A few months ago a male ginger cat sauntered on to our patio and begged food. He's been coming back on and off ever since for his breakfast and tea.
I already had a name waiting for him - Harold - pronounced 'arrold for Harold Shand in The Long Good Friday.
Harold has not been allowed in the house as male cats have a rather malodorous way of marking their territory.
Maggie said it was time to get it sorted out and she took charge. So poor old Harold was captured tonight, put into a plastic cage and taken off to the vet where he is now languishing waiting for a check up to make sure he's fit before he gets his balls chopped off. All for the long term good really. He'll soon be able to kip on our sofa and live the pampered life of a house cat, provided of course he ever forgives us for his false imprisonment and comes anywhere near the house again.
I'm just a bit worried about the poor little sod. He doesn't really know he can trust us yet and he must be a bit scared waiting at the vets and wondering what's going on.