Walking towards the car, I find that I just can’t resist grinning. My fellow inmates from what was possibly the world’s most boring course -- *ever* -- look at me out of the corner of their eyes and appear bemused at my transformation.

I doubt they can reconcile the fact that I actually look *alive* as opposed to half-comatose; that I do actually have facial expressions other than bored, forlorn and ‘please put me out of my misery’.

Oh, and I almost forgot to add argumentative in there as well…

Not that I accept any blame for my behaviour. It wasn’t my fault that Malone decided to send me by myself to the oh-so-thrilling ‘International Crime And How To Combat It’ course.

Hang on, maybe it *was* my fault. Maybe Malone was getting his own back for something I undoubtedly did to annoy him in the past. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Anyway, if Sam had been with me then I would have been fine. He nearly always manages to keep my temper in check and my levels of boredom under control. If he’d been with me then I probably would have been able to control the urge to become ‘Know It All American’ personified and wouldn’t have ostracised myself from the rest of the group.

Then again, after sizing them up on the first day; the short-straw drawers of Interpol, the FBI, the CIA, MI6 and heck, there were even some representatives of my old favourites, the Met, I decided that I was far happier *not* knowing any of them. Hiding behind the worst traits of my nationality and my badge, even the presenters quickly learnt to leave me alone.

I wasn’t the slightest bit proud of my behaviour, but nor could I be bothered trying to combat it. I didn’t want to be at the course and I didn’t really care who knew it.

The cheeriest I ever got during my time at the course was when I was in my crappy little room and could ring Sam. Only then did I actually feel… normal. The rest of the time I was acting.

Poor Sam.

He could hardly get a word in during the first ten or so minutes of the calls as I shared my expletive laden diatribe about my day. I immediately began to feel better after getting it off my chest though and tried to convince him that he was doing me a great service (not to mention helping keep the mini-bar relatively intact).

We’d then change roles and I’d have to listen as Sam told me in great detail about how he was positive that my cat was out to get him…

If anyone had been listening in to our conversations they could have been mistaken for thinking that I owned the Devil’s own cat. The way Sam carried on made Mishy sound like Armageddon on four legs.

I seriously don’t know why Sam has such an extreme problem with Mishy. Okay, so she’s done a few things to tick him off, but, well, she’s cat… What does he honestly expect?

It’s not like she does it on purpose.

Well…

I *hope* she doesn’t.

Nah.

She’s a *cat* and surely cats have better things to do with their time than play head-fuck with humans. Surely. I mean, how could they find the time in their busy schedule of sleeping, eating, torturing things far smaller and far more defenceless than themselves, more sleeping, a spot of complaining and then more sleep?

More to the point, would they even bother?

Then again, there are times when I’m convinced that Mishy goes out of her way to torment my neighbours… If this is the case then she is obviously more intelligent then I’ve given her credit for.

Whatever. None of it really matters. I may not be able to convince Sam of her merits, but I’m happy with having Mishy as a pet. He doesn’t understand that I’d far rather come home to a cat than to *nothing*. I’m not foolish enough to kid myself that Mishy is dependant on me -- any idiot can open a tin of cat-food -- but I do think she’s (*nearly*) always happy to see me.

I know I’m always happy to see her.

Of course, she can be objective, obnoxious, tetchy, destructive and she has a vocal repertoire that has been known to set my teeth on edge, but I think this simply adds to her *character*. She’s well and truly her own cat.

I nearly miss her as much as I miss Sam.

Not that I think I’ll bother sharing this with him though. For some reason I don’t think he’d take it too well.

I’m still smiling, four hours later, as I park the car behind Sam’s in my driveway. Said smile broadens upon seeing my front door. Not even the sight of my fat bitch of a neighbour, lumbering around in her front -- for the want of a better description -- garden, can dampen my spirits.

My smile slips slightly as I get out of the car and notice that a plethora of exceptionally ugly -- and *rude* -- gnomes have taken up residence, where the wreck of a Morris Minor used to be, in their yard. They must have just arrived or I’m sure Sam would have told me about them. They’re not the sort of thing that can be missed -- or mistaken to be in good taste.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to inquire whether they take after her side of the family or his, but, not wanting to dampen my mood, force myself to grin at her instead. My face nearly cracks under the effort.

She looks at me as though I’ve got a flashing neon sign above my head that reads ‘child molester’ and scowls. "*Keel*."

That’s what I *so* like about my neighbour; the way in which she can inject more contempt into my name than *anyone*. Not even Malone comes close.

The old troll stares at me coldly as I open the front door and it takes all my willpower not to simply stick my tongue out at her. Shutting the door, I make a mental note to discuss with her, next time I have the misfortune of encountering her, what would be better to turn my apartment into -- an AIDS hostel or a home for abandoned Siamese…

With any luck she’d have a coronary at the mere concept of either.

I stand at the bottom of the stairs and wait for some sort of acknowledgment of my arrival.

None, however, is forthcoming.

How rude.

Both Sam and Mishy are momentarily off my Christmas card list.

Stalking up the stairs and into the living room, I find Sam, asleep, sprawled out on the sofa. Mishy is on his chest and the sight is so amazingly endearing that they’re both immediately back on the card list.

Mishy favours me with a look that my neighbour would have been proud of (‘Oh. *You’re* back. How kind of you to deign to grace us with your presence.’ Is what it looks like to me) as I rapidly come to the conclusion that this *has* to be Kodak moment.

I gingerly tip-toe over to the bookcase as I’m sure that’s where I last saw the camera. To my utter shock, it isn’t there and I feel all at a loss. Looking around, I then notice that next to nothing is where I left it and that the room appears suspiciously tidy.

I grin. Trust Sam.

Okay, fine. Now all I have to do is think like Sam and I should be able to find the camera.

Hmm… Camera… Technology…

A-ha! The shelving next to the computer in the study… It has to be.

To my delight, I’m right, and I find the camera carefully stacked, in its cover and all -- where he found that is anyone’s guess -- next to the camcorder. Picking it up and turning it on, I sneak back into the living room.

Mishy waits until I’ve crouched down in preparation to take the shot and then, very slowly and carefully, proceeds to extend her back leg in the air and to clean her backside.

Snap!

I take the shot, capturing Mishy at her most *elegant*, before shifting slightly back as Sam immediately struggles to consciousness.

Slowly opening his eyes, he glares balefully at Mishy, who stares just as balefully back. I nearly take another photo, but Sam turns towards me and I gleefully wave the picture in front of him instead.

Watching him look warily at the photo is a true classic; words could never do justice to the myriad expressions that cross over his face.

Enough is enough though and, putting both the picture and the camera on the coffee table, I kiss Sam quickly on the lips and pick up Mishy. She wails, I believe happily, and head butts my chin.

Not even the fact that I have to write a detailed report on my tedious course can ruin my mood as I place Mishy on the ground and sink down onto the sofa next to Sam. I settle my hand on his thigh and am reminded of the many, *many* reasons as to why I’ve missed him.

Mishy hops up on to the back of the sofa as I immediately set about re-acquainting myself with Sam’s finer points and, unless I’m seriously losing it, she appears to be smiling…