2 hours ago
3
I am a crazy cat lady, except for one small obstacle: I do not own a cat. Though my boyfriend and I discuss names for cats, like other couples do for children, renting in London has put a stop to adding one to our family. So I had pushed dreams of filling the cat-sized hole in my life to one side, only allowing myself momentary relapses when friendly cats crossed my path in the street. That was until I stumbled across the best solution to being reluctantly feline free: becoming a cat-sitter.
It started when I decided to quit my job. Faced with the daunting prospect of living without a guaranteed salary, I was lured in by social media videos promising that any number of “simple” side hustles would make me happier, richer and freer.
Initially, I spent five days and £60 setting up an Etsy shop. Four months later, I had made two sales (one from my brother) and a net loss. Next, I had a brief dalliance with “affiliate marketing”. No, I’m not sure what that is either. In a last-ditch attempt, I spent hours uploading my camera roll to sell on a stock photography website – the vast majority of which did not meet the minimum quality threshold.
Frustrated, poorer and stifled, I was on the verge of taking early, unpaid retirement from side hustling when I saw an influencer on TikTok suggest cat-sitting. Within minutes, I had set up a free profile on Cat in a Flat and, a few weeks later, I secured my first booking.
Cat-sitting is not a high earner and can’t be relied upon as a sole income, though I have made a nice amount of pocket money and I feel enriched in other ways. I get to cosplay as a cat owner, even if just for 30 minutes, and I find being around animals improves my mental health. I maintain that cats instinctively know when you’ve had a bad day. Take Figgy, one of my cat clients, who curled up on my lap for the first time after I’d had a challenging morning. Or Luna, who could reset my nervous system simply by rubbing up against my legs. Meanwhile, Pickle, a shy cat whose trust I’d had to work to earn, was a source of genuine companionship at a time when it felt as if all my friends were leaving the capital or having children.
When I would normally be comatose on the sofa in the evenings, I now have to peel myself off it and go on a brisk walk to the cat owners’ houses. I don’t need to spell out the virtues of exercise, but I will say that the fresh air and upping my step count has made me feel healthier.
The best and most unexpected benefit, however, has been finally meeting my neighbours, beyond taking in their Amazon deliveries. I’ve got to know everyone from IT workers to animation directors and have even been sent holiday pictures from Italy like I was a member of the family. When my boyfriend found a lost credit card, I immediately recognised the name – one of my cat-sitting clients – and popped it through their letterbox.
I’m also no longer part of the sullen mass of people with their headphones in and their eyes fixed to the pavement as they trudge to catch the tube. Now, my journeys to the station are significantly less miserable and insular as I regularly bump into friendly cat-sitting clients (human and animal).
It’s taken three years, but, thanks to cat-sitting, I don’t just feel as if I live in a flat, I feel as if I live in a community. Cat-sitting has completely changed my perception of London, which I’ve found cold and lonely at times. Despite living in the capital for more than a decade, I can count on one hand the number of meaningful conversations I’ve had with people outside my social bubble. That has changed as I’m warmly welcomed into strangers’ homes for a cup of tea, a natter, and to meet their cats. It’s made me happier, healthier and more open. Finally, London feels like home.
