As you may know, I lost my darling Sly (Sylvester) almost a year ago. At the time, I swore I wouldn't have any more cats while we lived here. We lost Sly's brother, Kiwi, many years ago, hit by a car on the road. What was more heartbreaking than his loss, was that we didn't find him for several days and he was still alive (though very, very injured).

Roll forward to last November, and we adopted two little boys from our local cat shelter. They were deeply traumatised when we got them but slowly developed into a couple of adorable hooligans.

Every day, I was terrified they wouldn't come home, that they would get hit by a car. Every single day. I was less worried about Max - he seemed to stay pretty close to home - but Nero... Nero had that same Wanderlust that Kiwi had.

Just over a week ago, Nero didn't come home. We hoped he had just got himself shut in a shed or a garage, but deep down, we knew he hadn't. We found his body the next day. The small mercy is that he would have been killed instantly.

I've been trying to console myself with the thoughts that we gave him everything he wanted - food, warmth, shelter, love and the opportunity to explore and roam to his heart's content. I just wish he'd had the sense to roam in the acres and acres of fields at the back of us and not on the main road.

He was a beautiful, beautiful boy and my heart is broken.