I visit a yard on an old munitions dump come industrial estate, where I encounter a cat sat on its haunches in the autumn sunshine at its centre... where any number of fork-lifts and trailers bearing forty-foot containers negotiate it as they have for over fifteen years. Nobody knew when it turned up but on three occasions the company relocated elsewhere, it went with them.
Occasionally cats are retained as adept mousers, one at a Scottish distillery chalking up some 29,000 over a 24-year lifespan. Not this old lady, basking in the morning sun while rats scurry by in plain sight.