When I met John in 79, he had Batman, a gorgous black cat - he died a year later, 11 years old. I had always loved cats, but weren't allowed to have one as chlld. When John an dI had been togehter a few years, a friend of ours had split up. They had a beautiful tabby, named Sir Patrick. Their flat was empty and the guy went there to feed him every couple of days. John and I felt bad abut that, so we offered to take him. Well, I lived in aroom in a villa, so he ended up with. Later, I movd in with John and we took him along. At the time, John's son was visiting every other weekend, and he wsa allegic to cats. We found a nice lady who loved cats and she took Sir Patrick and spoiled him rotten. When we moved in here, we found Fister in the yard and the rest of the story, you know.