MY beautiful boy and the heinous ginger cats have finally returned to the fold following our house renovation debacle, which incidentally has taken the longer than building The Shard (this will soon to be rectified now the A-Team are on it).

The cats were in a cattery, which almost bankrupted me, only to return three times the size, bearing in mind Bernard was morbidly obese before he left, and agoraphobic. We are living in cat heaven, yet neither idiot is straying far and when they do finally venture out, they return to use the Litter Tray. When I did put the blasted thing outside, Bernard, (who my friend once described as the "ugliest, boss-eyed, dribbler she had ever seen in her life"), boldly did his business on my wicker trunk. I've never liked them.

As for the dog, well, while he was serving as a Medical Aid dog for my mother and step-father, he damaged his knee during a rough and tumble with a greyhound. Needless to say he ended up in hospital and has returned limp and pathetic. However, this has not stopped him from barking through the night because he wants to clamber onto my bed, from which he is banned, nor has it stopped him from jumping onto the sofa or up to the worktop when he thinks our backs are turned for a nano second. He looks positively spritely.

However, My Mother has been left broken-hearted since Jarvis' departure.

"I miss him so much. He is my best friend."

"I know and when we do the last bits to the house you can have him for another week. We have to settle him here Mum. We love him too."

Although after my Terrible Sleep last night as I endured his barking, which is as frequent as a new born baby's, I am questioning my distorted view of love.

Meanwhile My Mother has clearly gone mad because she has paid lots of money for a canine sized Dumb Waiter, wearing a little cap and shorts, who looks uncannily like The Dog.

"Mother, it looks remarkably like Jarvis..."