The kittens were growing. They were still strongly bonded but developing their own characters too.

Then, around the age of 11 weeks, Blackfur became ill. His face swelled, then his jaw and the side of his head. We thought at first he was teething, but when it started to impede his eating we realised it wasn’t going to resolve itself.

So, one afternoon at teatime, we explained to him that he might need some help to get better, and if he went to the cat doctor, it would necessitate leaving the garden. None of the cats had ever been taken to the vet before, and we would not have been able to trap most of them as they were fiercely feral. But five minutes later, we found Blackfur sitting quietly behind the garden gate. He knew he had to leave, and he was ready to go.

The vet diagnosed an abscess. They had never drawn so much pus out of an 11-week-old kitten’s head. First a syringe, then handful after handful of paper towels to catch the thick liquid, and eventually a stainless steel dish. It just kept pouring out. Blackfur was well-behaved. He had the necessary injections and we returned home knowing that, if the rest of the pus didn’t drain on its own, he would need surgery. We sat up all night on the sofa and, at 5am, Blackfur shook himself vigorously. To our great relief, the abscess burst and drained, so no surgery would be needed.

Five minutes before his early-morning return to the vet, Blackfur returned to his carrier where he sat and waited patiently. He was a smart cat who ‘understood’ things. He had never been indoors before, never been away from his family, but his behaviour had been so mature, his understanding so complete. He was an extraordinary cat.

The vet was happy. Blackfur was happy, and we were happy. An hour later, he was back in the garden, once again reunited with his family.