‘Cats can’t be that bad,’ I said. ‘You think so?’ he asked. ‘Well, take a look at this …’ and he pulled up his sleeve. I saw three huge scars, stretching from his wrist to his elbow. ‘Tibbles mightn’t have been no wild cat,’ he said, ‘but her kittens were. One of them did this to me.’ I didn’t dare breathe. ‘When I was shifting rocks to see where the wrens were hiding, this wild cat sprang out. Fangs like daggers. And claws …’