I sit and look at my feet and the claggy grey stuck to them. I scrape at them but nothing happens, the horrible grey scratchy stuff is still wedded to me.

I try washing them but all I get is depressed and a filthy taste in my mouth.

‘THOMAS! Thomas! Comes her voice. I slowly slink into the yard and try my Little Boy Lost look.

She looks angry. I look sorry for myself and I am, my feet hurt now.

‘Thomas’ she growls and points at the perfect trail of paw prints in the newly laid concrete.

I purr sadly and suddenly her face crumples with concern as she scoops me up ‘my poor darling’ she whispers onto my furry head.