Tomtom is big for a cat. In fact, he’s gargantuan. I’m pretty sure he’s half tiger. And he’s on the grumpy side. He’s not a cuddly, sit-on-your-lap-and-have-a-lovely-stroke kind of cat. He’s more of a guard cat.

And I’d left the door open.

So, if you’ve ever seen Tom and Jerry cartoons – especially the ones with that little yellow canary – you can probably picture what happened next. But if not, then here’s what I saw:

My tiger-shaped cat leaping from the bed in a slow-motion arc.

My new dragon in Mad Panic Mode launching into the air, leaving a trail of scorch marks across the walls, his scales flaring a bright electric orange.

Tomtom – who had obviously forgotten he was wingless and unable to fly – very quickly came crashing down on my desk. He sent my rocket lamp, books and pens flying as he skittered across and landed in an undignified heap right on top of my remote-control car.

Apparently not finished in his starring role in the new Tomtom and Jerry show, the cat’s claws hit the Big Red Button on my remote. This fired up the shrieking siren and spinning lights, which sent him rocketing under my bed with an ear-splitting yowl.

I stared at the door.There was no way my parents would sleep through this racket and I wasn’t sure Lolli would either. The little dragon flew upwards and crashed into my lampshade. His claws ripped through the paper of the shade as he scrabbled to hang on to the wire frame. For a moment he swung there upside down, not quite knowing what to do, before heading for the shelf where all my Lego models were lined up. He knocked his way past model after model and I watched in horror as hours of painstaking building tumbled to the ground.

CRRRAAAASH …

BANG!

I lunged just as Mum started to enter the room. I poked my head out, trying not to let my eyes drift over to the dragon perched on the shelf just behind the door.

‘What on earth is going on?’ she hissed. Her eyes flicked to Lolli’s door.

Dad appeared behind her, looking like his hair had exploded on the top of his head and brandishing a slipper as though he thought we were being attacked. Although what help a pink fluffy slipper would be I had no idea.

‘Sorry,’ I spluttered. ‘Tomtom was attacking my King Kong. I had to save it.’

Mum frowned, I could tell she wasn’t convinced. She tried to peer past me to see inside, but I wedged my foot against the door.

‘What’s that smell?’ she asked, wrinkling her nose.

I sniffed. And caught the faint smoky tang in the air. As if on cue the little dragon sent out another spark that crackled in the darkness of the room.

‘Nothing,’ I stammered. ‘Just you know, stinky cat smell. I’ll give Tomtom a bath tomorrow, I promise.’

Mum looked about to speak but thankfully a well-timed scream from a grumpy-at-being-woken Lolli sent her attention away from me and the dragon who had just launched up to the lampshade. She groaned and steered Dad down the hall. They disappeared into Lolli’s room, Dad still clutching the slipper.

Behind me, Tomtom hadn’t given up. With eyes full of malice, he stalked back and forth, getting ready to pounce again. The little dragon was swooping and diving in dizzying circles now, clearly terrified. He kept sending out flurries of little sparks that rained down but thankfully fizzled out before they landed.

I glared at Tomtom. ‘Out,’ I hissed, and herded the spitting ball of fury onto the landing.

As soon as the door had closed, the dragon flew down towards me and I held out my arm for him to perch on. He was shaking, and as he pulled in his wings I gently laid my hand across his back.

His eyes were still fixed on the door as if he thought Tomtom might come crashing back through it any second. And I held my breath until I heard Mum and Dad stumble back to their room.

The little dragon’s claws dug into my arm as if he was poised ready to spring at a moment’s notice. I couldn’t exactly stroke him like you would a cat – well, any cat other than Tomtom – but I kept my hand resting there until he’d stopped shivering and relaxed his grip.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered. ‘We’ll be more careful from now on.’

He stared up at me, his twinkling eyes looking right into me. It was like gazing into one of those crystal prisms, where the light is scattered into a rainbow. Fragments of colour sparkled and danced around the dragon’s almond-shaped irises. I could have looked into those eyes for ever. Then, just for a second, his sharp little claws tightened on my arm again.

‘I promise,’ I whispered.

The grip loosened; the tiny creature seemed satisfied that he’d made his point. His scales flickered and the fiery orange glow gradually returned to ruby red.

It was only then that I took in the devastation that was my room. The scorch marks up the walls and the sparks that had left sizeable black stains on the carpet. And the poo. I learned my first important lesson about baby dragons that night. They poo a lot. Especially when they’re being attacked by a miniature tiger!