In 2022, when I moved into halls of residence at the University of Sheffield, my biggest concern was no longer having a furry friend to come home to, as I’d had a cat since I was 11 years old. Then I met Harold.

My first encounter with this gorgeous tabby was quite unusual. One day, in our 10-bed flat, a flurry of messages appeared on the group WhatsApp chat after my fellow roommates caught an intruder on the sofa, innocently munching on my leftover pizza.

As in many homes for first year university students, there were plenty of unfinished takeaways lying around the kitchen. And Harold was a smart cat with a clear goal: food. Any time he saw a snack or sensed one from a distance, he would come running. A can of tuna. A block of cheese. The occasional pancake. And I was more than happy to feed him – he probably had a better diet than me.

Harold eyes up some food. Photograph: Instagram/harold.theendcliffecat

With the area housing more than 4,000 students, Harold was in high demand. He would choose a different home every night (we never found out if he had an actual owner), so I felt honoured when, from time to time, he would turn up meowing at my door. Catching him after a night out waltzing into our flat always cheered me up. It was the perfect end to an evening – as long as he stayed away from my chips.

You’d often find him stretching out in the sun, eyeing up his next treat, or waiting for the lift to his third flat of the day. But, once the novelty of the university pet wore off, some of my flatmates were less keen on letting him in, as they knew his game. For me, he was too charming to refuse.

At times I felt as if I was cheating on my childhood tabby, Pippa, who still lived in my family home – there was no other animal I could have a greater love for. But I cherished Harold in a different way. For a pet-loving student getting to grips with independent living, he was a home away from home.

At the end of my first year of university I moved out of the buildings Harold used to roam, but I would still occasionally see him strutting from flat to flat. Later on, I became a residence mentor, supporting first year students living in university accommodation. “Do not let the cat inside any student flats,” the managers told me during my training. On a few occasions, I may have turned a blind eye.

Harold guarding the doors of the village shop. Photograph: Instagram/harold.theendcliffecat

Today, Harold remains a campus celeb, with 10,000 followers on Instagram as Harold the cat of Endcliffe (the name of the halls where he was found). He is always posing for the student paparazzi on social media, and even has a part-time job – guarding the doors of the village shop.

I’ll always be grateful to Harold for the laughs, the late-night chats and, most importantly, for being a much-needed anchor in my first year as a student.