The day that Tinker turned up in my back garden, unannounced and decidedly bedraggled, was otherwise unremarkable.

I’d sat around after a late breakfast, still in my dressing-gown, skimming through the newspaper and wondering why I bothered still to buy one when all that was in it was more and more trouble in the world and pages of celebrity gossip.

Then I’d had another cup of tea, pulled on my old gardening clothes and wandered outside to do some much needed deadheading.

I was bored. Having accepted an early retirement package three months earlier the alternative being relocation to the new company offices almost 200 miles away I still hadn’t found anything to fill my days.

It was hard, after 35 years of getting up to the sound of an alarm, dressing for the office and catching the train at 8.20 every morning, to find myself with time on my hands and absolutely no structure to my daily life at all.

My sister Lorna insisted that I would get used to it soon enough and that there were huge benefits to be gained from being your own boss, as she laughingly called it. holidays at the drop of a hat; meeting friends for coffee; having a lie in whenever I fancied one and not having to go out at all when it snowed!

She made it sound like I’d been missing out on something wonderful all these years. The reality was that I missed my old life the people, the sense of purpose, the responsibility.

Rattling about at home with all the housework done and not even a good book to read until my next trip to the library, I felt more than a little sorry for myself.

They say that life has a habit of giving you what you need when you least expect it, don’t they? That you don’t have to go looking for luck. If it’s meant to be, it will find you.

And that’s how it was with Tinker. Snipping away with my secateurs, humming to break the silence and with my mind miles away in an office that no longer existed, I didn’t hear his plaintive little cries at first. In fact, if he hadn’t jumped out of the way as I bent down to lop off a few dead brown leaves hanging close to the ground, I could easily have had his tail off, poor little mite.

I wasn’t familiar with kittens. Growing up, there had been a succession of family dogs and, until it found a hole in the fence and disappeared without trace, a tortoise called Timmy we’d inherited from an elderly neighbor.

Cats were a mystery. I admired them for their haughtiness and independence, the fact they didn’t need constant attention or twice-daily walks, and the way they pretty much took care of themselves.

But this little fellow didn’t look capable of taking care of himself at all. He was small. I judged him to be only a couple of months old, and when I picked him up tentatively in case he decided to lash out with his claws he fitted easily into the palm of my hand with just his front paws hanging over the side.

He was mainly black, with a splodge of white under his tummy and at the tip of one ear. And he was thin. Running my finger down his back. I could feel his tiny bones through the matted fur and saw what looked like fleas hopping about around his neck. It was obvious he had been outside for some time.

“Well, now, young Tinker,” I said, speaking softly to make sure I didn’t frighten him. “Where have you come from?”

I have no idea why I called him Tinker, but the name seemed to suit him.

“Let’s take you inside, shall we, and find you something to eat?”

I carried him through to the kitchen, surprised to realize how quickly he had accepted me. By the time I sat down at the table and spooned some tune into the saucer still left out from my earlier cup of tea, he was already rubbing his head against my arm and purring fit to burst.

He guzzled the tuna down and followed it with a slice of honey roast ham. It was the best I could do at short notice, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Then he scampered across the kitchen floor and into the lounge, managed to jump up into my favourite armchair and fell fast asleep. Talk about making himself at home!

I had forgotten all about my gardening efforts and turned my thoughts towards what I should do with my unexpected visitor when he woke up. Get him checked over at the vet? Try to find out if anyone locally might have lost him, or take him to some kind of rescue centre?

The last thing on my mind was to keep him. But keep him I did!

The vet looked him over the next morning, confirmed he was indeed a male, sold me some flea treatment and searched for a microchip that wasn’t there.

The receptionist put a Found: Kitten notice on the board and directed me to a website for lost and found pets. I popped him back into the cardboard box I had used to transport him there and took him home, where he promptly went straight back to sleep, giving me time to dash to the supermarket and stock up on cat food before he woke up again.

I bought a plastic litter tray and a bag of litter while I was there. Up till now we’d got by with a sprinkling of garden soil on a pile of old newspapers, but it wasn’t ideal, and if I wanted to keep my kitchen floor clean then these things would have to be done properly.

It wasn’t until three days later that it occurred to me Tinker had actually moved in. not as a temporary guest, but for ever. Nobody had reported him missing, nobody responded to the notice at the vet’s.

I hadn’t got around to calling the rescue centre. What would they do, anyway? Try to find him a new home, and keep him in a cage until they did? Tinker didn’t need a new home. He had found one, with me.

After that, life became a lot less boring with a little furry face nudging me awake every morning and a warm body curled on my lap every time I sat down. It felt good to have someone to care for and to talk to. The house felt less empty, and I found myself looking forward to the future and making plans again.

“I thought you didn’t like cats!” Lorna said on her next visit.

“I never said I didn’t like them. I just never had a lot to do with them before.”

She had brought her grandchildren with her. Lily and Sean were eight year old twins, bursting with energy and curiosity. I hadn’t had a lot to do with children in the past, either, never having had any of my own, but I’d soon come to love these two, as I now pointed out to my sister.

“That’s different,” she said. “They’re not animals; they’re family.”

I looked at little Tinker, chasing a ball of wool he’d pulled from my knitting bag, and smiled. He wasn’t just an animal, he was family, too, now. But it would have been pointless trying to explain that to Lorna.

“Anyway, I’ve decided to visit that animal rescue place in Little Oakford.”

Lorna stopped drinking her tea and put her cup down.

“What for? I thought you’d decided to keep him.”

“I have. Or, more like, he’s decided to keep me!”

“Then what do you want with animal rescue? Not going to start taking in waifs and strays, are you?” Lorna snorted.

“Probably not. But if there’s one thing this little chap has taught me, it’s that no animal should be without a loving home. And no lonely person should be without a loving pet. I’m going to volunteer my services, and try to do something about matching the two up. I hear they’re always looking for volunteers, and with my office experience and time on my hands, if might suit me.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather spend more time in the garden, or write your memoirs or something? Maybe go on a relaxing cruise?”

I laughed.

“I’m sick of the garden, I’ve never done anything exciting to write about and I get seasick just crossing the Channel on the ferry to France! I need more purpose in my life, Lorna. Tinker turned up here for a reason, I’m sure of it.”

“Yes he recognized a soft touch when he saw one! Free food and a comfy bed. I think I would have done the same in his position.”

“You’ve got Harry and the kids.” I watched the twins rolling around the floor with Tinker, slowly twisting the yards of unraveling wool into knots I would never be able to untangle. “Life is different for you. Tinker has filled a hole in mine that I hadn’t even realized was there. Maybe I can do the same for someone else. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

On that note, before she could pour cold water on any more of my plans. I gathered up the empty cups and left the room.

The rescue centre was much smaller than I had imagined. Hidden behind a high wire fence, it consisted of a rather tatty Portakabin with a sign above its creaky door saying Reception. Please come in, an equally dilapidated portable loo and a series of assorted huts and pens arranged higgledy-piggledy across an area hardly bigger than my own back garden.

“Hello, can I help you?” an elderly red-faced woman looked up as I knocked gently and poked my head around the door.

“I hope so. Although I was rather hoping it’s me who might be able to help you! I’m Jan Roberts. I’d like to find out about offering my services in some way. Just a couple of days a week, maybe?”

“Oh, how lovely! Please do come in and sit down. I’m Rose Garner, the manager here. Manager sounds rather grand truth is I’m sort of head animal keeper, accountant, fund raiser and phone answerer all rolled into one. Any help is very much appreciated, I can assure you. You do realize we can’t pay?”

“Of course. I’m not looking for money, just something useful to do.”

“Recently retired?”

“How did you guess?”

“Been there and done that.” Rose laughed. “Got the T-shirt, as they say.”

I was going to like Rose, I could tell.

“Let me show you around before you commit yourself to anything. We’re quite basic, low on facilities, if you know what I mean, and run off our feet a lot of the time. We’re totally reliant on voluntary contributions, both of cash and time, but it’s very rewarding. I take it you like animals? Silly question, but it is rather important that you do. Do you have any pets of your own?”

My mind flipped to Tinker, who I’d felt curled up at the end of my bed with a full bowl of meaty chunks awaiting him in the kitchen. I never could have done that with a dog, but my little Tinker was already showing that feline independent streak I had always admired, and I knew he’d fine by himself for a few hours.

“Yes, I do. He’s the reason I’m here. Let’s say that he’s managed to open my eyes to a few things lately.’

Rose walked me around ach of the outbuildings and introduced me to various cats, dogs, rabbits and hamsters.

“They don’t generally stay here long,” she explained. “We try very hard to rehome them as soon as we possibly can. But there are more animals arriving every week lost, abandoned, no longer wanted, sometimes hurt. Mostly domestic pets, but we do see the occasional wild animal. A baby owl, or an injured fox. Someone brought us in a swan a while back with a broken leg.”

She sighed.

“It can be hard to let them go once we get attached to them, but a good recovery and a for ever home is what we’re ultimately aiming for, for all of our residents. In ninety per cent of cases we achieve it.”

“And the other ten?”

“They stay here. For as long as they need.”

The more I saw, the more I knew I wanted to get involved.

“So, what can I do to help? I’m no animal expert, but I’m good with a computer. Paperwork, files, that sort of thing.”

“Well, I’m no office expert and I’d much rather be out here with the animals, so it seems to me we’d make a pretty good team! When can you start?

I went every Wednesday and Friday after that, and soon had the small office running like clockwork, popping outside to help with feeding and dog-walking whenever things were quiet or I needed a break from the paperwork.

As I was a volunteer, there was no pressure. I could choose my own hours and walk away at any time if I felt like it. Not that I ever did. The rescue centre started to felt like my second home, and Tinker, growing bigger and bolder every day, was always there to welcome me at the end of the day.

I did worry that he might be lonely, but a beautiful little stray cat called Sheri soon solved that problem for me.

“Are you sure, Jan?” Rose asked when I presented her with the rehoming forms, already signed with my own name. “It’s easy to get involved with the animals here. Before you know it, you’ll want to take all of them home!”

But I was sure.