I ALWAYS enjoy being in the company of cat people because it is only a cat person who can sit at the lunch table and tell you the tale of one of his or her cats which could pee accurately into the slot in a video recorder where the tapes go in without spilling a drop.

And it is only another cat person who will be able to understand why this said person is unable to keep a note of pride out of his or her voice.

The non-cat person will, of course, be horrified and will make a mental note never to lend his or her favourite tape of the Sound of Music to this household or any other household with a cat in it.

What is more of course such talk of one cat's ability to urinate with all the accuracy of an SAS sharpshooter will invoke a sense of rivalry and others will join in.

Before you know it someone will be boasting of their animal's prowess at filling a Wedgwood vase on the bedroom windowledge while sat on top of the wardrobe, while others will come back with the tale of an ancient tabby now long gone who apparently could never resist a Wellington boot.

A friend of mine tells the story of how her nearly new vacuum cleaner blew up in a puff of smoke and she called the firm and had some fairly firm words to say about their products and how short lived they appeared to be.

When someone came out to mend it he opened the screws and lifted off the cover but then had to go to his van for more tools (don't they always!).

My friend peered in and to her horror she saw something she recognised lying in a pool at the bottom of the cleaner.

With the amazing presence of mind of someone who has dealt with similar emergencies before she grabbed a towel and removed the offending liquid before the man got back. She said he sniffed a bit suspiciously as he replaced a burnt out motor but said nothing.

A cat expert once told me that although it was part of a cat's natural instinct to mark territory it was somewhat exaggerated in some animals. I can believe this to a degree, what cat person couldn't, having seen the ritualistic bottom waving on the bushes at the edge of the garden at regular intervals all year round. But why a cat should think that emptying its bladder into a clock radio on a bedside table is part of its normal marking routine I couldn't say.

As I mentioned recently my daughter and her husband have just got a new cat, but so far there has been no sign of anything untoward in the lavatorial habits of Tigger the tabby.

There won't be, of course, because cats are perfectly capable of working out that they had better ingratiate themselves well and truly into the affections of the household before they start any of their old nonsense in the call of nature category.

It's almost as if their mothers gave them advice; 'Now don't do it in the milk saucepan as soon as you get there, stick to the cat litter tray for a month or two'.

So kitten dutifully scratches away and everyone says 'oh look, he's house trained already', until come the day they discover yes, he is house trained, he does it in the house in some very odd places indeed.

My son-in-law never had a cat as a child and was always a bit wary of my cats, especially when he noted that they occasionally stood in the butter while walking over the kitchen counter to go out of the window. 'Why do they always want to go out of the window?', he asked me plaintively one day. 'Because the door is open, the window is shut and they're cats', I said, feeling that no other explanation was necessary.

Now he's turned into a confirmed cat softie.

When Tigger, who by necessity had been confined to the house for the first few weeks, was finally allowed to venture outside, it was my son-in-law who paced up and down as it grew dark, like a father waiting for his teenage daughter to arrive home from a first date.

In vain my daughter pointed out that cats have better eyesight in the dark than we have and don't need torchlight to find the house.

Tigger, who like all cats can go totally deaf to the calls of his family when he doesn't want to be found (but can hear the opening of a tin 500 yards away) finally sauntered in on his own.

There have also been a few confrontations with other cats from the neighbourhood, who until now have considered the garden as their territory as well, because it lacked its own feline guard.

Tigger and his master are dealing with this; Tigger by hiding behind the curtains and growling; my son in law the soldier by laying in wait armed with a sizable water pistol.

My daughter is delighted that Tigger, who came from an animal sanctuary, eats anything and everything. That is another ploy. Today it's any variety of tinned cat food, even the cheapest; tomorrow it's lightly poached chicken breasts with a mushroom and wine sauce.

My own, who also used to eat anything, are now only enthusiastic about the pouches of food, and recently only the ones in jelly.

I bought a buy two get one free offer the other day and failed to notice that the delectable duck, turkey, chicken and for all I know roasted woodcock was reposing in its own gravy and the ginger one positively stomps his feet in a tantrum when it is offered.

My former husband used to say that if they were really hungry they would eat anything; which as we all know is something only a person innocent of a cat's true nature can say.

I read something once about people who feed their pets a vegetarian diet, something I find hard to believe.

Put a plate of vegetables and pulses down in front of mine and they would shred my legs in next to no time. And what about their hunting instincts?

What cat is going to stalk a brussels sprout or a lettuce in the garden when it can go for a chaffinch instead? Must be a bit of a problem on the veggie front.