The royals may no longer be in residence, but I am – it’s a civic duty really, to raise the tone of the place. The humans here (my staff) call me Wallace. Having seen Braveheart, I’m certainly more handsome than Mel Gibson. My coat is also a lovely black and white and, no matter how patriotic a cat I am, I refuse to paint my face blue and white.

Anyway, since arriving here some years ago I have been licking my staff into shape and am glad to see that they are making some changes to make the castle a more suitable and comfortable place for a puss of my distinction. The smart new uniforms and splendid green tartan are an improvement, especially as some of the men now wear kilts and thick socks which makes it very pleasant to rub round their legs. And what they are doing to the palace is marvellous – I’m so looking forward to those hand-woven rugs (splendid for scratching) and the huge log fires.

So even though I have never seen any of my staff catch a mouse, they are not altogether a bad lot. I get tickled and admired, quite right too. What’s more I know a thousand secret spots that humans never reach. Some are perfect for dozing in the summer sun, and others are cosy and sheltered to escape the rain and snow. I frequently make my presence known to staff and visitors – normally when I’m in the mood for a little affection. I like to sit near the forework doorway, or better still beside the model of the castle in the exhibition area, watching visitors admire my domain. But just as often they don’t know I’m there, that they are being observed through a crack, or from a roof.

And when the gates close, after my day’s duties are done, I can sometimes be seen, slinking off into the grasslands and gardens beyond the castle. Suddenly I become a swift, dark shadow slinking into the night. And that’s when my other life starts, the life my staff know nothing of, the life when I … well, that’s my business isn’t it … a tomcat has his secrets.

Wallace (with a little assistance from his friends)