Cat Memoir from my Uncle Rod--

"I was at sea by the time that Judy left the scene, I know not how, and I came home to 57 Folkestone to find that a tabby tom by the name of Trevor (after Trevor Bailey of Essex and England cricket fame) was in residence. He was a bit of a snob, with a name like Trevor in East Ham –what else - and whilst he would come in by the back door, he insisted that he always left through the front door. Wally!! At the time, Dad was working night shift with the Blue Funnel Line and would walk home down Vicarage Lane each morning about a quarter past seven. Trevor would get up and stand by the front door about seven o’clock, demanding to be let out, and then sit on the gate post until about ten past seven, when he would jump down and disappear round the corner into Vicarage Lane and meet Dad a hundred or so yards up the street. I don’t know whether it was smell, sound or ESP that triggered his mad dash around the corner but he was spot on every morning and would trot alongside Dad, jumping up every few yards, all the way home and into the hall. Dad used to bring the cat home a little morsel of food each day – a bit of fish or meat – wrapped up in greaseproof paper. The cat could smell the food and would go bananas with frustrated hunger, while Dad would be telling him that there wasn’t any food today. Then a search of all his pockets until, much to his surprise, there was a package, which took agonising moments to unwrap , until finally the cat was able to gulp down this prime piece of manna from heaven.
After Dad died, Trevor would still go out every morning and sit on the gate post and wait for hours. I don’t know how long this lasted but I know that it hurt Mum and kept reminding her of the little scene that used to be enacted every morning. I don’t think Mum had another cat after that...."