Читать книгу The young fox, who raps - Rosemary Bloom - Страница 8

Gatto

Rufus and I have got a friend. It’s a cat. He’s fat and heavy. We often see him sleeping in or under a tree. He walks and speaks slowly. It irritates sometimes, because you might think, the cat ignores your presence and doesn’t want to talk at all.

When Rufus asked him about his name, typically, the cat’s answer wasn’t quick. Different people gave him different names. One of the old ladies he was living with last summer called him ‘Gatto’ and he liked it.

Rufus and I often think the same way. At that moment we gave each other a nod and started calling him by that name.

‘How old are you, Gatto?’ I ask.

‘Does it matter?’ he says. I don’t know what to answer.

‘If you don’t want to talk, just tell us. No biggie!’

‘You can keep it a secret if you want,’ Rufus says, who doesn’t like any awkward situations.