Cato
My beautiful little stray is dead. He went out for some fresh air at half-past-four on Wednesday afternoon, and some swine ran him over and killed him right outside our gate. They didn't even have the decency to knock on the door and tell us, but instead my father found him when he came back from a meeting at half-past-eight.

He had been with us for ten weeks and had developed from a frightened, hungry creature, always mewing who shied away from people and wolfed his food for fear that there would not be another meal, to a happy pet who lay in front of the fire or on a chair, sofa or bed, sleek, well fed and happily purring. While no-one was planning to have a third cat, he could have stayed here quite happily, and grown to be a much loved pet. Albert already saw him as a friend; he was also outside on Wednesday evening, but hasn't stepped out of the door since - not that I would ever let a cat out on November 5th anyway, but he hasn't even tried to go out.