'Hi,' said the cat. 'Or do you prefer 'ave' these days?'

You're wondering how he did that, since cats don't have the same vocal tract as humans and mostly vocalise by producing variations on 'meow'. The short answer is that Gheorghenis do many things to outrage the laws of physics. A slightly longer one is that the voice appeared to come from somewhere outside, but near, the kitty's head. Think of ventriloquism, if the ventriloquist in question were invisible and located slightly above and to the viewer's left of the furry head of a large orange felis catus . On with the story, such as it is.

'Γεια σου,' I replied. 'We're mostly a Greek-speaking household. Radu, what are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see you.'

The cat sat up, lifted one leg in the air, and began cleaning himself, thus effectively preventing Demetrius from moving while at the same time affording his cousin an unnecessarily complete view of his feline anatomy. Demetrius sighed.

'Would you mind doing that elsewhere in the room?' he said. 'Cleo's liable to come in here at any minute to ask me about dinner, and I'd like to keep what few shreds of dignity I have left in front of the servants.'

For answer, the cat leapt off Demetrius' chest and settled in a sunny spot on the floor, stretching and yawning. Demetrius hauled himself off the klini and did some stretching exercises of his own. It was at this point that the cook decided to come in. Cleo, a plump, assertive woman in early middle age, didn't so much enter a room as arrive in it, like dawn or a thunderstorm. Cleo was more an event than a person.

'Will you be dining in, domine?' she started to ask, pronouncing the title, not as a form of respect but as if it were the name of a particularly annoying child. Before Demetrius could answer, however, she noticed the cat. 'Oh, a kitty!' she cooed, and ran to pick him up and pet him.

'Come, come, paidaki mou, let's find you something to eat,' she said gently to the unresisting cat as she carried him towards the back of the house. At the last minute she thought to call over her shoulder, 'Dinner's at prima noctis hora, if you're eating.' As she exited, Demetrius caught a definitely smug look from his cousin, who was purring in a loud and particularly self-satisfied manner.

'Thanks,' said Demetrius drily (and loudly). He called after her, 'Two for dinner!' If you haven't already filled that cat up with the best fish, he thought. Greeks love cats better than people. He suspected Radu knew this, which was why he was still a cat and not a humanoid. He chuckled and decided to go for a walk before dinner.

The streets leading down to the harbour were less busy than usual. Here and there people had risen from their naps and were running late-day errands. But there were fewer shops and stalls open than usual at this hour, and all the temples were closed. Demetrius consulted his mental calendar. Oh, no, it's the 9th of Maius. This was the first of three days – the odd-numbered ones, even days were 'unlucky' – of the feast of Lemuria. Cleo was going make him Do Things to get rid of ghosts, he just knew.

These are the most superstitious people on this or any other planet, he thought. He walked along the waterfront, breathed in the salt air of the Adriatic. He stopped and bought some yoghurt, a bag of pistachios (recently introduced and therefore a hot item that would be sure to please Cleo and the kids), and a handful of honeysuckle stems for the dinner table. It would add to the atmosphere.

From an upper window came the voice of a young woman singing:

While you live, shine! Never grieve,

For a little, life exists, time takes its toll.

Amen, child, he thought. While you live, shine. He broke off a branch of honeysuckle and threw it up through the window, enjoying the gasp of surprise and hurrying around the corner before the singer could poke an astonished head out to see who had thrown her the accolade.

Back at the villa, Demetrius found the household, such as it was, in the kitchen. Cleo was stirring a stewpot, the kids, Chryssanthi and her brother Argyros, were playing a game at a small table, while their father, Cleo's husband Telly, was as usual doing nothing in particular except drinking posca and ruminating to himself. Radu, still a cat, was lapping up milk from a saucer on the floor. This annoyed Demetrius, who wanted to talk to him and couldn't. He settled for delivering his purchases and sitting down to watch the kids play tavli.

Cleo treated his arrival with slightly less notice than she would have the movements of the cat, but she poured him a cup of posca, setting it in front of him as she moved from task to task about the kitchen. She favoured him with a glance.

'Who is coming for dinner, domine?'

'My cousin Radu is arriving,' he cast a warning look at the cat, which was now purring and weaving around the kids' feet. 'Don't worry: we can all still eat together.' Normally, if Demetrius had actual Romans for company, Cleo and her family stayed in the kitchen as a nod to the 'chattel slavery and class distinction' business. When nobody else was around, they all ate together. Demetrius liked the company and it made things easier.

Cleo shrugged. 'I hope he likes copadia.'

Demetrius gave the cat a speculative look. 'He's like me, he'll eat anything.' Hastily, 'Besides, your stew is the best in town.'

Cleo looked satisfied. 'The secret's in the defritum. I add just the right amount, not like some.'

Telly grunted agreement and whispered something to Argyros, some suggestion about the game. Chryssanthi noticed. 'Mama! Papa's helping Argyros! That's cheating!'

Cleo laughed. 'You're ten, paidi mou, he's only eight. It's all right if he gets help.'

'Tell you what, Chryssa,' said Demetrius. 'I'll help you. That will even out the odds.'

'Not really,' sniffed the little girl. 'You're a terrible tavli player.' The adults all laughed, and Telly winked at Demetrius. They played and laughed for a while, and Cleo continued to make dinner to her own exacting standards. Nobody noticed when the orange cat quietly slipped out of the kitchen.

DG

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