This marvellous creature, Number One Son to The Cat, graced the garden, walls, driveway, path, windowcills, next door’s aviary roof, and fields far and wide. A loyal and trusty chap, he would appear for breakfast after a good night out at The Arches, a dab of engine oil still faintly visible behind each ear, sometimes with a daub of blue or green paint (or possibly what looked suspiciously like greasy tyremarks) on his fur. BattleCat Enterprise, his entrepreneurial endeavour, boasted a string of bonded warehouses housing his alternative brand of ‘Whiskahs’ pouches (‘don’t let your cat be a battered battle cat, try Whiskahs Pouches for a better battle cat’). Despite the Tail Incident and a particularly hard winter taking their toll, he remained at his mother’s side until a younger brother grew brave and old enough to take on the protective mantle and Ana Half-Tail moved on to pastures new.