The big tom cat was snarling, heavy, crazy and scared.

Michael jammed the cat’s head down and scanned him for a microchip, then relaxed his grip and shut the cage door in one smooth movement.

“He’s unchipped” he said “probably abandoned or his owner died. This fucker probably has balls bigger than yours”

The air smelt of tom cat piss and my car worse, as the scared beast had soiled itself on the drive in to the car shelter. But I had just trapped the local stray so the night was a major success. I drove home with the windows open.

The previous week I had taken one of our cats Humpty to the vets for a gash on her head and legs after she bravely defended the house from the stray – I found them brawling on the ground like the drunks in West Street on a Saturday night in Brighton. Hold my beer, said Humpty as she launched herself out the cat flap.

On the local What’s App group many people complained about the injuries to their cats the huge tom cat had caused. I decided it had gone far enough and the stray cat’s reign of terror must end. I went to City Cat Shelter and took home a large metal cage/trap that Michael there rented me.

Michael, his wife and some volunteers run City Cat Shelter. They are a literal backyard venture. It’s an amazing place with cats everywhere – in the kitchen, around the house. The garden is full of sheds, which in turn are full of cats which jump all over you when you walk in. It’s a cat lover’s paradise, but obviously sad at the same time. More about them and the cats waiting to be rehomed here: https://citycatshelter.co.uk/

The metal trap worked first time. As I held the cage the huge tom cat was full of anger. I struggled up the garden stairs and out to the car. Garfi The Cat came out to mock him.

To be honest I had mixed feelings about ending the tom cat’s reign of freedom but Michael reassured me: “Abandoned cats start out loving their freedom, then get hungry and start taking risks getting into houses for food, fighting their way past the home cats. That plus the risk from traffic often leads to injury, then winter comes along and it spirals from there, it can end badly – they’re not so happy with their freedom then”, said Michael.

Back home the local Whats App message board hailed me as a Hemmingway-esque big game hunting hero. I tried to appear humble, “someone had to do it” I posted.

Outside the neighbourhood cats silently thanked me and went about establishing a new world cat order. Humpty and Garfi seemed much happier, lounging about in the garden, carefree.

A month later I bumped into Michael at the vets. “ How’s he doing – the stray I bought in?” Michael struggled a minute to remember from all the cats he dealt with daily, then said “Oh, that one – he’s a sweet boy now, quiet as anything. That happens once they’re neutered, warm and well fed. He’s all happy now and waiting for a new home. We named him Denis Compton.”

Denis Compton was a post-war cricket player. I live on Compton Rd. Nice.