Not only do they run away, but they get sick too. One day Napoleon looks a little lethargic and is off his food, and the next morning he looks like he’s about to slip away to the big scratching post in the sky.

So you take some time off work, borrow your friend’s car, take the cat to the vet, hold him still while the vet shoves a thermometer up his arse, inspect the holes in your t-shirt from the cat’s claws that appear while the thermometer was shoved up arse, hold him still while the vet gives him a needle in the back of his leg, inspect the holes in your skin from the cat’s claws that appear while the needle was inserted in his leg, hand over your credit card for it to be violated, and further torture cat for next eight days with pills shoved down his throat.

And what gratitude do you get from the little shit in return? None. Not even a thankyou.