My pyjama trousers must have been on the small side at the time – not unusual for a nine-year-old going through a mini-growth spurt. However, the reason I know that the trouser legs were hanging above my ankles is that when Tiggy took a swipe at them that morning, she managed to draw blood.
To be fair, she had given me due warning. On the previous occasion I was slow to feed the cat, she had growled with such naked menace that had she been human, the message could not have been more explicit: next time I’ll cut you.
