I was delighted to be invited to spend a few days away with an old friend. It would be a rare treat, a time to relax, chat about the old days, eat meals I had not prepared myself and have mornings free from the tyranny of the alarm clock and the demands of the family. That was the idea, anyway, and no one put up any opposition to the plan. On the contrary, I was assured that I should not worry about a thing. Of course, everyone would be fine. The household would run like clockwork. They would take good care of the cats. Did I think they (the humans) were incapable of looking after themselves for a few days? So why did I feel so guilty about leaving them? Why, did I arrive at my friend's home exhausted? Self imposed martydom, I suppose, or the Puritan work ethic.

During the last few days before I left, I cleaned the entire house, changed the beds and brought the laundry, mending and ironing up to date. I took shoes to be repaired and then polished them. I wrote out detailed instructions for the washing machine, tumble dryer, dishwasher, vacuum cleaner, oven and microwave. I took our collection of tins, bottles and plastic items for recycling. I emptied and defrosted the freezer, then spent the rest of that day shopping and cooking until it was fully restocked with everyone's favourite dishes. I added foolproof instructions for defrosting and reheating each dish. I went shopping again to make sure that the fridge was full of suitable accompaniments to the meals I had frozen and then went out again, to stock up on grocery cupboard items, cleaning materials, toilet rolls and cat food. I stuck a list of suggested menus for each day, for both humans and cats, onto the door of the fridge and details of what I considered to be a healthy packed lunch. I prepared a chart with everyone's commitments and reminders about when to put out the dustbins, newspapers for recycling and bags for the latest charity collection. I withdrew money from the bank and made sure that there would be enough for social activities and to prevent any sudden panics about the right change for bus fares. I checked that mobiles were charged up and loaded with contact numbers for every conceivable relative, friend, neighbour and tradesman who might be called upon in an emergency. A recent mishap made me ensure, yet again, that everyone knew how to turn off the stopcock under the sink and cope with a blown fuse. That reminded me to check the emergency supplies of candles and matches in case of a power cut and make sure that everyone had access to a torch. It also made me test all the smoke alarms. I watered all the house plants and made sure that the usually reliable cats had a stack of clean dishes for their food and a new bag of litter for their tray in case of stomach upsets. I went through my diary and realised that a milestone birthday (my son's friend) and an anniversary (my husband's relatives) were imminent, so I bought appropriate cards and stamps for them. I called on our immediate neighbours to ask them to keep an eye on the house and the cats during the day, and to push protruding mail and newspapers through the letterbox. I provided them with a list of telephone numbers (see above), a set of spare keys and instructions for switching off our burglar alarm. Finally, I packed my suitcase and set off, turning back twice to check that I had not forgotten to stick the recipe for my husband's favourite salad dressing onto the fridge door or leave the card for our son's dental appointment in a prominent enough position on the notice board in the kitchen.

Yesterday, my husband had to go away on a course. He picked up the suitcase I had packed for him, kissed me goodbye and went.