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Katerina’s Point Of View
After everyone else went to bed, I loved roaming around downstairs in the semi-darkness because the house felt different, more alive and vibrant, even in relative silence. It comforted me to know all doors and windows were locked, a habit of personally checking I had learned from many years in the service of my former government.
I also enjoyed a hide-and-seek game, guessing where Michelangelo hid, waiting to pounce and surprise me.
The darkest corners where the floor met the walls were adorned with curtain hems, a perfect fabric maze of folds for my dear Michelangelo to nestle quietly within. From there, he would observe everything and everyone, stalking if he chose or surprising with a leap, bound, or pounce if he wished. His presence added a touch of mystery to our home.
Once our night-time ritual of him captivating me, winding figure of eight loops around my feet was complete, I released him into the darkness come rain, hail, or snow. He always returned in the early morning, perfectly groomed and unfazed by the cold outdoors.
Our bedroom door had a catflap, which he used once security let him in. Peter never woke when Michelangelo leaped onto our bed, but I greeted him with a kiss on his forehead and a scratch under his chin.
By this late hour, my only companions on the bottom floor of Victor and Amy’s home were Diana and two security guards in a small reception room beside the front entrance. Our chef was far more diligent than anyone I’d known, always staying late. She naturally became a regular stop-off on my rounds.