Smoky hard at work in his new role as a catnip mouse exterminator. They don’t stand a chance.

‘Ze mice, zey are everywhere. I shall kill zem all!’

It’s been a big day for Smoky. He’s been here ten days now, so he’s settling in very well. Last weekend we let him look out of the front door, but, although he seemed curious about what was outside, he could not be persuaded to cross the threshold. Today, though, he had a little wander out onto the balcony. It’s not very inspiring in itself, being all concrete and with iron railings. Through the clear plastic attached to the inside of the railings, he could see the back lawns below. Too many gaps under the fence, however, made us feel anxious for his safety, and as Smoky ducked his head underneath to try for a closer look at the ground floor flats’ lawns, we felt it was time he came back in, and he seemed quite happy to do so. Soon, when the weather warms up (if it ever does) we’ll take him downstairs to the back garden and he can explore properly. Shana has ordered him a dead cool black harness and we reckon he’ll think he’s a ninja cat. Meanwhile, he’s managed to squeeze in some extra snoozing time this evening, as shown by the pics that top and tail this post. Click the images and cup your hand to your ear: you can probably hear him purring.

Getting a pet is just the start of a whole host of new and fun experiences. Pet insurance, for example. When Shana suggested that we get Smoky insured, I was sceptical. I mean, he can’t even drive, so what’s the point? But eventually I came round to Shana’s way of thinking.

Insurance, however, is not cheap, as you might have noticed if you are a car owner. It is essential to shop around for lots of quotes. Shana is mulling over a few offers at the moment: reasonable premiums without an extortionate excess. Personally, I’d just put Smoky’s name down for some of that budget third party fire and theft cover if it were available for pets. On no account, though, will I be bullied into keeping him in a secure garage overnight. And he is certainly not having a steering lock fitted; he’s a cat, not a convertible!

And no, we’re not going to fall for the old trick (ofen used in pensions adverts) of signing up just because someone offers us a free pen. If we want a free writing implement, we’ll go and ‘borrow’ one of those little stubby pencils from the local turf accountant’s. Honestly, what kind of sucker falls for the free biro spiel these days? Try that on us, pal, and we’ll come and scribble all over your wallpaper, so there!

‘Now that we have our own cat,’ said Shana, ‘we have the perfect way of keeping all the other neighbourhood moggies off the garden.’

‘Oh?’ I said, intrigued but laconic.

‘All we have to do,’ said Shana, blathering on regardless, ‘is take some of Smoky’s poop and deposit it at the edge of the rear border where other cats intrude. They will naturally understand that our garden is now Smoky’s dominion and will therefore keep away.’

‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘As Smoky has been with us a week we should have a goodly amount to scatter. I’ll drop it at the foot of the elder tree at the end of the path.’

‘Better not take the whole lot out,’ said Shana, frowning informatively at me. ‘If you overdo it, any cat that gets in will think our garden is presided over by a cat with a bad case of-’

‘-the squits,’ I said, finishing Shana’s cautionary sentence and realising the error of my poop-related ways. ‘I didn’t mean it though,’ I said.

‘Oh?’ said Shana, realising it was now her turn to be terse.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t really take a whole bag full of moggy droppings out there. I was just being faeces-tious.’