Nick Harding’s biggest love rival

She was insistent. “Put him on the line, I want to speak to him.” The Skype connection had only just been made. I’d not seen or spoken to my partner, Stephanie Davies, for several days but that did not matter. Wearily, I pointed the lens on the phone at the object of her attention – our kitten Alvin.

“Mummy loves you,’’ Stephanie cooed over the speaker.

I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t even like cats. And despite my regular efforts to offer the new addition to our family an olive branch, Alvin only has eyes for Stephanie. And he’s totally replaced me in her affections.

“I’m getting a cat,’’ she repeated.

The conversation took place a few weeks after we had moved into our new home. Alvin arrived two weeks later despite my protestations.

They say in life you are either a cat or a dog person. I’m a neither person. I have two children. That’s all the responsibility I need.

I went with Stephanie to collect Alvin from a breeder, figuring it would be better to be involved than not.

I even tried to negotiate and suggested we get a hairless Sphinx variety. They look strange but they are less allergenic.

You could smell the menagerie inside before the door was even opened. Alvin’s housemates included several other cats, a dog, some terrapins, a lizard and a parrot.

“You’ve wrenched him from his mother and siblings, he’s got separation anxiety, let’s take him back,’’ I tried between sneezes.

Alvin’s forlorn cries soon subsided when we arrived home and he saw the preposterous array of bedding, toys, scratch posts and cat paraphernalia that Stephanie had bought for him – he even had a cat Superman outfit in case he fancied a game of dress-up. “Welcome to your new home,’’ she fawned.

Stephanie fussed over him for around an hour before deciding that exposure therapy was the best way for me to overcome the various ailments he was sparking, including runny eyes and itchy skin. She placed him on my lap on the sofa.

“Have a cuddle with Daddy,’’ she cooed. For five minutes we sat awkwardly eyeing each other until Alvin urinated on me, jumped down and trotted away.

That was our introduction and since then my relationship with both Alvin and my partner has degenerated. The cat is coming between us. While Stephanie has become increasingly besotted, Alvin and I have been having teething problems and I have the scars to prove it.

It’s partly my fault. I didn’t read the small print about Bengal cats until a few weeks after he’d settled in and started his erratic behaviour. Bengals were created by crossing domestic cats with Asian leopard cats, hence their attractive markings. Their temperament is often described as being similar to that of the character Tigger in Winnie the Pooh; energetic, acrobatic and overly exuberant. Ostensibly we’d homed the feline equivalent of a gymnastic toddler with ADHD who’d been fed all the blue Smarties.

According to the International Bengal Cat Society, ‘The Bengal cat demands a good deal of attention and affection. Whether they are fishing in the aquarium or playing in their water bowls, fetching balls for their families, taking walks on a leash or climbing to the top of the highest cupboards, Bengals are constantly on the move and are perfect for anyone who wants to interact and play with their cat daily.’’

It began with bedtimes. “He’s not coming in the bedroom,’’ I insisted.

“But he’s only small,’’ Stephanie argued, trying to win me round.

When he did manage to get in, he positioned himself in the middle of the bed and if I dared move a limb or digit towards Stephanie, he would attack it before curling up next to her and purring.

Often he’d go into a frenzy and leap at my head. I’d hide under the covers until he calmed down. And when I threw him out I was accused of bullying.

One night I thought he’d left the room and sidled up to Stephanie for a cuddle. He had been waiting behind the curtain. In a flash he climbed up it and then launched himself at me like a feline Exocet missile. He went straight for the face and I still have the faint scars from the onslaught.

His climbing prowess is grudgingly impressive. I have witnessed him scale an exposed brick chimney breast almost to the ceiling in order to launch at me when I put an arm around my beloved. He will also climb up inside the open fireplace. At such times it takes all the willpower I have not to set a fire in the hearth.

We used to enjoy romantic Sunday strolls, but Stephanie recently bought Alvin a harness and lead as recommended by the Bengal Cat Society and now he comes with us, trotting between our legs.

I do try to be nice. I feed him and stroke him, but more often than not he attacks my hand or claws my face. Sometimes, especially when he is asleep, I look at him and catch myself thinking what a wonder of evolution he is.

And I also allow myself a smug smile, because I know something he doesn’t. At six months old he’ll not only be allowed out on his own, he’ll also need to be castrated. And I’ll be the one who takes him to the vet. When he comes round from the anaesthetic and realises something is terribly amiss, I’ll be there smiling at him to remind him that I am the Daddy, not him.