There are six crool cats living here. Some of them were born here (underneath one of the beds upstairs), some were brought here by us, and one just waltzed in, checked out contents of the fridge, and decided to stay.

This is me, with Herbert sitting where she (yes, she) likes to sit. Herbert is a cantankerous old ratbag. Ignore her at your peril.

Claudia relaxing in the grass on the first sunny day of spring. This is not a bright cat, but very friendly.

This is the Pirate, a scraggy, skinny little thing who somehow is a hugely successful huntress. She was the runt of the litter, chosen to be kept by my young son because of the eyepatch that gives her the name.

Tarrington, as befits a cat with such a name, is a very dignified character. He was named by one of my daughters, who found the name in a short story by Saki, and decided that Tarrington would suit the (then) small ginger moggie. Better than Spoopin, anyway.

Alvur Snaer was originally a white kitten, and SWosf dearly wanted a white cat. But he came here under false pretences, as when he grew up a bit his face and ears turned ginger.

This is the interloper. Tillie used to live a few doors away, but after comparing the size and frequency of meals with those at her original home, she decided that we were the sort of people she liked.