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affably. She takes a look at me and smiles but doesn't answer. Must be a snob I figure.

      'She's Russian, silly, she doesn't speak English; at least not much,' says the fluffy black number in the pen next to her. 'She thinks she's a ballerina. At least that's what we think she thinks; either that or an acrobat or gymnast. Y'know these Russians are always athletic, serious and single-minded. She only came in last night and none of us has figured her out yet. Anyhow, I'm Maharani Shani, but my deuxjambs call me Taya. What's your name?'

      'I'm Juno, but I get called Megsy.'

      "Hmmph and they wonder why we don't come when they call us. I mean you couldn't ever confuse Megsy with Juno, or Taya with Maharani Shani.'

      'That's for sure. So how long're you in for?'

      'Just a week. I came in last night, too. But I've been here before so I know what to expect. It's pretty good, really. You been here before?'

      'No. I've only been to alCATraz, which was really horrible compared to this.'

      'Yeah, I've heard that. Hey Rocky, you've been to alCATraz haven't you?'

      'Yeah,' says a deep throaty voice a few pens down. 'Terrible place, really terrible. Literally no room to swing a- well, you know.'

      'Yeah I was there for a weekend once,' a squeaky voice pipes up. 'I spent the whole time with my head in my armpit just hoping and praying it'd be over soon. I gave my owners the real cold shoulder for a few days after that ordeal, so I think they must have got the hint. I just knew this place was going to be better the minute we came in the front door. I'm Roger by the way, I'm the teezee in 17.'

      'Hi Roger. You're still pretty young, I'm guessing.'

      'Yep, just four months old. And yeah I know my voice is still a bit squeaky, but yours would be too if you'd just had your notties cut off.'

      'Oh you poor boy. Is it still sore?' I ask.

      'Nah, I'm tough.'

      'He's not really, you know,' whispers Maharani Shani. 'He cries himself to sleep at night'.

      'I do not,' Roger splutters.

      'You do too, lad,' says Rocky in his gravelly voice. 'But hey, that's what all wussy pussies do.'

      'Don't be so mean,' an even deeper voice says. 'The poor lad's just homesick that's all. Even the best of us get homesick. Hi there Juno, I'm Daniel Coon.'

      'But we all just call him Big Dan,' Rocky says. 'He's a Maine Coon you know, so of course being American means he's big, and I mean reeaal big. I thought I was big until I met Big Dan.'

      I realise I'm having trouble hearing what they're saying because of the incessant siren blaring. 'What's with that really arrgarg siren?' I ask.

      Maharani tips her head to the side as though she doesn't understand. 'Sire… oh siren. Ha ha. That's not a siren, that's Juniper. Hopefully she'll shut up soon. She goes off every time someone comes in. It is really arrgarg isn't it?'

      I jump down from the shelf onto the ramp and then to the floor and, as I do so, I catch Maharani trying to stifle a giggle.

      'What are you laughing at then?' I ask, eyeballing her.

      She titters. 'You just looked so funny when you did that; what with all that flab flopping around, I thought you were going to trip over yourself.'

      'Yeah, well you're no anorexic either.'

      'Maybe, but at least my belly's not dragging on the floor. Boy do you need some exercise or something. You'd better join us girls after catnap hour then.'

      'After catnap? Why what happens then?'

      'You name it: catisthenics, aerobics, line dancing, singing, drama. Or Red and Mars sometimes run tai chi or tae kwon do classes. It just depends on the expertise of who's in here. You now, everyone has a talent to share,' Maharani answers.

      'Who are Red and Mars?'

      'Huh, oh sorry Thai and Tao I mean.'

      'Why do you call them Red and Mars?'

      Maharani looks across to the two Siamese and shrugs. 'Can I tell her guys?'

      'If you have to, we know you will anyway,' they reply in unison.

      'It comes from their breeder's names.'

      'What's a breeder's name?'

      'It's the name a breeder gives to pedigree kisskies and it's usually a real mouthful.'

      'What's a pedigree kisskie? I haven't heard of those.'

      I hear Big Dan clear his throat. 'Maybe I could explain that. A pedigree relates to a kisskie's ancatsors and whether they're good specimens of the specific characteristics of the breed.'

      'Uh huh, so how do you find out about your pedigree? I'd like to know about mine.'

      Maharani, Red, Mars and Rocky all crack up laughing.

      'What, what?' I ask impatiently.

      'You're not an ecsotique, so you don't have a pedigree,' Maharani says.

      'How would you know?'

      'Well d'oh, I don't really think that a big fat blobby white and ginger puddn's going to have any very special relatives hiding in her background. More likely your umbi just got knocked up by the neighbourhood boss feeli.'

      'Now wait a minute, my umbi wasn't like that. She was always very particular.'

      'She may well have been particular, but that doesn't mean you've got any pedigree blood in you. You're just a wuzzer, so you'd better learn to live with it,' Maharani says.

      'So what about you, do you have a pedigree?'

      Maharani puts her head down and looks sideways. 'Well it's not always so simple… '

      'Don't avoid the question, I presume either you have or you haven't.'

      'Mmm, I've got a part pedigree. My umbi's umbi was a pure-bred Persian but she… well she, shall we say, had a liaison with a, um, boss wuzzer feeli. And then my umbi well she sort of did too.'

      'So you're a quarter Persian?' I chuckle. 'Well at least I'm a full-blooded wuzzer; not a quarter of something special.'

      Maharani huffs and turns away, flicking her tail at me.

      'You didn't tell me how Red and Mars got their names.'

      'So ask them,' Maharani says huffily.

      'Our pedigree names,' Thai says, 'and don't laugh, our names are Hazelvale Mongkut King of Siam Mr Red Tulip and Hazelvale Mongkut King of Siam Mr Mars Bar.'

      'Ha ha ha,' I crack up, and flop on my side laughing out loud. 'What's with the chocolate bars?'

      'Obviously, we're chocolate point Siamese, so we can only suppose our breeder thought it was funny.'

      'It sure is,' I splutter. 'But then Red and Mars are a whole lot better than Donald and Derek'.

      'If you think that's funny, you ought to hear Zsa Zsa's pedigree name,' Mars says, obviously trying to change the subject. 'Let's see, it's Superstarz Hollywood Honeybunch Prissy Miss Delilah. That's right isn't it, Zsa Zsa?'

      There's a momentary pause and a well-rehearsed Jane Russell sort of voice replies, 'Yes, that is correct, Mars. And I do wish you'd call me Christobel. My parents were both highly awarded at all the shows.'

      'Yeah, born on a bed of blue ribbons, that one,' Rocky pipes up.

      'Oh, don't be so insolent and unpleasant, you old wuzzer. There's nothing wrong with being proud of your lineage. Besides, I'm going to be a queen when I get out of here.'

      'Oh sure,' Maharani chimes in. 'I can just see the pageantry, Queen Zsa Zsa of… where?'

      'Oh shoosh, you silly girl. I'm really going to be a queen. My deuxjambs have an extremely handsome ecsotique chinchilla lined up for me to…

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