Our cat, Pilchen is a strange creature. I acquired her after weeks of asking “can we get a kitten?” relentlessly, until Michael finally gave in. When we went to the RSPCA there were about twenty six kittens in the enclosure, and Pilchen marched up to me, climbed onto my shoulder, and it seemed pointless to look any further since she’d clearly chosen me. She’s totally black, and has a torn ear from a fight with some other cat in the neighbourhood. She’s tiny, but pound for pound the toughest cat in the street. She’s also best friends with Mr Dog, which I think gives her a fearlessness the other cats lack.

This morning, I walked into the laundry to go to the toilet - which is through the laundry, just in case you were wondering. This is where Pilchen sleeps overnight, and I discovered her, drinking from the toilet, while perched half inside the bowl. Sure, a cat has to drink, but the disturbing thing is I gave her fresh water last night which was still in plentiful supply. She did have the grace to look like she’d been busted doing something unsavoury.

This evening, Miss M and I went out for dinner, because I’d had a fairly crap day and couldn’t face cooking any food. When we came home, we were eating icecream in Miss M’s room. I noticed Pilchen had come upstairs and was nosing around the doll’s house - and knocked over the miniature toilet because she was trying to get her nose inside! I swear I’m not making that up. Obviously the cat needs some kind of twelve step program, so I’m going to have to find Toilet Drinkers Anonymous and take her along.

Today I’m loving: tomorrow will be daylight savings, and I will be awake before those pesky birds are chirping outside my window.

Is she a bat or a cat?