My cat watching my dog at play

We spent Christmas in a posh hotel in Florence about ten years ago. Our fellow guests were either our age or older, mature, successful very middle-class couples. A small group of us bonded as the drinkers of the assemblage and would gather post-prandially in the small hotel bar for a glass or two of brandy and prosecco.

One night we returned to find what appeared to be an Italian "singles" night in full flow, complete with cheesey keyboard player and tiny dance-floor. The Italians were all turned out as you'd imagine; the men strutting around in smart suits, the women sat elegant in their fineries. If they actually had a drink it sat on the table in front of them, untouched. And the men and the women were separate from each other, much like at the start of the early teenage parties of my childhood, before the cheap cider and hormones kicked in. It was like a beautiful but entirely dead tableau.

Into this decorous scene spilled ten unfailingly polite and well-behaved, but entirely drunk bunch of Brits - joshing with the barman, calling out for some Abba, laughing and teasing, joking and smiling, and taking over the dance-floor for some bad dad dancing. The Italian women looked on. I think I would describe their look as being 95% undisguised disgust. However, if you looked closely enough, you could also catch occasional glimpses of something else - glimmers of envy - for our fun, our enjoyment, our unbuttonedness.

I've been reminded of this lately, ever since Bobby has had to share his house with our cat. I've never seen a dog and cat live together before and I've found it fascinating. In particular whenever the dog is playing ball or frisbee, or tag round the kitchen island, or mock fight or anything else that gets him besides himself with excitement I notice the cat looking on.

Sat there, quite beautifully, quite still, looking at Bobby with exactly the same look as those Italian women. Utter contempt mixed with a well-hidden and deeply suppressed desire to join in.

.