There are times when one realises that Mrs Grey Cat’s wiliness has its limitations. She is shut in the back kitchen at night lest she beat up Miss Kit; apart from feeling that Miss Kit is entitled to a restful night’s sleep, we feel that we might legitimately look for one ourselves, and outbreaks of squalling and thumping beneath the bed are not good for anyone. Last night, Mrs Grey was not to be found in any of her usual haunts. It was a very mild night, so windows were open, and I thought it very possible that she had decided to stop out. Miss Kit and I had gone to bed, while the NP finished up some stuff on the computer in the adjacent room, when there was a certain shivering of the bedroom curtains. Miss Kit sat bolt upright and began to growl. Mrs Grey had, it become clear, retreated to the roof of the sitting-room bow window, which of course provides a slanting but flattish surface immediately below the (open) window of the bedroom, to bide her time. Pretty dash clever. Except that of course she chose to manifest herself at a point when the lights were still on and the household not yet retired; it was the work of moments to climb into a skirt, seize her and consign her to Colditz as usual. It was an excellent idea. But she blew it. In future I’ll shine a torch over the leads.