The Mother is a very caring person, never more so than when the object of her attention has a wet nose, walks on all fours and is covered in fur.

I swear that if I had pointy ears and paws instead of hands my little indiscretions would be regarded with affection rather then irritation.

Since the dog died I've done my best to act as a sort of stand-in in its absence but I haven't quite got the knack of rolling on my back in the grass or scratching my ear with my left foot.

And although we go for walks together in the park, I know The Mother would be happier if I were on a lead and she had a poop scoop in her handbag.

So when I volunteered to keep an eye on a friend's cat for a few days while she was away, I had a slightly ulterior motive. I knew it would give The Mother an opportunity to fuss and fret over something other than my failings.

"Coming with me?" I asked on the first day of cat caring.

"That would be nice," she replied and disappeared into the kitchen. When she emerged she was carrying a paper bag.

"What's in there?" I asked.

"Just a little something for the cat," she said.

The 'little' something was a tin of salmon.

"No," I said. "This cat is not into tins of salmon - or tuna or crab. This cat eats only dry food - I have my feeding instructions."

The Mother pulled a face. "It was only a little treat," she said. "Something to make up for the fact that its mummy is away."

"Oh, please!" I said. "You know that cats are very self-sufficient and spend most of their time asleep. I doubt if it even realises it's home alone."

When we arrived at my friend's house we found the cat lying in front of a window, stretched out asleep in the afternoon sunshine.

"Hello, Charlie," I shouted.

The cat hardly acknowledged our presence. The Mother was having none of that.

"Hello, Charlie," she repeated. "Who's a good boy then?"

"It's not a boy, it's a girl," I said. "For all I know she might even have been a mother. You can't tell with cats. They don't smoke or drink gin ... "

The Mother ignored me. She was piling dried food - little biscuity things shaped like fish - into the cat's bowl.

"Too much," I said. "If she eats that lot she'll explode. You might get away with a verdict of killed by kindness but basically, it would be, well, there's only one word for it - catastrophic."

"Take no notice of her, she's being silly," said The Mother to the cat. By this time the animal was purring and rubbing against her legs.

"Oh, dear, you've only got water in your dish," she added. "I bet you'd like some nice fresh milk."

"No I b***** well wouldn't, I'm only supposed to drink water, otherwise I get diarrhoea," I said in an admittedly silly voice.

We, or rather The Mother, have been cat caring for five days now and my friend returns tomorrow. The Mother looks decidedly downcast.

There's only one thing for it I guess so here goes. Phew! Anyone know an easy way of scratching your ear with your left foot?