Right: picking up where I left off (sort of) ...
"Gone, all gone, 'cept me, mwhahhhaahahahahha!" 
I came home to find my carefully constructed kittens-only feeder burst apart and all the food eaten, and the factory-made timer-dispenser also completely empty. And, at first inspection, no sign of feline life anywhere on the property. Then, a few hours into the next day, Bingo appeared, agitated and timid as he was when I first spotted him back in October.
Over the course of the following week, he regained some confidence, but even though I gave him permission to come into the house, he preferred to stop at the threshold, and made a run for the garden every time I tried to encourage him to put a foot further into comfortable domesticity. And then, one morning, there he was on the stairs.
I thought maybe he'd snook in at some point during the day before, and then been unable to get out again, in which case he was probably very hungry and/or had left a pile of turds somewhere upstairs; either way, he needed to be outside urgently, and measures were taken to achieve this!
Half an hour later, he was there on the stairs again.
The crafty fecker had found a passage through the lean-to shed, along the channel previously occupied by the oil feed to the old range, under the new floor in the attic, out through a hole by the chimney and across a space we call "the Room of Requirement" to the landing, and thence to the stairs. And ever since, that's been his preferred entry/exit route. Saved me the cost and hassle of installing a cat-flap!
Well, that was the end of his life as a semi-wild barn cat; he's now graduated to a fully-domesticated
"don't wake me up if it's still Tuesday" companion:
I say "fully domesticated" but he hasn't forgotten that he's a vicious destroyer of the world's biodiversity, and it looks as if he has single-handedly eradicated every living, breathing, nibbling rodent that used to live in the attic and under-floor space. He uses the Room of Requirement as his torture chamber and, when he's had his fun, his private dining room.
Arriving home from a dance in the early hours of the morning a few weekends ago, I caught sight of Gulliver on the lane, then disappearing over a hedge, but no sign of the littlest kittens, or the two older females.
