He's Frank

Many years ago, when I lived in a grotty flat in Loughborough, I had a cat. His name was Frank, which, in my opinion is the only name a cat should have. He went hitchhiking with me on occasion (and did he enjoy a trucker's breakfast), and also travelled by train (walking up the carriage looking for him by peering under peoples' seats did cause some embarrassing moments). He was clever enough to use tools (wooden ones).
I was reminded of him the other day, when I spotted this cat at the bus stop (there he is, to the left).
Not the first time I have seen this cat. It goes shopping too.
These days, my cats are rather less adventurous: Monty is a lazyarse who weighs far too much

While Buffy does little more than venture into the back garden occasionally, when she is tired of spraying the kitchen floor