I’ve had cats around since I was a kid. So I know enough about felines to be no moggy’s fool. They can be adorable, changeable and totally infuriating. They can be perfect. Then they can let you down.

TS Eliot was right.

Before a Cat will condescend

To treat you as a trusted friend,

Some little token of esteem

Is needed.

And the token can come in many forms. Often, it’s food. Often, it’s patience. Often, it’s affection and food and patience.

And sometimes – whatever you do – the trusted bit just never happens.

I’ve had cats who’ve loved me unconditionally. And ones who loved me at mealtimes. Or when it was cold and they wanted the warm spot on the duvet.

I had one who never loved me at all. He loved everyone else. I didn’t really mind.

I had one who’d wait until I was asleep and then jump on my head.

I had one who loved me so much she’d never let me from her sight.

And I had one who performed tricks – he’d catch spoons in his claws, play hide and seek in the sink.

I had one who went to live elsewhere because he didn’t like the fact that I moved house. Fair play. I respected that.

I had one who was beautiful with an IQ of about 2.

I’ve even had a ghost cat.

But cat feuds have never been a thing in my house. I can remember cats frolicking together, being harmonious, playing nice.

But not these three cats I have at the moment.

Welcome to the current three Mousecatteers – all for themselves and one for nobody.

First TC. Top Cat. His name is really Monty- that’s what he was called when I adopted him. He’s beautiful, sleek, black, affectionate, good natured. Until he’s faced with the other two cats, then he’ll hiss and spit and become really antisocial. And one of the others is his brother.

Who is called Murphy. Small, runty, greedy, not capable of affection but really sweet. Both brothers have been feral, so I’ll forgive them most things. But Murphy steals food. Papadums. Marmite on toast. Curry. Ice cream. Rice. Yorkshire puddings. He’ll eat anything, especially when I have visitors. And he’ll pick his moment, when everyone’s looking the other way.

And he as another party trick. He’ll throw up, just to annoy you. He’s happy to be sick anywhere but often it’s just where you want to sit down. And he doesn’t do it quietly.

He’ll pick his moment, then beeuukk, beeuukk, beeuukk…

Enter Batface, stage left. Big and beefy and a massive bully. Cute and adorable and in your face kissable. And so intensely jealous that he constantly eyeballs the other two. There’s a lot of growling and silly macho behaviour from Batface all day long if he can’t own me for himself.

Then Batface makes really bad decisions. Mostly, he chases the other two cats and then fur flies.

Please don’t give me advice. I treat the cats equally, like babies. I have plugged in pheromones and sung lullabies to them and put butter on their paws, gone running with them, kept them separate and brought them together in one room, one sofa, one knee.

But harmony isn’t happening.

Of course they’ll get there, in time. We have lots of progress. Batface has even licked Murphy’s nose. But then it’s two paws forwards and one paw back. I’ll come home from being out somewhere and find all three of them sulking in the garden, doing a standoff, Gunfight at High Noon, lining up in their separate trenches with missiles and grenades, yelling abuse at each other. Yes, it’s food based.

And me based. 

You know that song that went

I wanna be your number one…

I need a break. I need a holiday. I need some peace.

But peace comes at a price. And three into one won’t go.

So every nice harmonious night on the rug by the roaring fire with three peacefully purring cats, or a cup of tea on the patio with three furry boys stretched contentedly out in the sunshine is likely to be a very temporary thing. And like a ticking time bomb, there’s very likely to be in an explosion of fur.

Yes. We know how it’s going to end…

Murphy, TC, Batface. Butter wouldn’t melt.