When I read a recent survey which found that owning a pet boosts your mood as much as an additional £70,000 a year would, I had one thought: I’d rather have the seventy grand.
My cat, Arthur, has a sense of entitlement that would make a Kardashian seem low maintenance. He takes fussy eating to a whole new level. I got him from someone who, after moving house, could no longer look after him and when she handed him over she told me his likes and dislikes. It was mostly dislikes. Among them was wet catfood. “He won’t touch it,” she said. “He’ll eat what he’s given,” I thought. But he simply refused. Believe me, I’ve tried. Even the posh stuff.
Turns out he’ll only eat tinned tuna – and only in spring water. If I get tuna in brine by mistake he looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. I once gave him salmon, for a change, and he walked off in a sulk. He eats cat biscuits, but only the expensive ones. Anything else makes him vomit.
To be honest, in terms of the effort, cash and sheer patience that I put in with Arthur, I don’t get much back.
He has pretty much ruined my home. He uses the kitchen door as a scratch post – I’ve given up yelling at him because the door is now beyond repair so I just leave him to it. Sometimes he scratches the sofa, and while doing so gives me a look of calculated contempt that says: “I know I shouldn’t be doing this but I am, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I bought him a scratch post, with cute fluffy toys attached it, and he has never once touched it.
He regularly punches through the floor panels on my kitchen units. He’s been sick on my carpet so many times it’s ruined. I thought about getting a big rug to cover up the vomit stains, but he’d just end up vomiting on that too. He doesn’t like going out much. If I force him outside he stares malevolently through the cat flap that I’ve had the audacity to lock. He scraps with other cats on the street, because he’s basically anti-social. He’s house trained but can’t always be bothered. Lately he’s taken to peeing on the kitchen floor. “Sometimes they do that,” said the vet, when I mentioned it. He said the same about the vomiting.
Arthur can be sweet, but it’s completely on his terms, and what he gives back is nowhere near a mood-booster equivalent to an extra £70,000 a year. This is the estimate that boffins at the University of Kent have come up with to assess the impact that owning a pet has on life satisfaction and wellbeing. Ahead of National Pet Day tomorrow another survey, by MyPet.com, found that 81 per cent of pet owners think of their furry friend as the greatest love of their life.
I suppose we must get something out of pet ownership or we wouldn’t do it. It’s long been known that having a pet has health benefits, physically and mentally, and it’s lovely to give an animal a loving home. It’s good for children to grow up with pets too, as it teaches them about responsibility. But pets can be hard work.
“They’re pulling my house apart,” muttered an exhausted, hollow-eyed friend, her hands covered in scratches from her two tiny kittens whose noisy rampages were keeping her awake every night.
Dogs are even higher maintenance. My sister’s dog is the apple of her eye, she adores him, but he’s so pampered he barks if his blanket on the sofa is even slightly wonky. I took my niece’s dog for a walk recently and she bolted. Twenty frantic minutes later I found her in a pub car park, wagging her tail as if to say “Oh hi, there you are!” I’d aged about 10 years. Then there’s the awful grief that pet owners inevitably face. My dad rarely showed emotion but he was heartbroken when our old spaniel, Rupert, died. It’s like a light has gone out when you lose a beloved pet.
“Life’s complicated enough,” wrote the great Alan Bennett, dismissing the idea of getting a dog. The same could be said of all pets. But our homes would be duller without them – although we’d have much cleaner carpets.
