While Longtail, as an up-and-coming wannabe alpha-male, had his mind on matters of territory and dominance, Dinky’s thoughts were a million miles away. He was a romantic, a sensitive cat who was also sensitive to the feelings of others, and he had given his heart to Quink.

She started to spend more time in the drive; she discovered the front path although she was quick to disappear if she thought a human might appear out of the front door.

She started sitting outside the garden gate, although she didn’t come in – she remained as feral as ever.

And the happy couple adventured in the fields, whiling away the time.

Back in the drive, they spent time in quiet contemplation together, staring out over the fields.

And then Quink became ill. Over just a week or two, her condition deteriorated. She disappeared, back in the fields opposite from where she had come, coming back across the road only once or twice to nap in the fields where the spring groundsel made a soft cushion.

And, so she was gone. Dinky mourned his loss. He sat on the wall, in the spot where once they sat together, staring across the fields. Maybe he still expected her to walk through the gate, or maybe that was just in his dreams.