We first saw Toby's photo in the window of the RSPCA office. He was being cared for in a nearby cattery following an argument with a car and had suffered injuries to his jaw.

He was looking for a new home, he's a tabby and we were hooked. We went to visit him several times until he was pronounced fit enough to come home. He settled in well but eating was a real problem. We found out subsequently that he only ate cat biscuits and, as that was obviously still painful, he was not putting on any weight. I tried freshly cooked and flaked fish, minced chicken and any other delicacies I could think of to tempt him but to no avail.

Not long after he moved in, he disappeared for a few days and we tracked him down to the local pub. When we went to fetch him they reproached us for the fact that he was so thin. They had already thought of adopting him and had named him Rocket. I asked what they had given him to eat during his 'holiday' and they claimed he had tucked into restaurant leftovers and that he liked caviar! We bought him a jar but he was not impressed.

Fortunately, as soon as his mouth healed completely, Toby began to eat heartily and regained his lost weight. He supplemented his cat biscuits with rats and rabbits but would not touch any other catfood - or 'human' food for that matter. The farmer, who lived opposite, was most impressed with Toby's hunting ability but we were concerned about his frequent forays across the road.

He was involved in at least two other 'accidents' to our knowledge and, as he disappeared for  days on end on several occasions, he may have had more. One disappearance, on the other hand, had far reaching consequences.

It was a very cold Winter's night and Toby didn't come home. We called him and toured his favourite hunting grounds, shouting and listening. Eventually we went to bed, telling ourselves that he would find a warm bed for the night and come back, large as life the next morning. But he didn't.

The next day was a Saturday. No school, so I stayed in bed a bit longer. The Bear went out as soon as it was light to look for Toby. I woke up to sounds of banging and shouting and went downstairs to find the Bear on the ground outside the front door. He had slipped on the ice in the field behind our house, injured his knee, and, unable to stand up, had dragged himself on his elbows, back to the house. He reckoned it had taken him half an hour.

I managed to help him inside, put blankets under and round him and phoned Jay to come and help get him into an armchair. An ambulance came to take him to hospital - the new hospital which had only been open a couple of weeks - and we waited for hours in casualty, with the Bear on a very hard and uncomfortable trolley.

By that afternoon they had diagnosed a torn quadriceps but couldn't decide whether or not a bit of kneecap was broken. The Bear was in a lot of pain but they wouldn't give him any medication - or any food or drink - until they knew what was happening. It was around five o'clock before they told us that they would not operate until the next day but they were waiting to find a bed. At least, they brought us both a sandwich and a drink but, by this time, Bear was getting desperately uncomfortable on his trolley and his efforts to have a pee caused him agony. You'd think a chap could place a bottle on his willy and perform, whatever the position, if he were that desperate, but Bear needed to be upright and his leg wouldn't let him stand!

After the operation Bear was in plaster from his foot to his bum for six weeks - and very uncomfortable with it. His right knee has never been the same since,

And Toby? He wandered back the morning after the operation, dusty, hungry and thirsty but otherwise unscathed. He is still the Bear's favourite cat. Nowadays he is less keen on hunting and spends most of the day curled up in a warm place or chasing the 'girls'. He sleeps on our bed and wakes me up when he wants to go out in the morning. He must be about 14 but we hope he will stay in good health for a long time to come.