Dot writes: he didn’t seem like my cat any more – perhaps because he wasn’t. Today I went back to the place where I had, as I thought, seen the missing Tibby. It took some doing because I had remembered the house numbers on either side of the wall as 55 and 53 but I quickly discovered that all the numbers in that part of the road are in the hundreds, and moreover the houses look rather similar to each other; I called at 505 and was told there were no cats there before trying 515 and finding an answer I didn’t much want – viz, that they had a black cat, and he had a white spot on the breast and another on the belly, and they’d had him for a year. The owner (whose way of saying yes, incidentally, sounded like ‘ear’ – ‘Do you have a black cat with a white spot?’ ‘Ear, ear’) fetched the cat for me, so I could be sure that this was the cat I had passed the time of day with. But, alas, they got him last May, meaning that he would have had to be more than usually cunning to have been living a double life in Crumlin and then Artane until late October. He is called Ted.
Missing Tibby, take another little piece of my heart now, why don’t you.