Cyril applied his nose to the stone. The scent of cat was strong – frustratingly so – which meant that he had probably only just missed it. And the annoying thing about cats, or one of the annoying things – there were so many – was that they would often watch one from a place of safety while one looked for them. This cat, whom Cyril recognised from his scent, was a particularly irritating creature. Large, smug, green-eyed, he positively invited dogs to pursue him. But, of course, none would ever succeed in bringing him to justice. Cyril knew that; with an aching wistfulness he knew that he would never come as close to this particular cat as he wished.

He dreamed about it, and Angus would smile at the sight of Cyril’s legs twitching in his sleep as the dream of pursuit and capture unfolded. Dogs regularly dream of such things but, of course, have no concept of dreams and so cannot distinguish between what happened in the dream and what happens in real life. So if a dog dreams that he has caught a rabbit, or a cat, or has found a particularly tasty morsel to eat, then that, from the dog’s point of view, is what happened. In Cyril’s case, he had caught whole legions of cats, because that is what had happened in his dreams; he had taught them a thing or two, filling his mouth with their fur and then spitting it out in triumph, exacting sweet revenge for all the insults that cats had heaped upon the canine world, going back such a long time. That had all happened, as far as Cyril was concerned, because he remembered it.

When they arrived at Big Lou’s, Matthew had finished his first cup of coffee and was waiting for Big Lou to serve his second. Angus Lordie greeted Matthew with a nod while he enquired after Big Lou’s health.

‘Can’t complain,’ said Big Lou. She said the same thing every day – can’t complain – and it was true. It was not in her nature to complain; she simply could not. Not once had she complained during the years when she had looked after her aged uncle, or when she worked as a care assistant in the Granite Nursing Home in Aberdeen. She came from a place where people did not complain, where it was understood – quite correctly – that moaning and groaning only made things worse. There was no word for self-pity in the language of the north-east of Scotland – the nearest being a word which is defined in the Scots dictionaries as being ‘a term used to express self-reproach on paying too much for something’.