Janet
The way Dee tells it, it all started with a knock on the door one winter's night in 1997. "Our dad's died missus and we need someone to take our cat," said the one of the two East End urchins standing on the step, gesturing to the ball of terrified black fur being held upside down by her brother. Concluding that a) some crucial part of the animal in question might fall off if she did not quickly take hold of it and b) if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't get back to the TV in time to find out if Ross and Rachel finally get to kiss in Friends, my future wife decided to accept the challenge.
Since then, Janet's existence has been one of identity-searching ubiquity and outrageous acts of idiocy. Saddled with a girl's name ("how was I to know? It's very fluffy down there," protests Dee), he is our feline nowhere man, synonymous with phrases like "underrated" and "cruelly overlooked". Sometimes we call him the dark horse, not just because of his character, but because he's dark, and looks like a horse. The notable difference, perhaps, is that horses are vaguely intelligent, and Janet is not. This fact was exemplified in 2001, when he saw a pigeon flying past the window of our third storey flat and decided he would transcend his earthly limits and spontaneously learn how to fly. Has seemed a little brain-damaged ever since. Nonetheless, he remains an enigmatic figure, and one senses there is something deeper lurking under the surface. Possibly an ear mite.

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