The cat purrs as it winds round the woman’s thick ankles, mia vecchia, mia cucina, mia sedia. My old woman, my kitchen, my chair. Usually Valentina purrs in smoky Italian but sometimes the old women doesn’t know the right words to give the cat or is too weary to bother. The woman learned a little Italian late, mostly from a phrase book and CD. Then picked it up again, online, even later. So they won’t get dementia, supposedly. Valentina is a bright cat. She definitely recognises latte, formaggio and gelato. Probably ucelli, birds. Maybe trovi il topo, find the mouse. No sense in teaching a cat words like ristorante and aeroporto.

To conserve energy, the woman keeps their lives simple. She skips non-essentials like maintaining a worm farm, recycling and vacuuming. Cat hair clings to her clothing, floats through the dark narrow house. These days Valentina, who sleeps sopra il letto, on the bed, has to walk up a ramp or be lifted.