The little bastard Fredcrumbs escaped for the third time this week this morning. The electric fence thing has been absolutely brilliant until now, but he's decided to take his chances with the pain and now he just walks over it, twitching slightly.

I had to drive around the block again and drag him through the bushes back into the car. Several scars and much blood later I finally pinned him down and got him on to the back seat.

The problem is, I didn't actually bring the cat cage round, so stood on my lap with his front paws on the steering wheel whilst I was driving us home, which is pretty good fun because I ducked every time another car came past, giggling to myself at what I imagine it must look like to see a cat driving a jag.

He's a little shit though, and whilst I'd quite like to have him skinned and served in a hot dog bun, it's difficult to be angry with something as funny as this...