For Our Countryside Holiday, We Brought Our City Cat, Simon. In the Village, Simon’s Brother Lemur Lives—Named for His Big, Bulging Eyes.

When we went away on holiday to the countryside, we brought along our cat, Oliver, from London. Olivers brother, Basil, lives in the village. Now, Basil got his name because his eyes always seem to pop out a bitthey call him Basil the Bug-Eyed around here. Lets just say, in this village, people dont go out of their way to be subtle.

At first, poor Oliver had a rough time. Even though Olivers not exactly the biggest cat, Basil tried to throw his weight around. Hed chase Oliver away from the food cupboard, hissing like a contestant thats just been booted off Strictly Come Dancing in a bad mood.

Then, Basil made that universal village thug mistakehe got a bit too full of himself and launched a full-on attack on Oliver. Oliver, cool as you like, just batted Basils face with his paw, as if saying, Oh do go away, darling, and, quite by accident, landed a right hook. Basil ended up being fished out of the kitchen bin. And just like that, in true Oliver stylestraightforward and unplannedhe became top cat in the house.

Out here, they see cats as functional necessities. If it werent for the simple fact it was winter, Oliver wouldve been put to work in the barns chasing mice. As for mealtime, lets say its more a creative process here than a routine. Oliver struggled with this for a whilein London, hed dine at set times off a proper plate, practically with a silver spoon, and probably eyed up by a very earnest butler.

The shift proved a bit much for Oliver, and his instincts soon kicked right back in. It wasnt rare to catch him in the middle of the night, nose buried in a saucepan left on the hob. There was Basil, standing sentry on the stool, hissing like mad to warn Oliver I was coming, and Oliver would just glance at me, give a nonchalant meow, as if to say, Dont worry about this one, mateI’ve seen him ransack the fridge at midnight.

We thought Oliver was finally ready for the great outdoors, so one day, we took him out into the garden and set him down in the snow. He turned to look at us, his whole face powdered white, eyes brimming with the tragic despair of a gangster in a classic film. All that was missing was the famous Al Pacino Scarface stare. That was the last time we risked letting him outside.

One evening, while my son, Matthew, had his friends over, we all gathered in the sitting room hanging out, and I started reading them an old English ghost storysomething proper atmospheric. Id just reached the bit about a wicked stepmother turning into a black cat, claws clacking on the floorboards, when the door creaked open like a haunted house. Strutting in came Basil, loving the drama.

Turns out, Oliver had taught Basil his secret trickhow to unlock any door with a swipe of the paw. The room was tiny, but there was so much commotion, youd think we had twice as many people. At one point, I had to rescue one of the boys whod managed to get wedged in the windowhis grans hearty cooking must have kept him from tumbling out.

Oh, right, and as you probably guessed, Basil is an utterly, ridiculously jet-black catnothing but shadows from his nose to his tail.

Youd have to admit, its not every day a story from an old book leaves modern kids genuinely shaking in their slippers.