Who's the Daddy: Cat who got the road’s cream

Sometimes we don’t see Marleyboo for two or three days but when he does eventually turn up at the back door of a morning he looks well groomed and is often contentedly licking his lips, like he’s had a better offer and has graced us with his presence for old times’ sake.

When he first did his

disappearing act a few months ago we feared the worst.

Accidentally locked in someone’s shed for a few days after wandering in when the door was opened by someone fetching their Flymo, hit by a car or eaten by a fox.

But no, the dirty stop-out turns up every few days to say hello to his brother Mr Robbie and to torment our saluki/whippet Walter, who may well be a supersonic sighthound with a prey drive of a velociraptor but is very, very wary of a fat little boss-eyed black and white rescue alley cat.

Where he goes, nobody knows. Our best guess is he makes friends with whoever turns up at the Airbnb property a few doors down.

Maybe the guests think he’s an optional extra on the rental agreement, a holiday pet to feed chicken (which he’s suddenly got a taste for), milk and smoked salmon.

Honestly, if he gets any fatter he’ll burst.

His paunch swings like a pendulum when he breaks into a trot and is only about an inch and a half from the ground.

A few houses have gone up for sale and been sold on our street this summer and I’m amazed he hasn’t turned up on any of the estate agents’ photographs, lounging on a neighbour’s freshly laundered bed in the sunshine like he wants to be drawn like one of your French girls.

A few years ago I bumped into a woman who lived on our street for a while who picked him up, cuddled him like an old friend and called him Chas.

Apart from fitting him with a GoPro or attaching a note around his neck, we’re more than happy to let the mystery drag on for a little while. More news as it breaks.