Misch, my catSo, I was out for a walk the other day, and as usual, Misch was following behind. I stopped to say ‘Bonjour’ to a lady who was sitting admiring the sea-view. She told me that this was the cat that belonged to the English Gentleman. I replied that I knew it was and the penny dropped: ‘Ah, monsieur, c’est vous?’

But I did wonder how it was I was now being recognised as Misch’s owner. Then a friend showed me the ‘Gazette de la Haute Ville’. There was a piece about the local cats and an entry for Misch:

Tiens, voici Misch. Menue. Noire tigrée, distinguée avec sa clochette au cou. Seulement Misch ne parle qu’anglais. Il faut suivre. Comme elle suit, elle-même, son maître. Où qu’il aille. Sacrèe Misch.

Well, here’s Misch. Small. Dark tabby, distinguished with a little bell around her neck. Misch speaks only English. She must be followed. As she herself follows her master. Wherever he goes. Holy Misch!.

So there we have it. It’s official. I am now the English gentleman with the cat that follows. I should make a complaint on her behalf as she is in fact, trilingual (English, French… and, of course, Cat).