In those days we had a cat, Cuddles, such a bad name for him the way he turned out. Cuddles had mangled ears and scars before he turned two years old. His approach to life was to try to be the king of the castle or die trying. His whole life from kitten-hood he stalked the surrounding neighbourhood, muscular, almost skinny. Not once did I ever see that feline flinch, no matter what noise was going on. The only time he ever earned his name was when he found Grace sitting in the garden and he would curl onto her lap - but only her. I can't tell you how special that made her feel, how happy. She would tell everyone he was her cat with a pride the eyes can't hide.