So, last night I take Florence for a walk. I'm trying to get the cat used to trotting down to the Courtyard. She's a lovely creature, but really needs to kill something. If not a mouse, then there are plenty of chav children she's welcome to have a pop at.
However, Florence appears only interested in going upstairs to the fourth floor of our flat block. I've never really been up there - to be honest, it's a bit Terok Nor - all oil slicks and battered woodwork. But Florence loves it.
Florence likes sniffing me. She also likes sniffing dirty mats, seeping bin bags, and those weird stains on concrete. I now realise why, since I've known her, I've broken out in zits.
Finally, she settles down on a particularly filthy doormat and purrs happily. I stand, waiting for her to move on, but she shows no sign. Suddenly, there's movement behind the door and it's flung open. I realise looming outside doors at midnight is not the most neighbourly behaviour.
And there, at the door is an enormous amount of muscle wearing only a small towel. "Yes?" he says, revealing himself to be brilliantly Eastern European.
"I am taking my cat for a walk," I say as casually as possible.
He looks down. And there, rubbing his ankles is Florence. "Ach!" He says. "She is very pretty kitty. Helloooo....!" He smiles at me. Behind him I can hear the inevitable wailing of children. But I don't care. "She may come for walks anytime," he says and shuts the door slowly.
As we walk away, I lean down and say to Florence "Thank you."