One of the good things about looking after feral cats was that they avoided humans they didn’t know (and some even avoided humans they did know!) so, as far as most passers-by were concerned, the cats simply didn’t exist because they hid whenever strangers approached.

Next to The Cat’s garden was our neighbour’s aviary. The house itself was empty, but the aviary was looked after, the garden and land at the back was cultivated, and there was always a pail of water in the back garden for any thirsty cats who might be passing through. And it so happened that, in all the years we looked after the cats, there were only four occasions (that we know of) on which cats managed to get themselves trapped inside a property – and all four occasions involved our neighbour’s aviary and house.

Four occasions, three different cats, but one common feature – they were all black (or almost black) cats.

Madam Kiwi was the first; she was a timid cat with CH (cerebellar hypoplasia) and was probably the least likely cat we could have imagined to get herself locked inside the aviary. Looking down from the terrace once evening, we could see her inside. She was mewing, but she wasn’t too upset. By the following morning, she had settled down and, far from waiting behind the gate to make good her escape, I had to coax her out when I went to rescue her.

The second and third instances both featured Cheese. The first time, seeing me out of context (or maybe not wanting to be rescued!) Cheese ran away from me when I stepped through the aviary gate. Luckily the back door was also open and she quickly scaled the loquat tree, ran over the aviary roof and was back in The Cat’s garden long before I was. On her second occasion, she was again locked in overnight. When I gained access the following morning, Cheese was nowhere to be seen. And yet there were no gaps in the wire which were big enough for a cat to squeeze through. I called her, walked round and round, and eventually found her, fast asleep at the back of a ground-level nesting box which filled with lovely dry, comfy straw.

And the fourth was Raven. He was only a young cat, maybe one year old, and had taken to exploring the fields at the side of the garden, behind the aviary. One morning, he was noticeable by his absence at breakfast and it was only when the other human walked past our neighbour’s house that Raven’s voice could be heard loud and clear coming from behind the front door. He had managed to do what none of the others had done, and get himself locked inside the empty house. Once our kind neighbour was alerted and the back door opened, Raven quickly exited and headed for the breakfast bowl while the human made profuse apologies for the inconvenience.

Was it coincidental? Was it a black cat thing? Who knows!