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Thumper is the big 12 today, 65 in human years (first two years = 25 years, every year thereafter = 4years apparently).

He has earned his retirement but has warned the local mice and rabbits not to get too relaxed, or indeed that the new cat kids on the block get too cocky, because he's still, most definately, TC. At least in our house.

He is looking forward to his favourite human waking up around 2pm (yes, that's you Sam) so he can lounge on a duvet but is reportedly unimpressed at his birthday present....flea treatment. Life in lockdown has seen him enjoy the humans' sudden reinterest in tackling the garden jungle, and the opportunity to show he can still run like a kitten up a 28ft tree to laugh down on us, although getting down is another matter. He misses his feline family that sadly went too soon but remains bemused by the presence of the two hairy, and incredibly annoying barky hounds. He also remains committed to meowing at 3 or 5am daily to either ask for food, to get into Sam's room or to generously gift us, or sometimes even the dogs, a poor dead mouse.

Happy birthday Thumper, you gorgeously aloof, flufffy teuchter fleabag.