We added a cat to the menagerie. The culmination of an almost year long campaign by my youngest daughter for a pet of her own and my fortitude crumbling under the persistence.

She had extolled the virtues of the many rodent species that people keep as pets. Researching diet, enclosure sizes, handling procedures, life spans, and veterinary needs; which she would divulge while walking the dogs with me (demonstrating her responsibility to pets).

Rodent, rodent, rodent…processing…hmm, how about a cat?

Bold, brave, and affectionate were my requests when I enquired about kittens available from a local cat rescue. Visited three, came home with one.

The cat has a name. It is a lovely name, but probably will only be used when being called for at the vet and maybe when we refer to her to others. She is ‘cat’, ‘that cat’, ‘the fricken cat’, but mostly ‘the cat’.

The cat stands bold (or maybe slightly hunkered down) in the face of the slobbery wall of dog. She bravely swats at pushy, snorffling, dog face. She drapes across laps, snugs into knee and arm pits, and perches on hips. She is a watching cat, observing the chaos that swirls around her. ‘Where is the cat?’, ‘what is that cat doing?’, and ‘dogs leave the cat alone!’ have been added to the lexicon of noise emanating from my house.