Boris is our cat. He came to our garden five years ago. Back then he was a stray - so thin and scraggy that my darling wife took pity on him, fed him and so of course he kept coming back. It wasn't long before he got his little black and white paws over the threshold. All I could think of was the twenty years of commitment, the fleas, the vet's fees, the cattery fees, the cost of catfood, the little "accidents" that cats will tend to have on your best carpet. He decided to join us just after we'd had expensive PVC doors installed - so no cat flaps. At night, Boris sleeps in his kennel - unless it's antarctically cold outside. In spite of myself, I have grown to love this furry animal. He miaows at me then walks away with his feline earholes pinned back, expecting me to follow. When he turns left he wants out but when he turns right he wants feeding.
Late one evening, I once saw him crossing a major road two hundred yards from our house. Why? Where was he going? I wonder if they make little video cameras that can be strapped to cats' heads so that one of the great mysteries of the universe might be untangled - What exactly do cats do at night?