Napoleon heard the question coming from a huddle of secretaries, who were passing around a photograph, and began to wonder who had been pregnant. Reaching the group he discovered that it was actually a photograph of a kitten.
“What do you think?” Jenny asked him, handing him the image. “What should I call him?”
“Well, let me see,” he said, studying the photograph. “With the scruffy pale hair, blue eyes, and the ability to make women sigh, I think you should call him Illya.”
“Call who Illya,” asked the Russian, as he also entered the room.
Napoleon showed him the kitten.
“If you wished to name the cat after me, I would have no objection.”
He tried to keep his tone, and his expression, completely neutral, but failed.
“It is a handsome animal,” he said, with a grin. “I can see the resemblance.”