As anybody who has had a cat knows, they have this strange habit of getting into the most awkward positions and then falling asleep. Pussy Willow Sinclair was no different to any other in this respect. But when curled up, he looked more like a bath mat than anything else. For that reason and because of where he lived I nicknamed him HRH King Doormat of Thanet. They say that you know a cat trusts you when you can stroke its paws. Well HRH trusted me. Unfortunately he has now gone to the great catnip patch in the sky, where no doubt he is waited on hand and foot with sausages, pieces of chicken and female Persians.
Here are a few photographs of HRH as I remember him.
