It's never been explained what the wall is doing in Smith's garden. I rationalise that once upon a time there was a big Victorian house with a big perimeter war, but it got bombed in an incendiary attack during the war. After the war, the house and its grounds were razed and Smith's housing estate got built on top of it, planned with a big communal garden in a typically optimistic post-war sort of way. Somehow, the wall survived all this, and it has been jealously guarded by generations of British Blue cats ever since, the most recent one of which is Smudge.
Actually, it's a transplant from Tunbridge Wells. This was the wall that divided the front gardens of the houses two doors away from me - and you would always find a cat called Perdi sitting on it. It's another hangover from those stories Eric and I made up when we were kids.
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