Saturday night, we're both tired, and I've nearly finished my nightly chore of loading the cutlery, mugs and plates. Meanwhile GLW is attending to her own chore of corralling the kittens kitchenwards. But she can only find one of the furballs - and that's when we heard the miaowing from the dishwasher...

We opened the cupboard under the sink and the tin cupboard, but there was that cat cry again, apparently from within the Bosch. Which, thankfully, hadn't yet been turned on.

Definitely no kitten inside, among the pots & pans. And then we discovered the space underneath, or rather the lack of it. Somewhere towards the back of this nestled a discombobulated black cat, doing his best impression of Danny The Tunnel King.

He/she (we're not quite sure) emerged later in his/her own good time, having not been tempted by the fresh can of tuna that had mostly been devoured by his/her sibling. Ah, the joys of pet ownership.