Porcelain people and Bernard the cat

Angela's most favourite thing is most probably Bernard,
her stray and some what manky cat. It was never altogether clear who
aquired who but they have been together for almost three years now.
Dispite this, their friendship did not exactly start out on a good
footing. Bernard had taken to sneaking into Angela's ground floor flat
by whatever means available. He was not adverse to slipping in through
the bathroom window or even sneaking into her shopping basket as she
opened her front door. His presence, revealed only by the appearance of
mysterious grey furr balls behind the armchair and muddy footprints on
the bed linnen, had infuriated her to the point of taking drastic
action.


For three expensive months, in desperation, Angela purchased
every cat deterant known to man. Sprays, fierce looking ornaments,
exotic plants, there was nothing she didn't try. In less than a week
her flat resembled an extension to the local pest control department.
Bernard however, undeterred even by the aquisition of a large stuffed
Bulldog, was most impressed by her generosity. As a token of his
appreciation, he took to spraying his thank you's around her front door
as he made his departure.


Then one morning, six months into his spate of visiting,
Bernard disappeared. Suddenly Angela found she missed him. She missed
his furr balls. She craved his muddy paw prints. She even felt a great
sense of disapointment at the absence of mutilated sparrows and rodents
on her doorstep when she returned from her frequent shopping
trips.


She might have advertised the loss of her unlikely companion
if it weren't for her honesty. After all, she did not own him so she
could hardly demand his return could she? She wasn't entirelly
convinced that anyone could truly claim to own a creature such as
Bernard. He was a cat with attitude, a free spirit, not the kind to
live within the legislation of ownership. Instead she found herself
scouring under hedgerows and behind dustbins, desperate for even a
glimps of black and grey mottled furr. For matted and flea infested as
he was, it had not gone unnoticed to Angela that he had been the most
undemanding of all her callers. Sadly, after several weeks and no sign,
she feared he may have met an untimely end.


Then one evening with Winter fast approaching she opened her
front door, intending to leave her regular complaint to the milkman
concerning the poor state of her milk bottles and there it was. Proudly
presented, complete with protruding intestines, one most unfortunate
vole decorated her door mat. Moments later, to her greatest delight, a
most bedraggled pussy skulked past her into the kitchen. Here, with an
arogant flick of the tail, he deliberately plonked himself down infront
of the fridge and proceeded to wash.


"And what time do you call this?" Angela demanded as she
bolted the door for the night. "Some of us have a tendency to worry you
know!"
From that moment, although frequently embarking on week long feline
adventures and marking his return with something sadly deceased,
Bernard never truly left.