The trouble with being a naughty cat is that ultimately no one wants you and you end up being left on the shelf. Although frankly, with the amount of food Timmy eats, I'm surprised it doesn't collapse under his weight.

Oh, and yes, I know he's cute, but that doesn't stop him being a bad, bad cat.

Anyhoo, yesterday Lisa and I went from errant cats to money-making dogs, by spending the afternoon at Hove greyhound track with Lisa's mother. I'm not saying it went badly, but I did have to borrow ten quid from Lisa just to avoid bankruptcy, and enable me to continue donating to the Tote. I wouldn't mind, but both my companions seemed to have winner after winner, despite choosing their dogs on the basis of who had the funniest name and the cutest face.

By the 12th race (and 11 straight losers) I decided to join them, so I threw out the formbook and selected 'Pevensey Charlie' on the grounds that I once went to Pevensey Castle as a child, and I've been feeding Charlie for the past two weeks. Despite my protestations, Lisa then decided she wanted to back him too (and she doesn't even like Charlie), so out of politeness I graciously withdrew and chose a different dawg. Which came second. Naturally Pevensey Charlie romped home. At which point Lisa's mother revealed that she'd backed him too. So everyone was quids in. Except for the one who knows Pevensey Castle like the back of his hand, and goes to the bottom of the garden twice a day to tip slugs off a stray cat's saucer.

But obviously I'm not bitter. I was pleased for them both.

No, really.