‘We call her Queenie, because she rules the house and even has Harvey do her bidding.’ Ron watched the cat stretch and begin to purr beneath Danuta’s gentle hand, and before either of them could stop her, she’d wriggled beneath the blankets and was curling up to sleep in the crook of Danuta’s arm.

They both heard Matron’s voice outside in the corridor and Ron quickly retrieved the cat from the bed and stuffed her unceremoniously back into his coat pocket.

Queenie was having none of it, and she hissed and howled and fought to claw her way out.

Ron pulled the coat as tightly as he could over his chest to keep her in, and turned his back on Matron as she crashed unceremoniously into the room.

‘What’s going on in here?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing,’ said Ron, hastily backing away while he fought to contain a hissing, spitting, clawing Queenie in his pocket.

‘What’s that? What have you got in your pocket?’ the woman snapped.

‘To be sure ’tis nothing,’ he stammered, backing away as Matron advanced.

In two strides she had him cornered and whipped back his coat.

A ball of black fur and fury shot out, used Matron’s large bosom as a springboard, and flew round the room like a whirling dervish.

‘Get that cat out of here at once!’ stormed Matron, slamming the door shut and barring Ron’s escape.

Queenie shot up the curtains and hung there for a moment before performing a circle of death around the walls and then leaping across the bed to use the few pieces of furniture to get about the room without touching the floor.

Danuta was in tears of laughter and pain as she clasped her stomach. ‘My stitches,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, it hurts, but it’s so funny.’

Herding cats was not Ron’s idea of fun and he was having a déjà vu moment as he chased Queenie round the room. This was all too reminiscent of what had happened with the ferrets in the Crown – and no laughing matter.

Danuta collapsed against her pillows in a fit of giggles interspersed with little yelps of discomfort as her stitches pulled.

Queenie had no intention of being caught. She skidded past Matron, shot round the walls and then leapt onto the bed to hiss and growl at Matron, her tail fluffed to three times its normal size, her back arched before she buried herself beneath Danuta’s bedclothes.

Ron approached carefully. If he frightened Queenie she could do untold damage to Danuta with her sharp claws. ‘Keep still, wee girl,’ he warned her.

Danuta clamped her lips together to stifle her giggles, and Ron glared at Matron Billings. ‘Not a word,’ he rumbled. ‘And no loud noises, neither.’

Matron was about to answer when Ron held a grubby finger up to silence her. ‘You want the cat gone? Then do as I say.’