Keogh the cat : Jesus the mouse slayer

So why not a day for the patron saint of cats, St Gertrude?

I mean, the Welsh, Scottish, Irish and English have got one.

"How would you mark it?" Felix over the road asked.

Same as I mark everything else - just cock my leg up.

Fascinating woman, Gertrude.

She didn't keep cats, but water from her well and the bread she baked repelled rats, making us moggies redundant.

Is that the most cat-friendly person they could find?

They may as well have made a dog - St Bernard - our patron saint.

My grand-dad slayed a dragon...sorry, my mistake, a draylon - a draylon curtain by climbing up it. Not so much slayed it as clawed it, really.

He'd make a good patron saint.

St Cinders...it's got a certain ring to it.

The biggest thing I've tried to slay is a pheasant. Would've succeeded, too, if it wasn't for the gundogs chasing it.

"But how would we celebrate the day?" asked Felix.

I think it should be a day off. Spend the time just sleeping and eating.

"We sleep 18 hours as it is," she pointed out. "Anymore and we'd end up with cat-basket sores."

She's got a point. Cats don't have saints, they don't even have a God, I think. And if there's a heaven, where do dead mice go?

"I dunno," argued Felix, "I used to share my house with a cat called Jesus.

"Every time he came indoors, the humans would shout: 'Jesus - he's brought another mouse in with him'."