My wife brought home a flea-bitten, watery-eyed kitten from a west London street market; she was staggering and far to young to be taken from her mother.
The shop-owner had taken pity on her because the old man who brought her in said he would drown her if he couldn't find a home for her.
We despaired of her surviving but she turned out a magnificent, self-possessed companion for over ten years of our lives.
Our friend, Walter Pardon, the Norfolk singer, stayed with us a few months after she arrived and immediately christened her 'The Contessa' partly because of her disdainful disregard for humanity and partly because his favourite book was 'Tess of the D'urbevilles' - the name 'Tess' stuck.
On the day we took her for her first shots at the local vets, a family (wife, husband and two children) went into the surgery before us with an extremely sick-looking moggie literally draped over the father's arm - they emerged five minutes later, minus the moggie - all helplessly in tears.
To our shame, we thought them ridiculous to be so emotional about "just an animal" and swore we'd never become so stupid.
Ten years later Tess became sick and we made an appointment with the vet - I was snowed under with work, so Pat took her in and agreed she would phone me at work to tell me what the diagnosis was - she had cancer and was in considerable pain, so Pat agreed she should immediately be put down.
I was working at comedian Jack Dee's house, and when Pat delivered the bad news I was in such a state that Mrs Dee had to sit me down and made me a strong cup of tea.
Been there too - I know how you must be feeling
Deepest sympathy
Jim Carroll