That Smell

Railway, the feral cat we feed, never ventures more than a foot or so into the house, as he's always ensuring his line of retreat is clear and doesn't get cut off by one of the other cats outflanking him. He will, however, occasionally come into our porch when it's very cold. When he does, he invariably pees against something and leaves the place reeking, necessitating giving it a vinegar spray.

He did this sometime on Wednesday. Later in the day I had occasion to nip to Thornbury on an errand with No.1 Son. We climbed into the car and set off but, by the time we'd gone no more than a couple of hundred yards, the smell of cat piss became vaguely noticeable. No.1 Son poked his nose around the car and traced the smell to my footwell - Railway had only gone and pissed on my left shoe - I leave my shoes in the porch.

Hay has made him a bed out of a polystyrene fish box and old blankets, which he sleeps in during the day. It's on the patio table, under our gazebo. He's out of the rain and up high, so he can survey threats, and we can keep tabs on him from the living room. He sleeps in there all day and then buggers off at night to go hunting.