The humans’ patience had paid off.

The Cat had decided that, having completed the first part of her rigorous training module in less than four years, maybe these particular humans were trustworthy. We were now allowed to stroke her, starting with the length of her back, and the back of her head. She never offered up her belly for cuddles, and we never lifted her off the ground – not in four years, not in five, not in ten. Never.

She took to following us round in the hope of getting some of her favourite munchie-crunchies – the brown ones with the hole in the middle – which she felt strongly were for her, and her alone (sorry, Ana). There were certain perks to being the boss, and sole access to special crunchies was apparently one of them. As it turned out, they were dog snacks which, according to the local pet shop, cats were much fonder of than were dogs.

Within a matter of weeks, she would eat from our hands. Well, so long as what was on offer was her special munchie-crunchies. Maybe we sneaked Ana a few when his mother wasn’t looking – but it would have been mean not to.