Dom Joly: If you think I'm odd, you should meet my cat

My cat, Dr Pepper is becoming a problem. When he first arrived in our family, it was against the wishes of my wife. She is not a big cat-lover and would contend that the only proper cats are the ones that live outside and chase mice and do other cat-like activities. Then we went round to some friends: their cat had just had kittens. The kids saw the kittens... and you can guess the rest.

So Dr Pepper arrived in our house and Stacey let us know, in no uncertain terms, that the Dr was on parole. He seemed to be aware of this situation as he was almost immediately straining to get outside. He was clearly not one of those cats who lounge around on the sofa all day waiting for somebody to drop succulent morsels of tuna into his mouth – oh no.

The moment he was allowed outside he commenced an intensive campaign of ethnic cleansing aimed primarily at ridding what seemed to be the entire county of both mice and robins. Quite why he hates robins is unexplained.

Mice seem to be a genetically programmed enemy of cats. Robins however, seem fairly innocuous? He doesn't have any interest in the huge, fat pigeons that fly over the garden looking for humans to crap on. He ignores the sparrows and other little birds that potter around the rose garden. It's just robins he has a problem with – a big problem.

At one stage he was killing about five a day. It was getting embarrassing. He would line up the bodies outside the big picture window in a trophy manner. Initially I was getting rid of them in the normal bin. Then I started to get paranoid. What if we hadn't tipped our binmen enough? They would go straight to the tabloids and a slow news day would bring the article "TV funnyman is secret bird-killer" to pages 16 and 17.

Nobody was going to believe that one cat was responsible for this feathery holocaust. So I started to bury the robins. But they just kept on coming, and my back lawn was starting to look like Fred West's patio, seriously disturbed.... I started to dig at night in case somebody got suspicious about the goings-on at the Jolys'.

Then Stacey took the Doctor to be "done". He didn't leave the house for a couple of weeks. Well, you wouldn't would you? Then, he was off again, but now he only kills mice. Lots of them, mind, but he hasn't touched a robin since the snip.

This disturbed me. I'm no cat psychiatrist but, if you're obsessively hunting and killing up to five robins a day and then somebody cuts your gonads off and you stop, surely that means that you had a sexual interest in the robins? Was my cat a sexual predator? Had he interfered with the robins before dispatching them? I have no way of knowing this but it's made me feel very uneasy around him. It's like having some sex offender in the house who has been chemically castrated – science tells you that everything is OK but... you still feel uneasy.

Stacey, meanwhile, now thinks he's the cat's whiskers. She loves the fact that he hunts and kills like a "normal" cat. I'm unsure whether I've shielded her too much from the true extent of his killing history.

I certainly don't want to mention my suspicions about the Doctor being a sexual predator. I am at a loss as to what to do. If this wasn't enough, he now seems to spend more and more of his time on the internet. The Doctor has his own Twitter page that you really should not go to if you are of a nervous disposition. It appears he has Tourette's and spends hours a day abusing anybody who contacts him. It's all very disturbing.