Still, I bent to touch his side and stroked the softness of the fur that wasn’t matted with blood. No purr met my hand. He didn’t arch against me the way he always did. His body was stiff and cold, a stuffed toy; not my Alfie. I turned and dashed up the stairs to wake Rohan. He was fast asleep, snoring loudly.

‘Ro,’ I whispered. He didn’t stir.

‘Ro!’ Louder this time, but still nothing. I touched his upper arm and he moved against it in his sleep, as if shaking off a fly.

‘Darling!’ Then, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw his jar of melatonin capsules on the bedside. Of course. He’d have taken something for the jet lag. I’d have to deal with Alfie alone.

Back in the kitchen, I found an old towel and a pair of rubber gloves then, gingerly, I picked up the cat’s body, and wrapped it in the towel, wishing with all my heart that Rohan were here to take control – to dig the hole and bury the cat; to say a few words with his arm around me; to give me a squeeze and tell me everything would be okay.

What had happened to Alfie? Who’d done this?

I found the spade in the garden shed, located a spot under the oak tree and started to dig a little grave. In the distance, a dog barked – someone else’s pet, alive, warm and well, its heart still beating. The spade sliced through the soil; through earthworms and grass roots. How deep did this have to be anyway? I didn’t want the squirrels digging Alfie up by accident. Soon I was sweating with exertion and I straightened up to unzip my jacket and wipe my forehead. The oak tree branches swayed and the clouds broke, giving me a racing glimpse of the moon. I dragged the towel containing Alfie’s body to the hole and lowered it gently in. I had no flowers, but I closed my eyes and clasped my hands together.

‘Rest in peace, darling Alfie. I love you.’

Then I shovelled the soil back over the body, using my feet to stamp it down once it was levelled. I’d make a cross or something from some sticks in the morning.

But who would kill a cat? So brutally? Yes, it was Hallowe’en and the neighbourhood kids were out and about more than usual. Yes, those kids were thinking about ghosts and ghouls and death and horror, but I doubted very much that they were responsible for this. In my mind there was only one suspect.

‘Don’t you like cats?’

‘No. But it’s mutual.’

Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019

‘What did happen with the cat?’