I have had cats – as if one owns cats – all my adult life and always, somehow, also encountered a bunch of strays that I fed regularly and for whom I provided as much comfort and shelter as possible. My three old cats who travelled halfway across the world with me to a new home are no more, the last one dying at 19-years-old a few weeks ago.
However, the abandoned kitten, who looked more like a hamster than a cat and required four-hourly feeds day and night, is flourishing and I have no doubt he will grow into his massively bushy tail.
The feral mums have been neutered and I have taken full responsibility for them. I have, of course, been feeding them pretty much since I started living here.
I love having little animals around. I had said that I would have no more cats after the last of my English brood died – but then little Squeaker came along. I should love to have a dog again, but am concerned that I shall grow too old and feeble to provide enough exercise.
By the way, apparently, stroking a cat – which those of us with cats love to do as often as possible – reduces blood pressure. Quid pro quo. The other great thing, if you live on your own, is that you can chat away to your cat who will usually look as if it is paying attention and weighing your words. Indeed, you can still chat away to your cat if it's sound asleep on your shoulder – and why not?