Patches was originally our neighbour's cat but he started spending all his time in our yard and eventually he moved in with Rog. He also made himself known with all the neighbours, poking into their homes — he used to come over here and open all the cupboards and the downstairs loo, flicking the doors open with his paw, so it was easy to tell when Patches was in the house — if all the doors were left open, he was in here somewhere. And if the water from the water bowl was all over the floor, then he'd flicked that all out of the bowl — what that was all about, I never figured out. He just made himself at home wherever he was, and would wind himself round your legs, tripping you up half the time. He'd tap at Rog's loft window at night to be let in, and then would wake Rog around 4 to be let out. He could be a right pain but what neither of us had realised was how much he'd become a part of our lives. After all, he wasn't a cat we'd chosen, he just started living here, and played his cards right with The Wallace, always playing the subserviant role to him so the two of them became fast friends. He was only with us for about 2 years but has left an impression that will last much longer.