GOLDENEYES : PART DEUX : THE TRUTH IS OUT …

Now, where were we…? Ah, yes - the mysterious furry stranger was nicking our cats' grub, scaring the daylights out of Sparky, and then disappearing like a phantom into the night.

Well, the mysterious disappearing part diminished a few days later when I was standing at the cooker in the kitchen, stirring a pot, and a questioning little furry black face peeped round the corner of the cupboard nearest the door. He looked at me, and I looked back and said "I think you've made a mistake, don't you?" The face disappeared and the cat flap quietly flapped. Bold! Not the word for it. Of course, this was just the start of the end. The endearing face started peeping in more often, and the flick of a tail disappearing through the cat flap became a little furry figure sitting sadly on the mat - but still near the cat flap.

Then the furry face started to come in as soon as it sensed us in the kitchen. Thi, of course, rapidly escalated to wooing technique, invariably aimed at me. (Do they know a sucker just by sight?). First he came in and sat looking up at me. He had a sort of pouty little lip that might have been a missing tooth, or just a quirk of nature, but it was rather endearing. Then he ventured to the rub round the legs, and to present a head to stroke. This was clearly a cat accustomed to people. And to manipulating them.

It escalated from this to a stroll into the lounge to examine the cat nip link, and have a play. Then it went on to a wander further in, and a stare and winsome look at my husband. (Always keep a sucker in reserve). Soon he was coming in the cat flap so often that we realised he was just sitting on the step outside, and every time I went out into the kitchen I could see two yellow eyes in a coal black face staring through. At night the effect was similar to those pictures that you stare at and suddenly a face emerges. Quite freaky, actually. From there he could also spy on Sparky and see when she ventured out. It must have irked her no end, because raiding the cats' plates was usually her perk.

He really was rather sweet. He was a very fluffy short-hair, and had not a hint of another colour anywhere on him, except the eyes. Yet, for all that he was so endearing, I just couldn't quite relax with him. He clearly wasn't a stray, but had he left home for a reason? And all the time he was chirruping and winding round our legs, his tail never stopped swishing backwards and forwards. One day I went to give the Big Girl some cat crunch and as soon as I picked up the box, and it gave a familiar rattle, he was through the flap and had his head into her plate before she could even move. If ever a cat exuded affront it was her. Imagine Queen Victoria being mooned by the Royal butler. After that I confess that I gave him his own little plate by the door, just for an easy life.

We never saw him during the day, and I started to think he must be Cat of Dracula or something. Of course, matters finally came to a head. It had become quite a little campaign. First he could be found sitting on the kitchen mat. Then he would come further in and sit by the patio door and the cat nip toys. Then he came further in and sat by my husband's chair. Then finally he came up on the sofa and sat on my lap. Talk about getting all four paws under the table. This was (sort of ) OK, until the night when he was sitting cosily beside me with his paws on my lap (and his tail still swishing) and the Big Girl came down from snoozing on the bed upstairs. At the sight of her, he let out a deafening and really unpleasant yowl , that went on to all sort of obnoxious insults (and I don't even actually speak Cat). She just sat and stared coldly at him. I leapt up and shooed him out into the kitchen - and out of the cat flap. He came back, I shooed, he came back. I shooed, he came back - and finally I squirted water. He didn't come back. But he sat staring most reproachfully through the cat flap. I felt half rotten and half relieved.

So then we did what we usually find most effective in these sort of situations - we went to bed and left them all to it. Well, we can only think that stern cat words were exchanged during that night, because we had no trouble at all the next night. In fact, after that he seemed to disappear completely, and I felt relieved that he had clearly gone home to whomever he had been playing hooky from.

Then, suddenly, this week, I saw a little face quite boldly looking in through the patio door. When I went over to the door, he shot away, and as he scuttled off down the garden, I saw that he was wearing a brand new green glow-in-the-dark cat collar. It shone brightly in the night and must have been a real handicap to his stealthy, stalking activities. It also said that someone is sending out a clear message that this is their cat, and they want everyone to know it. Phew, what a relief. Now the cats can go back into the kitchen without an escort, and Sparky has stopped looking over her shoulder all the time. Normality has resumed.

In the end it seems that he wasn't a sorry, unloved, starving, homeless stray. He was just a very, naughty boy.

Thelma Mitchell © 2004