if she owned the house and was letting us live there. But she was also the most affectionate; a welcome friend during covid when we knew no one here and were abiding by the rules carefully. She would not give you the best sunny seat in the garden, but she would rub enthusiastically against our bikes when we came home from a bike ride. And on a couple of winter nights, when the reality of a Greek island winter kicked in, I invited her in front of the small fire we were learning to build in our draughty home amongst the now bare pistachio trees, whipped by the prevalent north winds.
Cleopatra: Queen of Cafes
People often ask me if I have pets, and I laugh. Why would I need a pet when I live on an island that has, quite frankly, too many cats?
Whenever I need some feline company, I just walk down to one of my local cafés. At Barco the matriarch of the family owned Cleopatra, who lived up to her name. If she wanted your lap, she took it - not interested in what you were eating - just being at the centre of everything. One time she was on the edge of the last seat in the café on a busy summer’s morning. She would not move. A woman wanted a seat but was afraid of cats. She asked for Cleopatra to be moved which took some persuading. Cleopatra dismounted reluctantly, stunned, looked slowly around, locked her eyes on me, and took her place in my lap. Cleopatra is now too old to be coming up and down into patrons’ laps. But that doesn’t mean my lap is empty.
The shop that has everything
Alessandra, who runs the everything shop in Souvala, has taken in a great many cats, neutered and spayed many others, paid for vet bills and cared for so many. Alessandra’s shop is a treasure chest where you can find everything from fishing bait with peculiar names and German books to cannabis oil and home-made magnets. As you browse these essential goods, you soon realize you are being watched: by cats.
One of my favourites in her shop is Moustakalou (“moustache”). Moustakalou is very well fed and very well cared for, but this doesn’t stop her wanting a little bit of what she shouldn’t have. If you’re at a restaurant, you can bet that eventually Moustakalou will be by your side. She’ll stand there patiently for a moment, and if you haven’t acknowledged her, she’ll just tap you gently with her paw. No response there? She’ll move to the other side of you, as if that’s a different person, and tap on that side. When you finally look at her, she’ll then raise her paws in a little begging motion, which has won over the hearts of many of our visitors. We don’t give her food, but when I am sitting at Nektarios’s cafe she gets my lap whenever she likes.
The cafe of our dreams
Nektarios, who runs the sweet shop across the road from Alessandra’s, is our go-to cafe in the port of Souvala. First of all, because it has the most comfortable chairs. I am not made for the straw-based taverna chairs of Greece. It’s officially a zacharoplastio (sweet shop) but the atmosphere and prices match a traditional kafenion. The beer and wine are limited in choice but he is generous with salted crisps and peanuts if you’re not eating sticky, rich karydopita (waltnut cake) or loukoumades (doughnuts).
Walking inside Nektarios’s is like stepping back in time: marble floors, polished concrete, postcards and photos of family from another era, and, of course, a cluster of saints’ icons around the till.
We always sit on the waterfront watching the ducks that Nektarios feeds: two Muscovy and four white ducks quacking gently, swimming on the far side of the bay in the morning, chasing each other for scraps. Nobody can walk past the village duck house without paying it some attention, and especially not the cats, who are not at all after the ducks or their eggs, but I think are interested to know if there are any cake treats being fed to the ducks that they can pilfer.
In the afternoon, whether it’s a cup of mountain tea in winter or ouzo in summer, we watch the clouds and light change, as the sky fades into pink we solve if not the world’s problems, then at least our own. When he shuts for about eight weeks, sometime between January and March, we are absolutely lost. But at least we always have the cats.
