Keogh the Cat: I've had a tough life!

He had to follow mum to find his way home.

Eventually the humans bundled mum and us kittens in a cardboard box and left us on Cannock Chase. It was there a kindly gent discovered us in the Ikea packaging. "Look what's in here," he shouted, "and they're already assembled."

He handed us to a cat rescue organisation, which 'looks after' cats.

One of the things it does to 'look after' cats is offer to castrate them for free. Cat Rescue must mean 'look after' in the Mafia sense of the word.

For weeks they couldn't find a home for us, which I blame on my sister Fluffy. She had a wonky eye and an in-growing tail. Vets had to x-ray her to find out if she was unhappy.

Then the Lockleys came and decided I was the cat for them. Their son had wanted a dog but they comprimised and bought the lad a goldfish. It didn't work. The fish died during 'walkies'and getting the thing to use a litter tray was a nightmare.

So they decided on a cat. And as soon as they set eyes on me they uttered those four little words that mean so much: "Has it been wormed?"

Now I'm one of the family - one of the family that bites and scratches, but one of the family, nonetheless. I've got my own chair, which used to be Mike's, my own part of the bed, which used to be Mike's, and my own toys.

I've even got the humans house-trained. "I can't get this cat off my chair," Mike used to moan.

"Kick his fluffy balls," advised Julie.

"I can't," moaned Mike, "he's all curled up."

And me and the teenage son have an awful lot in common. We both hate water, stop out all night and spend most of the day asleep.

I like to think I've brought a little something extra into the Lockley household. Fleas and the odd dead rodent.