Fifty shades OF GREY

Grey Cat waits for us in the driveway like a grizzled old colossus, only deigning to move out of the way at the veeeeeery last minute. There’s nothing scaredy about this cat. None of us remembers how old Grey is, but we also can’t remember a time he wasn’t around.

- By Suzy Brokensha

But when Twenty-Six and Twenty-Five moved out, and the Pug and Lemon the Boxer stepped onto their respective rainbows, Grey realised that since my husband and I clearly couldn't be trusted with the defence of the homestead (we're literally leaking able-bodied men, for heaven’s sake!), he needed to take charge. He has leapt several dozen rungs in the hierarchy and is now, in his view, Lord of All He Surveys, which includes us.

Grey prowls the perimeter every night, stampeding down the passage to our room at about 3 am to check in and take a quick power nap on my husband’s head. Not next to him or simply on the pillow; literally