Cats are special. We lost Wentworth earlier this year after a year or two of declining health. He is greatly missed but we often remember his unique personality and the joy it brought to us. Wentworth and Gawber were from the same litter and from feral stock, they could not be so different in nature and temperament. We named the brothers Wentworth and Gawber after two areas where we used to live in South Yorkshire.

We acquired them as kittens from my partner’s sister, who had a small holding in northern Spain. There are many magical moments I recall from the past twenty years, including our very steep learning curve as naive cat guardians.

One incident I remember fondly involved Wentworth, our slender black cat, a local farmer’s dog and an old cherry tree that grew in the far corner of our land. My partner and I had moved to Spain and purchased a new house with a large piece of land that supported a healthy population of land voles. We thought that having two cats would deter the voles and help us in our effort to grow our own produce. We were new to caring for cats, having only kept dogs previously. It was a steep learning curve for all parties.

One warm, balmy summer evening, Wentworth was out exploring the meadow over the dry-stone wall at the bottom of the garden. We knew the farmer who rented the meadow was soon to put his cattle on there to graze and that he was visiting almost daily to ensure the wire fencing was secure and to deliver water troughs. One day, the farmer had turned up with his sandy-coloured, shaggy-looking cross-breed hound that we knew to be nervously aggressive at times.

Relaxing on the terrace post dinner, we heard a terrible commotion and set off down the garden to see what was happening. Wentworth’s snarling cat call and the dog’s over-excited, running bark were enough to get our adrenaline pumping.

By the time we reached him, Wentworth was 30 feet aloft at the very top of a frail branch of the cherry tree. The dog was barking and frantically scratching at the base.

Instinct kicked in; protect and rescue Wentworth at all costs, take no prisoners.

The dog ran as soon as he could smell our anxiety and anger. We stood nervously staring at a wide-eyed Wentworth perched precariously in the highest reaches of the canopy. Gentle coaxing and reassurance had little effect, and as the wind gathered pace, our anxieties grew. No amount of encouragement helped; he remained stoical and static.

Logic and common sense had been left back on the terrace with the half-empty bottle of Rioja.

“Quick, bring the ladder”, I said, “he’s going to fall”.  Luis ran to get the ladder only to realise that there was no way it would reach the cat. “I’ll get partway up, and maybe he’ll come towards me?” Luis suggested, knowing only too well that it was unlikely we could secure the ladder to be safe enough to try. Try, we did, but Wentworth remained on his wavering bow and watched with great intensity our insane efforts. The fire brigade wasn’t an option as we were so far from services.

“What about a sheet?” I ran to the garage and grabbed an old king-size quilt cover destined for the next decorating job.

Now you have to remember that at this point, when adrenaline pumps and the young, wide-eyed ball of kitten fluff is in imminent danger, you do not have time to think about likely scenarios. It is only the unlikely scenarios that taint and twist your judgment.

Luis and I stood at the base of the tree with the bright blue duvet cover stretched out, ready for Wentworth to trust us wholeheartedly and jump to safety and into the loving arms of his two companions. “Jump, Wentworth, come on, boy, jump”…

By now, physiology had worked its magic, and the rush of adrenaline and associated madness was beginning to subside. We looked at each other, and with a mutual quizzical smile, we both realised what we were doing and wondered if any of our village neighbours or the visiting farmer had witnessed our unfolding duvet drama. We grinned, chuckled, folded up the quilt cover and returned to the terrace to finish our half-full bottle of wine.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, Wentworth appeared, tail held high, his big golden eyes sparkling and a grin on his face which said: “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Some years later, we all returned to the UK, and both cats enjoyed their autumn years in a quiet, rural environment, with access to an external catio and lots of comfy beds to dream away their days and, hopefully, remember the incredible adventures they have had. Wentworth has now left us and has left paw prints on our hearts. He was special.