Throughout my nearly 29 years I’ve always had cats. Why? Well, to me, a house without a cat doesn’t feel like much of a home. My first ever cat, Henry, a puma of a feline my parents rescued after he was hit by a car, was with me ever since I was born. He used to sleep by my cot and he joined me on my bed (and sometimes in it – we grew up with no central heating, even the cat was cold) up until his final days at the grand old age of 21. So for me, a cat is a necessary companion and a comfort that completes the family.
I now have two cats: Rupert and Paddington. Rupert is a rescue that found me, and Paddington we’ve had since he was just a tiny kitten. He replaced Poppy, our little Ragdoll that passed much too soon. They are both, for want of a better description, wonderful little shits. They bring joy and frustration as all cats do, but there is nothing better than snuggling up to them of an evening, which is a regular occurrence seeing as both them are lethargic little lummoxes. What’s more, they absolutely adore each other and have regular ‘love-ins’, in which they groom each other until one of them gets fed up and starts a barney. God love the mischievous little mites.