I have deep walls but no rooms, and my floor is always shifting. I'm a place where rock is hunted, but no animals are living. What am I?

This was laid for Jerry, With a cheese to entice, and SNAP! He's caught! Or so Tom hoped

The good stuff can be hard to find, Soft, yet strong by design. I vanish with sorrow, sickness, or glee, Pulled from a box, used urgently. I crumble under pressure, yet serve my role - Please wash your hands when you're done.

My name means 'fresh' in Italian, but I am often centuries old. I am not painted on the wall; I become the wall itself as the plaster dries. What am I?

inhuman builders, artists with wings thousands and thousands of tiny little things i am their walls, their floors and their ceilings if you can harvest me, it's a humble way to make a living