When we last took in a street cat, it was Old Bill, and he banged on the door and yelled for admittance. He was sick, wounded, starving, filthy and crawling with vermin, and he had been on the bummel all winter -- in Ottawa, where overnight lows in January frequently drop to -30C.

He settled in quickly, finding the litter box and the kibble dish, and establishing that, indeed, we had laps that were for sitting on. When he had recovered from his snip surgery and the bite wound in his chest, and his white fur had lost the nicotine-stain look he sported on arrival, Bill went AWOL for more than a week. We thought he had left us for good, but then he came strolling up to the back door again, and stayed for 13 years.

Our current moggies have spent their entire lives indoors, and I confess it's much easier on us. Yes, there's more litterbox maintenance and claw damage to the furniture, but worse things happen at sea.