The Testarossa family

The Testarossa family Yes, that’s me you can see through the kitchen window. And yes, I’ve been in the flower bed again. Wanna make something of it? That’s one of my staff. Marisa. She’s the mother. Me? I’m Cat. That’s what everyone called me. Cat’s my surname. My first names varied. Shoo Cat. Get Out Of It Cat. Get Lost Cat. Some of them were ruder than that. Then I found these people. And they call me Suppertime Cat. And Come And Be Brushed Cat. And Let Me Stroke You Cat. This is a bit of all right, I can tell you. Here’s another of my staff. Antonia. She’s pretty good at the brushing and the feeding and so on. And if she’s got her nose in a book, she won’t notice me on her bed. Not until it’s too late, anyway. These two? Vittoria and Enzo. Let’s just call them staff in training. They have their moments, but they’re not very reliable yet. And that’s it. There was someone else once – I’ve caught Marisa looking at these pictures, and then she picked me up and cried on me. I am not a handkerchief! I thought about scratching her, but she is the hand that feeds me. Good job they’ve got me now to be the man about the house. They light this fire in the winter – I normally don’t have to ask more than once. Good. I see my bowl’s been filled again. This is it. My place. Now all I need is to find a pretty little she-cat to “spend some quality time with” – know what I mean? – and I’m totally sorted.