Dear Dennis,

We had some short-term tenants that tested your patience. A family member lived with us for a time, and she brought her two kittens along. Most of the time, the whole group got along really well. The house was big enough, and had two storeys, so there was usually a way to avoid kitten play if you wanted to.

Max was a little older than you, and wasn’t too fond of the kittens when they got really energetic. One pounce and he would have enough. If he couldn’t dodge their playful wrestling, he wasn’t shy about asking for help.

Some cats, you included, come running at the sound of a cat in distress, and Max was really good at sounding distressed. And you were still a little heavy at the time.

I remember the day you earned your nickname. I was sitting in the living room, and could hear the kittens play-fighting in the other room. Max strolled in to get a snack and became the victim of their energy. A few seconds after Max started screaming, I heard a thump upstairs.

I could head you come pounding down the hall, I saw you flying down the stairs and past me. Your ears were forward, your pupils dilated, your tail at full alert. Before I could get to the kitchen, it was all over. The kittens had both fled upstairs, Max was sitting in the kitchen grooming out the bad things and you had your face in the food bowl.

We actually came up with a manoeuvre to avoid further ‘tiffs’. Because you and the male kitten ‘Mel’ both loved food, we kept treat bags in a few strategic places. If the kittens started getting something going, we’d just shake a treat bag.

Both you and Mel would drop pretty much anything you were doing to come running for a treat. And if all else failed, it was ‘Super Dennis’ to the rescue.