A blend of psychology and extreme violence

Holy flaming cow! I mustn't have shut the front door properly - just now there was a BANG like a bomb going off, and Frank and Tim both exploded out to beat the living crap out of Frankalike.

I was on them like a shot to break up the three-way wrestling, which gave the intruder a chance to make a break for it. Cue noisy Mexican standoff down the side of the house. Frank protested slightly when I snavelled him, but didn't struggle. Tim didn't want to be snavelled, and jumped up onto the fence, but didn't claw or bite me even when I held him by the skin of his back until I could get a grip on his nape. (You have to imagine poor Jon juggling the torch, cats, doors, etc during all this.)

Frank and Tim are now hanging about the house looking like toughs - alert, but rather smug. Neither one has obvious injuries, though I'll have to keep an eye on them in case of hidden puncture wounds, etc. They're up to date on all their shots, of course. Somebody clawed my arms (not at all seriously) during the ruckus - which can't have lasted more than a minute or two all told - but I don't know who!