I came down one morning a few days back to find mine host at the foot of the stairs with a countenance of what, at first sighting, may have been terror, rage or bewilderment.

He announced to me that he, too, had recently descended the stairs, opened the door to the kitchen and that a cat had run past him.

I was now able to fully to understand the facial expression I had first encountered. And, indeed, any one of my possible interpretations would not have been far off the mark for - if he has a flaw - it is that Martin Dwyer does not like cats and certainly not cats in his house.

His reaction, he told me, was to open the front door and then lock himself in his office, in the, reasonable I suppose, hope or expectation that the offending cat would vacate the premises without causing him further alarm or consternation.

Now Martin declares himself not to have a powerful sense of smell so he did not engage himself, as the rest of us did, in seeking the progress of the cat with his nose.
Had anyone called-by at this moment they would have found Sile, Sue and myself sniffing corners of rooms, legs of chairs and their seats, carpets, sofas and beds in a manner that would surely have caused them to call-in the men in white coats to see if they could find cause for our aberrant behaviour.

Anyway, in due course we congratulated ourselves on having having plotted the offending beast's path and, after much washing and cleaning, we declared the evidence of the animal to have been eliminated and calm was restored to both Mr. Dwyer and the household.

Incident over.

Next day our daughter Hannah, with her friend Ousmane, arrived from London and, not knowing of the events of the previous day, drew Sue's and my attention to the undoubted aroma of cat at the entrance to their bedroom.
Since the odour seemed to dissipate as time went by we decided not to trouble our hosts with the matter knowing the degree of further distress it would surely precipitate.

Second incident denied.

Early next morning Hannah appeared at our bedroom door and informed us that they had been woken during the night by the sound of scratching in their room.
Her searches revealed that a cat had burrowed its way into the underside of their bed and was nestling amongst the springs!

She let the cat out, that is out of their room, into the rest of the house.

Now, I knew the extent of the dismay that would ensue if I were to inform our hosts that there was now, definitely, a cat loose in their abode.
So Hannah and I launched a further search and she quickly found cat in an adjacent bedroom.
We locked ourselves in with it and I set about trying to catch the terrified creature.

With the aid of a small carpet, and without loosing too much blood, I captured the unfortunate feline and, with it now in a firm arm-lock, I descended the stairs once more where I was met, once again, by M. Dwyer who, on seeing what he saw, rapidly regained the facial expressions that I had seen on my first descent at the beginning of this saga of the cat of Thezan.............

The unfortunate, offending creature just before its release...............

It is a pity that I look quite as demented as I do, but it was very early morning!......................