My little darling passed away last night.

Fifteen and a half years ago, the ex and I visited an animal shelter, and fell in love with this tiny bundle of black and white fur, who was so terrified of us, she backed away to the furthest corner of her cage.

We had to wait a week, as she had been found on the street, and they needed to make sure nobody would claim her, and then we took her home.

The first 3 hours were spent with her hiding under the tv cabinet - only coming out when eventually we caved in and dismantled it. She would only eat if one of us held her over her bowl - other wise she just ran back to her hidey hole.

That night, when we went to bed we shut her in the living room, thinking she would feel safer. However, not that late into the night the ex had to go and let her out, because she was making such a huge racket. She spent the night curled up on the bed between my feet.

A year later we moved, and having to spend a few months in a hotel, she went to stay with the in-laws in Newcastle. Much hilarity ensued when she went missing one night, and the father-in-law was wandering the streets shouting, “Keegan! Keeeeega-aaan!”

Then she came to stay with us in our house in our new town.

She was always a wussy pussy, very scared of people she didn’t know. I don’t know what caused her to panic so much - something obviously happened to her very early on. But she was the most loving cat I have ever known.

She was also a very noisy walking miaow. Often, when we pulled up in the car we could hear her long before we could see her, a loud miaow accompanying every step she took. One night I came home, and could hear her making an awful racket. I called her, and usually she would come running, but not this night. Still this god-awful yowling. I couldn’t see her, and was starting to get worried when finally I looked up.

There she was, sat on the chimney. So proud of herself.

In 2001, when we moved to America, we gave her to my parents to look after. And boy was she looked after. My dad adored her completely. she was totally spoiled, and was allowed to get away with a lot more than I ever was when I lived at home!

Last night, I was having an early night, and after giving up calling for Hobo, had gone to bed at 10 o’clock. At 5 past, I get a text off my mom. I ring her, and my dad answers. “Something’s wrong with Keegan, she’s all doubled up, backwards, and only one paw is moving, and I don’t know what to do.” God, I hate this role reversal thing that happens as you get older. I calmed him down, told him to ring the vet, there would be a message on the answerphone with a number of the emergency vet, and to ring them.

I put the phone down, and started to cry. I haven’t cried that hard in a very long time. I called for Hobo again, and the little bugger still didn’t turn up.

15 minutes later my mom rang me. “She’s gone.” Apparently my dad and brother-in-law (my dad had been drinking) were on their way to the emergency vet (8 miles away), but as he put her in the box my dad had said he thought she’d gone. However, she hadn’t because they could hear her breathing as they drove there.

She’d had a stroke. She could only move the one paw.

It was the best thing to do. It was the mindest thing to do.

Rest in peace, Keegan. You were a very special cat, and loved so much.

It seems I have no choice in the matter.

I now have a new member of my family.

Part of me is happy. Another part of me is sad - I gave away two adorable kittens, for job reasons, and those reasons are still there. I feel a little guilty, because the reality is if I can take in a cat, then I could have kept the other two.

That said, I was most definitely not looking for a new cat. I wanted a neighbours cat to come around once in a while, have a bit of a cuddle, and then bugger off. Much like Guinness, my next-door neighbours cat, who used to be best friends with Mister, and often came to see me when I got home from work, and would come in the house for half an hour or so.

I thought this little guy would be the same, after he came in for 10 minutes last Wednesday.

When I got home from work on Thursday, one of the neighbours came over - she was asking me something about the drains, because she has been having trouble, and the plumber had said it might affect the other people in the street (not that I have noticed!).

I asked her about “the noisy cat”, and if she knew he belonged to. She gave me a very strange look, and said, “We thought he belonged to you!”

Apparently he is known to some as Cheeky Ted, because when my next-door neighbour gets home from work some nights, she finds him sitting happily in her house alongside Guinness, after having eaten all his food. He has also been camping out in many of the houses.

He has been in the street for months. He was definitely here when I had Madam and Mister, because I remember one night calling for them both, and Madam came running, but there was no sign of Mister. There was, however, an awful racket coming from under one of the cars down the street, so Madam and I went to investigate - and there was this Mister look-alike.

This morning I took him to the vets, to see if he was chipped. Also, the poor thing has been sneezing, and has a runny eye, so I was worried he had cat-flu.

No chip.

£37 for an injection and some eye-drops though, and back again in a month to give him his regular jabs.

The vet actually asked me if I was going to keep him. What else could I do? Say no, you take him and have him put down….. Although that probably wouldn’t happen. He is the most good natured cat I have ever come across, I imagine if he went to a rescue place he’d be very easy to rehome.

But I couldn’t. Little sod has completely stolen my heart.

So, have bought some food bowls, and a pack of 4 play mice for him. Even the check account girl in Asda said that my cat was going to have a spoiled Christmas!

He is funny, he is still very insecure. He eats, but only when I am in the kitchen with him. If I leave, then he follows me. He has today spent some time in the bedroom sleeping on his own rather than laying down where ever I may be - but of course, given the whole expanse of bed to lie on, he curls up on my lacey knickers I had left there after taking them off the radiator!!

I have decided to call him Hobo.

Or, it is probably more correct to say that a cat appears to have acquired me!

He was waiting on the doorstep for me yesterday, when I got home from shopping at about 4.30. And he didn’t go out until 6.30 this morning, when he woke me up for some attention - and then only when I put him outside. I was concerned, because he hadn’t had a wee in all that time, and thought he was waking me up so I could let him out.

At 9.30, he was crying outside my door to be let in.

And hasn’t been outside since.

I caved in, and gave him some food (a very old, out of date packet at the back of the cupboard). I gave him half of it to start with - I was convinced he is actually someone else’s cat, and is just coming to my house for some love, but he appeared to be starving - the only time I’ve ever seen a cat eat so quickly and so eagerly was when I was in Portugal, and someone came to feed the strays.

So I gave him the other half of the packet.

He is now contentedly curled up on my tshirt on the bed.

I really don’t know what to do. Much as I love him - let’s face it, he is absolutely adorable - earlier this year I got rid of two cats because my job means I can’t commit to looking after one full time (although, as it happens, I have actually been living at home almost full time since then and probably could have kept them). However, if he has no home, then I can’t kick him out. Poor thing was petrified of the fireworks last night - and was even scared of some on the telly earlier today.

If he moves in, I might canvas the neighbourhood, see if I can find his real owner. If nothing else it will give them peace of mind, in case they are wondering where he is buggering off to all night. And will also give me peace of mind that when I kick him out he does have somewhere else to go!