I am, and always have been, a committed felinophile. I cannot remember a time when there were not cats around the house - usually in the plural. We have always acquired cats in pairs, although when one goes on to the Great Hunting Ground, we do not usually burden the other one with a new companion.

However, we have recently laid this covention aside. Our old black cat, Gothmog (named for the Balrog, NOT the Ringwraith!) died of cancer of the liver at the relatively early age of 9 years. She left behind her daughter, Humbug. She was so named because when she was born - the only kitten in Gothmog's first litter - she was brown and cream stripes, just like the peppermint sweet. She is a beautiful tabby, very symetrically marked, but is also very neurotic. However, she loved Goth's second litter of four kits and played with them very well, so when her mother died, we decided to take in two more kittens to keep her company. The word was sent out that there was a vacancy for two respectable kittens and, very shortly afterwards, a Farmers Wife of our acquaintance arrived on the doorstep with two, totally grey, adorable little kittens. They looked at us appealingly (any cat-lover will know exactly what I mean) and we were hooked. They strolled round the house and looked at everything, found the litter tray and used it and settled down to take over the joint. Poor old Humbug, eight years old by now, was totally gob-smacked! She couldn't believe her eyes. She snarled and spat, and ran away and hid herself. She came out, trembling all over, for meals - so long as the new arrivals were nowhere to be seen - then disappeared into the shed outside again.

We thought, "Oh, well - she'll get over it soon." But she didn't. She kept up a feud with the poor little waifs (who, of course, would dog her footsteps - if that is possible for a cat! - and try to play with her. They thought she was lovely whilst she hated the sight of them.

It is only in the shared trauma of moving house (which Humbug also hated, of course) that she has come to terms with them, and will actually lie down beside them and groom them. It is probably because this is not "her" territory, as was the other house.

The grey cats, who used to be little boys but are now almost fully grown castrati are mistaken by everyone who calls for Russian Blues - they are truly beautiful cats - but they are actually farmyard moggies, with rural accents and habits.
You will have heard the old adage that "all cats are grey in the dusk." I can assure you this is not true. Grey cats are invisible in the dusk - especially when they are sleeping on the second stair down!
One is fat and lazy, the other is a psychopath, who spends his time trying valiantly, and single-handedly, to rid the world of its avian population.
We have called them "Chaos" and "Darkness"