In the early days, it was a standing joke that the local female cats who visited The Cat’s garden were not exactly fast-moving, whiling away the minutes ambling towards the garden where they knew there would be food available, hoping against hope that a fresh steak or maybe some nicely filleted salmon might magically land in front of them before they had to expend any energy scaling the wall, or risk coming face to face with the fierceness that was The Cat.

Of course, the local ladies could move a great speed … when they needed to. But most of the time they (and likewise The Cat) believed in conserving energy, and this was obvious in their body language.

Visitor Cat arrived in The Cat’s garden in the winter, looking for food. On that particular day, The Cat was out on business in the surrounding fields and Visitor had time to clear the breakfast dish, have a sniff around and generally case the joint, all at her own speed – slowly. She obviously liked what she saw (probably swayed by the ready access to tasty food and the lack of any impediment to her access).

Maybe this lured her into a false sense of security. The similarities in appearance between her and The Cat were not the sign of any fond familial bond, as evidenced when The Cat clapped eyes on Visitor in the garden a few weeks later. There was a clatter as the wooden board which the dry food was sprinkled on was used as starting blocks for Visitor Cat’s dash across the garden. She must have been moving relatively fast (for her) because she looked twice as long as she had done when she arrived.

She headed straight for her emergency exit, up a nearby ancient wooden garden ladder which took her into the vine and within sight of the wall from which she could jump down into the fields.

The speed of her progress along the top of the wall to a safe spot from which she could jump down might have been classed as ‘walking pace’ for anyone else – for Visitor, it was the equivalent of an Olympic sprint. There was a flash of a fluffy, tortoiseshell tail, and she was gone.

In a relatively short time, The Cat’s garden seemed to have acquired the feline equivalent of three Michelin stars when it came to feline dining. All in all, it was pretty irresistible. And so Visitor Cat decided that the lure of the breakfast dish was too great. Maybe The Cat would be there, maybe not. Despite her earlier experience, it was worth the risk to Visitor Cat, all kittened up and expanding on a daily basis and very, very hungry.

In she came, surprisingly agile in spite of her shape. Look left, look right. Safe? Then proceed. But The Cat was not in her usual place. She was under the water tank on the veranda. In the dark. Well hidden. And she could see everything, the whole garden, all the comings and goings. Visitor Cat’s coming was brief. Her going was even briefer. The Cat shot out from under the tank like a bullet, her own kittened up shape proving no hindrance in her pursuit of this feline floozy. ‘How dare she enter my garden? Look at her, the tart. Begone, you loose woman!’ Two heavily pregnant, heavily furred cats, nose to tail, across the garden, up the vine, onto the wall.

And officially out of the garden, as far as The Cat was concerned. That would do for now. Job done.