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Tinker was my cat. He was not a rescue cat but I rescued him from a farmer who intended to drown the whole unwanted litter. I don’t know what happened to the rest of them but Tinker came home to suburban life.

Terrified at first he settled in to a regular diet of lights lovingly cooked by my mother. Curled up by the fire he used his hunting skills less and less, but he could snarl and scratch with best if you tried to take his favourite spot.

Tinker put on weight, slept all afternoon and became a flabby tabby.