My top choice must be ‘Cloudy’, the portrayal of a real cat by a particularly skilled and sensitive animal painter. Landscape, sky and weather fill whole pages of this lovely and distinguished book.The Listener
 
One of those complete experiences which enriches the reader.Signal Selection of Children’s Books
 

Though published in the junior section, this lovely book of cat paintings – Cloudy in grass, rain, wind, and sand – with its evocative text is a book for all.The Good Book Guide

I am a little grey cat called Cloudy.
I am the colour of thunder and rain.
It’s difficult to see me on dull days.

When the rain pours, you may catch sight of me in murky puddles.

When the wind blows, I am swept away like a ball of fluff.

And if the sun shines, I’ll be stalking in the shadows.

When I was wild, I slept in a stable.
I lurked in tumbledown sheds and dark alleys.
If I rolled in the dirt, I would disappear in a cloud of dust.

Now I sit by a warm stove on a winter’s evening,
but still no one knows I am there.

I hunt at dusk.
I prowl through the long grass under the light of the moon.
 
In the early mornings, I hide in the top of the plum tree
where the birds can’t see me.

If I cross the road, I must run like the wind…
And when I come home, I creep through my front door,
silently, secretly…

No one notices.

No one, that is, except my old friend,
who keeps my secret until the first misty light of dawn…

…when I disappear again.

I am a little grey cat called Cloudy.
I am the colour of thunder and rain.
It’s difficult to see me on dull days.

When the rain pours, you may catch sight of me in murky puddles.

When the wind blows, I am swept away like a ball of fluff.

And if the sun shines, I’ll be stalking in the shadows.

When I was wild, I slept in a stable.
I lurked in tumbledown sheds and dark alleys.
If I rolled in the dirt, I would disappear in a cloud of dust.

Now I sit by a warm stove on a winter’s evening, but still no one knows I am there.

I hunt at dusk.
I prowl through the long grass under the light of the moon.
 
In the early mornings, I hide in the top of the plum tree where the birds can’t see me.

If I cross the road, I must run like the wind…
And when I come home, I creep through my front door, silently, secretly.
No one notices.

No one, that is, except my old friend,
who keeps my secret until the first misty light of dawn…

…when I disappear again.