In the latest part of her cat care column, Bexley-based pet expert Pauline Dewberry, who runs the website, looks at the lessons we can inadvertently learn from our feline friends.

Some years ago, when the National Lottery first started, I engaged my two cats, ginger brothers Garfield and Biggles, in choosing the numbers.

As I hadn’t had any luck with my choices – the usual birthdays, children’s ages, anniversaries – I thought my cats might have better luck.

You’ll now be expecting me to say I’m writing this from a palatial mansion in Berkshire or Los Angeles, thanks to the amazing abilities of Biggles and Garfield’s prowess in choosing successful lottery numbers. If only that were the case but sadly it is not. They failed dismally.

I cut out squares of paper which I numbered 1 to 49 (as it was then). Each Saturday morning I’d throw the squares of paper all over the carpet – numbers side down so I couldn’t see them and to make sure that Biggles or Garfield didn’t choose a number they liked the look of – and then I’d call them in.

I didn’t tell them what to do. I just observed their behaviour.

Biggles’ first thought was to lie all over the numbers so, of course, it was hard to choose which numbers he was ‘drawn’ to.

Garfield was marginally cleverer. He would put a paw on a piece of paper, but I’d have to wrestle it from under him – sometimes tearing it in the process. Usually, I’d be able to tell what the number was, and I’d write that down.

It was a long process. What with Biggles spread-eagled over most of the numbers, Garfield only had the squares on the periphery but armed with six, I’d head up to the newsagents, certain that I would be a millionaire that evening.

On the walk back home, I wondered about the moral obligations of sharing a million (or more) with my cats. If they were mainly Garfield’s numbers, should he have the lion’s share of the booty? Should I give them an equal share? They are brothers, and it was an exercise they both took part in. If I didn’t tell them I’d won, and I moved (with them of course, I’d never leave them behind), to a larger house, would they be suspicious? Would they expect their own ‘Feline Annexe' – like a Granny Annexe – only set up purely for cat-like things: water fountain; scratching posts; tall towers so they can look out at the birds and wildlife – that kind of thing?

As it turned out, all my ruminations came to naught; none of their numbers ever came up. I didn’t even win the tenner that millions of people won. The moral of the story? Be happy with what you’ve got! Perhaps that was what they were trying to teach me all along.