My little world is spatially organised with assiduous care: I mark out the territory by rubbing my face and whiskers against my favourite objects, and like to do a tour round the house and garden, sometimes insisting the old Carer accompanies me to remind her whose place this is. What these Humans don’t realise is that I can also measure time. I have a fairly strict schedule during the day: I get up at 3.00am, have a run around, eat some biscuits, have a shit and scratch around in the litter box, then go back to the bed and perform the first of the day’s ablutions. I get up again at 7.00am with one of The Carers, who lets me into the garden and gives me more biscuits and (ghastly) tap water, then I go back to bed for a few more hours before insisting on a walkabout. I then flop out on the desk for a further few hours to see what the old Carer is up to and demand a bit of attention, before again going back to bed until dinner time. The day is quite exhausting, I can tell you. Of course, my schedule gets interrupted if there is some crisis in the house (like a Visitor), or other distracting comings and goings, like builders.