Animals in Athens.

We have been adopted by a kitten. He just walked into our kitchen through the open door, jumped up onto a chair and went to sleep. Once the children saw him it was a done deal. They have given him an unpronounceable Greek name that I can’t spell or even, when it comes right down to it, remember. I call him Cat because that is what he is and it suffices to differentiate him from the other members of our animal collection. We have a fish called Fish, and a squirrel called Squirrel as well as a tortoise called, strangely enough, Tortoise.
Whenever my children are allowed out of the house under their Grandfather’s supervision they come back with something that we really could have done without, however I am thankful for small mercies. For example the snakes, spiders and frogs that my youngest daughter has collected are all made of plastic. There is only one plastic creature in the house whose presence I object to, the green dinosaur which hangs from the light fitting in my living room clashes terribly with my burgundy, chesterfield, three piece suite. The only thing I object to more than this intoxicating pterodactyl is sharing my food with uninvited guests. My youngest daughter is not past running in from the garden and putting a snail in the salad, because they like lettuce.
I know very little about genetics but this fascination with all manner of creeping things can only have come from my sister Pauline who lives in a different country and sees her nieces, on average, once a year for a fortnight. Can anyone explain how this happened?