My cat has failed. Fair enough – she may be pretty old. 112 in cat years, she’s no Posey, but still she’s getting up there. And this is no ordinary failure – not some life unlived failure – but an actual failure to fulfill her genetic potential as a cat.

She is scared of birds, and cockroaches, and spiders, and generally any creature that moves in a vaguely irregular manner. I should also note that she doesn’t climb trees. There has been only one time that she has actually climbed a tree and that was because she was running away from a bird, yes a bird, and a tree was in the way. It is truly sad the amount of times I’ve had to climb onto a roof to rescue her because she can’t get down.

Quite possibly the most amusing part of her skittish behaviour is when she put two and two together and worked out that Riley was an actual person. I don’t really think she had identified her as a person when Riley was in her newborn blob stage. And initially she seemed petrified every time Riley moved. Because as far as unpredictable movers go a baby takes the cake.

And quite possibly the most endearing quality of my non-cat cat (Morgan) is that her loyalty which was previously reserved for only myself has slowly transferred itself over to Riley. Morgan now becomes agitated when she cries, even looks at me with an accusatory stare every know and then as though it was my fault. She tickles her when she’s upset and puts up with an enormous amount of rough-housing. Example: Today she put up with Riley pushing her into a corner with a broom. All handled with utmost grace on her part.

And yet a small cockroach will still cause her to jump a mile in the air.