The cat looked up from his no doubt very important task of lapping up stagnant water from the indentations in the drain cover as I called to him (discreetly) from the bedroom window. He jumped up onto the outdoor table expectantly.

"Go and let him in the patio door," suggests Big sleepily, enjoying his first lie-in of the half term holidays.

I go downstairs and do as he suggests, sliding the door open and making more discreet tooth-on-lip sucking noises, the kind of noise which, for reasons best known to no-one, seems to be ideal in attracting our feline friends. As usual, it works a treat. I hear the scuffling sound of "cat scrambling up fence", after which two paws and a slightly startled looking face appear amongst the strands of honeysuckle as he hauls himself to the top. After deciding on the best route through the tangled, woody fronds, he lands heavily, yet neatly, on the decking and strolls into the house, mewing a vague greeting on his way to his first stop, the kitchen. He examines the morsels on offer there and I leave him to it.

Later, after drying my hair, I come downstairs and find the two of them, Big and the cat, snuggled up on the sofa in mutual admiration. Now that Big is on holiday, the cat won't need to be ejected again before I leave for work.

I'm enjoying having the pleasure of the company of a cat without the responsibility and associated costs. You see, as I think I've mentioned before, the cat actually belongs to our next door neighbours, but he used to live in our house and hasn't quite got used to the new situation. Yes, that *does* mean that our next-door neighbours used to live in our house too - there is a saga attached to this which I won't go into now, suffice it to say, it involves some lies, a planning application, lots of angry people, some dirty looks and many muttered swear words. The upshot is, we don't really like our neighbours, but we do like their cat, and any successful attempt to coax him away from them is considered to be a small yet significant victory, in our eyes at least.

Luckily, he seems only too happy to oblige if it means somewhere comfortable for him to snooze - on top of the box which contains the lawnmower, or amongst a pile of junk on the sofa bed - some warm humans to snuggle with and meow at and some pieces of furniture to rub against. Oh, and we *may* have got him a little bowl into which we *sometimes* put a few snacks and a drink... Are we bad?

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Addendum

Dear Reader

Please don't fret if you don't hear from me for a while. We're on holiday for a week, starting tomorrow. I'm quite sure you'll manage without me.

Love Anxious