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December 26, 2001
Just as the latch is beginning to turn Argyle launches himself onto the window sill, spitting and hissing, with his fur bristled on his high-arched back, and with one set of claws slashing at the glass. The hand whips away from the window with a startled cry, and I hear a fast shuffling through the grass away from the house. The cat hisses at the creature's back until the sound has faded, then drops down next to me on the floor.

'With any luck,' he says calmly, 'it will think that this house is empty except for a neurotic cat.'