Like humans, cats have distinctive voices. And, as the cats we looked after during the first few years were for the most part feral and not approachable, it was important to recognise their voices and know whether they were in distress, fighting, or just singing.

So, having no recordings of the cats to share, the next two posts will give a light-hearted view of some of the feline voices we got to know during the time The Cat was with us. Please feel free to let your imagination run riot.

Mr Tiffin – in pre-combat mode, a light, lyric tenor with a slight air of hysteria.

Saturday – the strong silent type, although in more private moments when he thought no one was watching or listening, heard to utter a small and endearing miaow, totally at odds with his size.

Dinky – hard to put the variety of sounds a Bengal can muster into words. Maybe a touch of Cab Calloway garnished with a dusting of Alpine yodelling with some rumbles akin to a jet engine thrown in for good measure. And then some.

The Cat – her voice was seldom heard but when it was, provoked rather the reaction you would get if Queen Victoria had been amused and unexpectedly laughed out loud – a ‘good-heavens-was-that-what-I-thought-it-was?’ moment.

Sunday – an intimidating low-level growl accompanied by a piercing stare. Feed me now. It worked.

Kiwi – a small, polite miaow from a small, polite cat. Her miaow was not lightly given; she was a CH cat and as such considered every move she made carefully.

Pikabu – at this time, one of the newer arrivals at the night feeding bowl. His voice? Like expecting Plácido Domingo in his tenor days and being surprised when his voice emerged baritone.