We’re getting ready to go on holiday, and this means the cat had to go to the kitty prison. I took her this morning. The guy running it showed me to the little room where the cat is staying, and I watched him pour water, unroll the mats and open the meshed window.

“Just letting some air in for her,” he explained. “Some fresh air would be good, right?”

“Sure,” I said.

“It’s what they used to tell us at school,” he said. “In minus five degrees, with the window open above your bed. Bracing!”

“Oh, yes?” I said, keeping a mildly interested face. “A strict school, then?”

“Just the usual,” he said. “A little bit of shivering cold, a little bit of the cane – same as everywhere.”

I didn’t dare ask for specific episodes, so this is where the conversation petered out, but not before he assured me that my cat wouldn’t be facing any such hardships.

I’m ever so relieved. I’d began to wonder.