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an’ I ’ad ter chuck it away,’ she moaned.
     
    ‘Well, I suggest yer get yerself a good mouser,’ Mr Goodrich told her in no uncertain manner.
     
    ‘Oh, no! I couldn’t stand me ’ome gettin’ tore ter pieces, an’ they’re so smelly,’ she moaned.
     
    Mr Goodrich laughed. ‘Listen, missus. If yer take pride in yer ’ome I’d suggest yer get a mouser. If they’re neutered they don’t smell. Good cats keep the ’ome free from rodents an’ they make good pets. If yer train ’em right they do their business in a tray in the yard, an’ they don’t take much ter keep.’
     
    Aggie went away thinking about what she had been told and she confided in Nellie Tanner once more. ‘I’ve decided ter get a mouser. It’s gotta be neutered though,’ she insisted.
     
    Nellie had no idea where her friend Aggie could obtain a neutered tomcat but she had made enquiries. The memory of the outcome brought a smile to her face on that Saturday morning as she walked down towards the crouching figure of Aggie.
     
    She had asked William about getting Aggie a cat but he had no idea where a tomcat could be found on the quick and he shook his head. ‘I’ll ask George the roadsweeper,’ was all he could suggest.
     
    Two days later William had a piece of good news for Nellie. ‘I ’ad a word wiv George about that cat,’ he told her. ‘D’yer remember ole Broom’ead Smith the totter?’
     
    Nellie nodded. ‘I ain’t seen ’im about fer years. ’E was always up an’ down the street.’
     
    ‘Accordin’ ter George, ole Broom’ead is back in circulation, ’ William went on. ‘’E went ter live wiv ’is daughter an’ ’er ’usband somewhere in Kent. Anyway, Broom’ead caused so many problems there that ’is daughter’s ’usband told ’er that eivver ’er farvver went or ’e would. So Broom’ead clouts ’im an’ packs ’is bags. ’E’s livin’ somewhere orf the Tower Bridge Road an’ ’e’s got ’imself anuvver ’orse-an’-cart.’
     
    ‘What’s that got ter do wiv Aggie’s mouser?’ Nellie asked him impatiently.
     
    ‘Well, George said Broom’ead’s got a litter o’ kittens in the stable where ’e keeps ’is ’orse an’ ’e said Aggie can ’ave one of ’em fer two bob.’
     
    Nellie’s face had brightened up. ‘Good. I’ll tell Aggie right away,’ she said.
     
    Two days later a horse-and-cart pulled up in Page Street and an elderly man with a shock of ginger hair sticking out from both sides of his battered trilby stepped down and knocked at Aggie’s front door. ‘I’ve come about the kitten,’ he announced.
     
    ‘Are yer Mr Broom’ead Smith?’ she asked.
     
    ‘I’m Bill Smith,’ the totter replied sharply. ‘I don’t use that monicker, if yer get me meanin’. I’ve got yer moggie in a box on the cart. Shall I bring it in?’
     
    Aggie looked horrified as she caught sight of the horse dung on his hobnailed boots. ‘There’s no need fer that,’ she told him. ‘I’ll come an’ get it.’
     
    ‘Please yerself, missus,’ Broomhead replied curtly. ‘Keep the fing in the front room near yer fire. I’ve jus’ took it away from its muvver so it’ll need the warmth.’
     
    Aggie accompanied the gangling totter to his cart and when she peered into the cardboard box and saw the kitten she shook her head sadly. ‘Poor little mite. It don’t look very lively. Is it all right?’ she asked him.
     
    ‘Course it’s all right. I wouldn’t be sellin’ it ter yer if it wasn’t,’ Broomhead said sharply. ‘Give it a month or two an’ it’ll catch all yer mice. Its muvver is a good mouser.’
     
    Aggie paid Broomhead the florin and took the kitten into her spotless home. That night the little creature did not stop crying and its pitiful little squeak tore at Aggie’s heartstrings. She took the kitten in its little cardboard box to the bedroom and was constantly getting up all night, peering at the tiny bundle of black fur. Harold was