It’s cold in Dimchurch, bitter cold, and this morning when I caught the 08:05 I saw a thin, grey cat slink across the station platform and disappear inside a boarded up waiting room in search of shelter. I couldn’t investigate further, because just then my train pulled in and I had to go; but when I came back that evening (in the pitch black) I gave the waiting room a bit of an inspection. It’s at the end of the platform, beyond where the trains normally stop and no one pays it much attention. Intriguingly, I saw a pale light at the edges of the boarded up windows, and I looked through a knothole and saw a big, lit-up space inside (bigger than I’d been expecting) and there was a big, old four-poster bed in the middle of the floor, and an old fashioned counterpane spread across the mattress and about a dozen grey cats on the counterpane asleep. These cats are marauders. I said to myself, because that’s what hedge-cats are called in Dimchurch and this was clearly their HQ and base of operations. I didn’t want to wake them, so I went straight home and made sure that Pink had plenty of coal on the fire.