ROME - The Roman Republic, Julius Caesar, Shakespeare, "Et Tu Brute," Mussolini and the archaeology community of Italy vs. diluted calicos, tabbies, Persians, Siamese, "Il Gatti di Roma," "cat ladies," the mayor of Rome and the felines' allies in the Eternal City.

The battle over the Largo di Torre Argentina in the heart of the Italian capital pits visions of what should be, what is and what could be. In the middle are hundreds of cats who call the oldest ruins in Rome their home.

"Visit the place where emperors once ruled and cats now reign," trumpets the brochure of the cat sanctuary that set up shop inside the ruins 20 years ago.

That has set off a reaction of some politicians and preservationists who don't like seeing the place where Julius Caesar was stabbed to death turned into a combination petting zoo and litter box.

"The cat ladies are occupying one of the most important sites in Largo Argentina, and that is incompatible with the preservation of the monument," said Fedora Filippi, a federal Culture Ministry spokesman, in The New York Times last summer.

Not all politicians are siding with the effort to evict the four-legged residents

"I'm on the cats' side," Rome Mayor Gianni Alemanno tweeted late last year. "So is my own cat, Certosino." Alemanno has sought to portray the federal government as the bad guys and his local staff as pushed out of the decision-making process

The site is in the heart of Rome, just five minutes from the Pantheon. Nearby is the Piazza Venezia, where Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini exhorted his countrymen to go to war against the Americans, British and Russians. To build Italian pride in their past, Mussolini spent millions unearthing Roman temples and monuments. One of the lost treasures was the Largo Argentina.

From a historical perspective, it was a jewel. It was a rare Republican-era complex of temples, theaters and shops, from the time before the emperors. Research showed it was likely the Theater of Pompey, where the first emperor, Julius Caesar, was knifed by opposing senators who worried of his growing power. The act effectively ended the Republic and began the empire under his son, Augustus Caesar. The act was immortalized in Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar," where the mortally wounded emperor stares in disbelief at the bloody knife of Brutus, a senator he thought an ally. "Et tu, Brute?" - "You too, Brutus?"

But the history of the site was more impressive than what was left of the place itself. The marble was mostly long gone, leaving just a few columns and piles of the familiar Roman baked brick. Worst of all, the city had grown up over the site. After digging it out, the ruins were 15 feet below the street surface, creating a square block pit that required a hike down steps to explore. Gates were placed at the top of the staircases and, in typical Italian bureaucratic style, they were more often locked than open. Over the decades, work started and stopped on restoring the buildings - rows of numbered stones sit idly in one corner near a staircase. It never caught on as a major tourist site to rival the Colosseum and Vatican. The southeast corner of the temple area has become the evening hangout for drunks who urinate in and around an enclosed bus kiosk.

If humans did not want the place, it was a perfect hideout for the city's feral cats. With its many nooks and crannies, piles of stones, shady porticos and sunken position that gave the cats warning of interlopers, it was a near perfect habitat. Cats being great climbers, they would assume a sleepy but regal presence atop ruined pillars, drape themselves over ancient staircases or loll next to tablets with Latin or Greek inscriptions. Photos spread the word of the "cat temple." Tourists came and the Torre Argentina received new life as a tourist attraction - not because of Caesar, but cats.