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‘I’m bored,’ Pickles says, as we’re banished from school room. He got into trouble because Summer tried to encourage him to eat her workbook – and he was actually going to, until Claire intervened. Now, he was snuffling around the kitchen, looking for food. George and I had learnt quickly not to leave any of ours laying around. Dog food, human food, cat food, paper – none of it was safe from Pickles the pug.

‘I know,’ George says, examining his paw. ‘Why don’t we go and see what Jonathan is doing?’

‘No!’ I reply, as firmly as I can, but George and Pickles ignore me and take off upstairs. I’m father to George and sort of an Uncle to Pickles; as the grown up, they pay absolutely no attention to me, and I have no choice but to follow them. Damage limitation is my goal, but I’m not full of confidence, if I’m honest.

In the office, Jonathan is sat at the desk talking to a computer. Pickles has already bounded in, but George hangs back with me by the door.

‘Ah! Ow!’ Jonathan exclaims.

‘What was that?’ the computer – a man’s voice – seemed to reply.

‘Sorry, nothing. As I was saying, with market volatility, there’s… ah, ah!’ Jonathan’s face turns red as Pickles does his best to climb up his leg. ‘I mean, my projections are quite clear, in the spreadsheet…’ Jonathan looked down and with one hand tried to gently push Pickles away.

‘Jonathan? Are you alright, you’ve gone a funny colour,’ the computer asks.

‘No, it’s fine. Fine,’ he squeaks.

‘Oh Dad, I’d better go and show Pickles how it’s done,’ George says, raising his whiskers.

‘No, George,’ I hiss to his departing tail.

I can’t watch, but I also can’t look away. George runs up to Jonathan and leaps onto his lap.

‘Ahh,’ Jonathan said in surprise. The chair wobbled and then rights itself. Jonathan’s face gets redder.

‘Is that a cat?’ the computer voice asked.

‘Meow!’ George says, proudly.

‘Woof, woof woof,’ Pickles says, trying to climb his leg again.

‘And a dog?’

Jonathan sighs and scoops Pickles up from the floor.

‘Yup, this is George.’ George holds up a paw. ‘And this is Pickles.’ Pickles licks the screen. Watching from the doorway, I can’t help it. I know Jonathan will be angry and we might be banned from this room for the rest of lockdown, but I want in on the action. I suffer terribly from what the teenagers called FOMO – fear of missing out. I jump up onto the desk.

‘Yowl!’ I say, introducing myself. On the screen is a man, staring at us all with a confused look on his face. He looks a bit older than Jonathan, with grey hair and a slight beard, but he grins and hopefully that means he’s nice…

‘Wow, and this is?’ the man asks.

‘Alfie, my first cat,’ Jonathan mumbles.

‘Didn’t have you down as a pet guy,’ the man says, with a laugh.

‘Oh boy. My professional reputation gone in one fell swoop,’ Jonathan retorts, still a little flushed.

Thankfully the man laughs.

‘Cute pets,’ he replies. ‘But maybe we can get back to the figures?’

‘Of course, sorry, just give me a second.’ With Pickles in one hand, andGeorge in the other, Jonathan stands up and heads for the door. ‘You too Alfie,’ he adds, sternly. I follow, with my tail between my legs, and he shuts us all out. ‘I’ll deal with you later,’ he whispers, and I know that we’re in for a good telling off.

***

We find Claire in the kitchen making lists. She seems to have given up with homeschooling as Summer is now watching a film and Toby’s playing with Lego.

‘Hi guys,’ she calls as we walk in. Thankfully she doesn’t yet know we’re all in trouble. One of the many things I love about Claire is that she always talks to us as if we’re humans, which means we generally get to know what’s going on. ‘I’m sorting the shopping. I’ve got ours to do, Polly and Matt’s and a couple of other people in the street, and then I’ve got the phone calls…’

A lot of people we know are on their own, and with lockdown they’re even more isolated, so Claire has drawn up a rota of people to call on the telephone to make sure they get some human interaction. A brilliant idea – probably one of mine actually. I’ve taught Claire practically everything she knows.

‘Meow,’ I say, settling myself on her lap and purring my approval.

‘You cats are so lucky being able to go out, but don’t let strangers pet you. I know Jonathan said you probably couldn’t get the virus but I’m not letting you take any chances.’

‘Meow.’ I don’t really understand what she means but I’m not going too far from home at the moment, so strangers petting me shouldn’t be a huge problem. What is a huge problem is the fact that last week they had been unable to get us our favourite cat food, due to people doing something called ‘panic buying.’ While I appreciate that humans are looking out for their cats it seems selfish, because it isn’t just cat food they’re hoarding. Among other things, toilet paper is apparently like gold dust. It shows no consideration for others in my opinion, and especially for people who can’t afford to buy in bulk. If I owned a supermarket there would be trouble, let me tell you…