Of everyone in the zoo, the turtles are doing the best. I had thought that life on the patio in the flat was perfect for them, but they have shown me that they prefer life in the townhouse.

Before I moved in, I asked my bemused contractor to ensure that no turtle could slip under my gate in a break for freedom. The gate has been constructed as specified, but it's turned out not to be necessary. The turtles make their breaks very rarely, usually heading in the opposite direction, inside the house.

The biggest surprise has been the increased appetites all the turtles have shown. Not only do they eat more, but also, turtles who once refused their greens now enthusiastically eat anything that I put in their tubs. Even Bugsy, the snake-necked turtle who is supposed to be totally carnivorous, now tucks into his kale and shrimp.

The cats are showing increased appetites as well, a big disappointment to me. When we moved into the townhouse, I had dreams of floppy tummies turning lean and muscled as the cats tromped up and down stairs. They've happily adapted to the stairs, although only the two youngest follow me when I go up to the fourth floor.

Even Susu, who suffers from arthritis in her hind legs, wanders up and down the first three floors, having chosen her own private sleeping and hiding spots.

Yet catfood bills have soared. Yoyo has more than doubled his food intake, and Malee, the eldest at 14 years old, is quite capable of finishing off nearly all of a small tin, when once she simply nibbled politely.

Floppy tummies thus remain with us, although hips and hind legs have grown quite strong.

Perhaps too strong. When Yoyo joined us as a kitten just one year ago, he could barely manage jumping up on a chair, having spent most of his young life in a cage. He gradually developed the muscles he needed, and in the flat, ascended bookcases with flair and just a few missteps.

In the townhouse, he's taken his ascents to new heights, as I discovered the other day. Always a talker, at first I thought that his cries from the car park were simply conversation. When his yells grew desperate, I found him hanging from the wire-mesh fencing. He wasn't exactly hanging, though. The claws of all four paws were wrapped around the mesh.

He was supporting his body, but he seemed unsure how to disengage his claws and jump down. He had jumped upwards over two metres, and I was unsure how to reach him. I finally stood on a stool and raised his bottom so that he could move his forepaws by himself. He twisted his body around and jumped into my arms.

Thus I was reminded of yet another danger - how to maintain my balance when a hefty cat slams into my chest.

By Laurie Rosenthal