Frida is, of course, named for the artist Frida Kahlo. We visited Frida’s home in Mexico when we were there, and her life has always fascinated me. Her paintings, dark but somehow still beautiful, haunt me. I think they might even have inspired the novella I’m working on at the moment. As you will know, Frida always painted herself with an impressive monobrow. Thus the name. Frida was the first to eat from my hand, but is also the least brave. She doesn’t jump around quite as much as her housemate, and she often burrows her way under the bedding so I lose her.
Audrey wouldn’t let me touch her for the first few days. She could run – fast – so she always outran my advances. I was overly timid, perhaps, until my Mother-in-law-sister came over and just reached into Audrey’s hidey-hole and fished her out. Since then, Audrey is happy to be held as long as you don’t annoy her and then she’ll give you a nip on the finger. She jumps around the palace like a crazy when I’m not there, and has started to be a little braver about doing it while I’m in the room.
As I type, they are both listening to Leonard Cohen with me, and even Frida has popped her head out for a little exploration.