At last, Thames Valley Police has had the guts to stand up and be counted (Big cats ARE on the prowl in county, in Friday’s Oxford Mail).

And I, for one, am grateful.

For I know only too well what it’s like to be toyed with, licked senseless and then coughed up like nothing more than a fur ball.

Sadly, however, this humiliation was only brought into deeper, more hurtful focus hours later when I explained to police that my assailant weighed at least 350lbs and only released me after I dropped a ball of wool (knitting helps me relax).

The attack – and I still bear the tongue burns – took place about two months ago and, to be honest, I’ve kept ‘mum’ for fear of being ridiculed. But now Thames Valley’s finest have admitted that mine – and other people’s reports – may have some validity, I think it’s time that I too stood up and spoke out about this increasing menace.

There IS wild game living on the Iffley Road.

Now, whether it originates from Africa, I don’t know (after all, I’m no David Attenborough), but the big cat that knocked me to the ground as I walked back from Tesco bore – and I’m quite sure of this – all the hallmarks of a doted-on domestic pet.

Yet when I first reported this incident, shocked and, as you can appreciate, disorientated, the investigating officers refused to believe my assailant wore a collar and tag. Indeed, when I claimed I’d fleetingly spotted the name ‘Dibble’ as its jaws locked on my head, they openly laughed at me.

Still, I’m the one who’s sniggering now. And, thank God, for the past eight weeks, whenever going out, I’ve insisted on carrying a carton of single cream, a squeezy mouse, a portable scratching post and a pocket-sized fold-away litter tray (and that’s just to go down to the Fir Tree for a pint).

All in the hope, naturally, that if attacked again, I might be able to ‘tempt’ Dibble into releasing me.

But I was lucky.

A neighbour of mine who works (or at least ‘worked’) in a fish shop, has been missing since July; an old woman down the road who keeps parakeets hasn’t been spotted for weeks, and a bus driver who once confessed to me he enjoyed Walkers chicken crisps... well, at least one of his hands has turned up (clenched full of loose change, bizarrely).

The message then is clear – the police must act now, or I fear vigilante-minded residents might take the law into their own hands.

Clearly the cat isn’t too blame. It just does what a cat does.

But its owners should be made to pay.

So, if you are harbouring a big tom, or know anyone who is, contact the new Feline Incident Room (FIR), set up today on The Plain and help save a life.

Because together, we can crack this.