The first move

The turning point in our relationship, was the news that the flat I was occupying was going to be sold, and that the buyer wanted a vacant flat. Human N^o 1 was supposed to move with me, but the time was too short (he had a contract in his own flat) and there I was looking urgently for a new home. Under pressure, I found a place, at the last minute. Most of the move was done in the evening, and at the week-end (I was working the rest of the time!!!). All hands on deck, friends rallied round to help.
And on the last night, there we were, Human N^o1 and myself, looking around, just making sure we had forgotten nothing.
"What about HER?"
"Well, what..?"
"you're not going to leave her behind, are you?"
"But she's not mine!!!"
"She CHOSE YOU"

Ominous words! She was staring at me. I stared back at her. I stared at HIM. They were looking at me with such soft eyes....

"I didn't say anything to the landlady about a cat! She'll go mad!"
"Not at all! This little one is no trouble: she goes out, she eats, she sleeps...No trouble!"

And so she moved, too.

I cannot recall exactly when we chose the name "Duchesse", but I clearly remember why: it was because of her attitude, the way she used to wait for me (for us) at the front door, sitting, front paws crossed, she would get up, meow and stare, as if to say : "And what time do you call this???" with this haugty look that the upper class gives the staff.

"A wanderer himself, he is full of reproaches
if I am gone beyond the expected time"

(Samantha Armstrong)