‘Aha! So, they aren’t entirely good and flawless, as others might think!’ our sister remarks, trying to spoil our admiration and delight.

I flinch in surprise, when Fiona shows her interest at last. Then I look at Flynn, who frowns and clenches his teeth.

‘Anything interesting about their families and she-ants?’ sister asks, bending over the anthill. All this is boring for me.’

‘Well… Ants have a queen. She can live for many years and have millions of babies!’

‘Oh, that’s amazing!’ Fiona exclaims and jumps with joy.

‘Hush, you silly! See? You are disturbing them!’ I whisper.

‘Do they hear us, Dad?’ brother asks.

‘Ants don't have ears, kid,’ Father remarks. ‘But Fred is right, we have to get out of here. It’s their territory and we are not welcome.

I can’t fall asleep, thinking about ants and their ability to communicate without any ears, and ask Flynn, ‘If ants can’t hear, so they don’t talk?’

‘No idea, bro! What do you think?’

‘I think you should better keep silence, because I want to sleep,’ Fiona breaks in.

‘I suppose, they use the antennae they have got on their heads,’ I whisper.

‘Terrific! They move them to talk!’ my brother says miming the action.

‘But what if they want to chat at night?’

‘They sleep at night, stupid head! And SO DO I!’ the sister snaps.

‘I think, we should ask Dad about this, right?’ I offer.

‘We might go there tomorrow and watch them! Flynn suggests.

‘Good idea!’

‘Oh, you might go there right now! I would be awfully happy then! Fiona interrupts angrily, sitting upright.

‘I see, you envy us!’ I say.

‘Me? Why should I?’

‘Because we don’t ask you to join us!’

‘Pf-f-f! Who needs you and your ants?’ she says with contempt.

‘Great! We can do pretty well without you too!’ I exclaim.

‘Do whatever you want and shut up at last!’ Fiona growls.

‘You shut up, cabbage head!’ my brother steps in.

‘A whole day of silence for all of you, for lack of respect to each other,’ Father concludes.

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.

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