Well, none of the other names seem to fit, so she may well remain "Florence". We've got over our initial awe of each other. She now disapproves of my smoking and my going out every day to earn cat biscuits. I am relearning the horrific smell of freshly coiled cat turd.
Florence is, however, astonishingly well housetrained, has brilliant manners with guests, and has finally worked out how to share a double bed. She now lurks down the bottom of it, letting me get at least four hours of unbroken sleep before she crawls up to my face and stares into it, purring loudly until I wake up and yell with fear.
In the style of The London Paper, her favorite discovery has been how to get under the duvet. I'll frequently find a slow-moving Pyrennees purring its way across the bedroom.
We've also tried the exterior world. I let her onto the landing outside my flat last night. "So long sucker!" she cried, darting off round the corner. Five seconds later she came bolting back and hid under the bed. But we'll get there.