Our six-month-old cat would like to lodge a complaint against his members of staff. After spending all day outside in the garden (which, by the way, is in the middle of the countryside) pouncing on flies, salivating over passing birds and watching the cows in the neighbouring field (yes, he loves cows), being a teenager he is then locked in for the night with the minions. Despite bribery with cat treats and leftover meat, he still howls to be let out. What follows is a court jester routine of distraction with a pink, no other colour acceptable, ping pong ball. If that fails, the multi-coloured mouse that used to be at the end of an elastic cord is rolled out. I say used to be, as he ate the cord and then puked it up a few hours later (the cord went in the bin). Then it’s a quick look at the TV: ice hockey games, football and Star Trek are all acceptable. He’ll even watch a murder mystery, at a push. Around about 9pm, it’s a you-couldn’t-wake-him-up-with-a-nuclear-expl