When I was in my twenties, I had a beautiful white cat who shared a tumbledown apartment with me. She served as a kind of dysfunctional flatmate – pulling cones all day, hitting me up for cash all the time and generally wreaking havoc in my life. Velcro had two personalities. When she wanted to be fed: she’d purr in my arms like a big, fluffy marshmallow. When she didn’t: she ruled the household with an Iron Claw.

She didn’t just scratch. She dug her claws in with surgical precision until she hit an artery. One time – I’m not making this up – I had to wrestle her claws out of my face. I still have an impressive scar on my upper lip to prove it.

Friends used to joke about the 666 on the back of her neck.

The scratching was only the first problem. Next there was the litter box. (The horror. The horror…) And as for shedding – let’s just say she wasn’t the only one in the house coughing up furballs.

I went through all the classic relationship phases with that cat. From: “But she has a SWEET SIDE.” (Chicks love cats that treat ‘em bad.) To: “It’s not me, it’s you.” (I obviously just fell for a Bad Cat.) To: “Okay, so maybe it IS me.”

Eventually Velcro went to the Land of the Long White Cloud. (She spends her days stalking flightless birds now.) Sure, I missed the little fluffball. But there’s a lot to be said for pet-free living. Like the sudden relative cleanliness of my home. The flexibility of my life. The furlessness of the inside of my lungs.

To keep the ol’ nurturing instinct in check. I got myself a fella instead. Housebreaking him was busy enough work.

But here I am a few years later and we’ve decided that what our little “nation of two” needs now is a cat. A cosy domestic spirit to make us feel like a family and keep me company while I tap my life away at the computer.

And not just any old cat either. This cat has to be The Perfect Cat. One that never sheds and only ignores me when I want her to. One that would never DREAM of laying a claw on human flesh. One that flushes the toilet after she uses it and makes a mean cappuccino.

And because we don’t believe in Dog People Vs Cat People, and Making Our Lives easy, we’ve decided now is obviously the time to get The Perfect Pooch as well. The logic? They’ll grow up together. They’ll keep each other company. They’ll be such good friends that we can make a small fortune selling “cats and dogs who cuddle each other” calendars and giftware.

When people’s eyes start darting back and forth nervously when I tell them this plan, I remind them that we live in the information age. As a society, we know a lot more about cats and dogs now. Toilet training? These days you can train your cat to go to the toilet, lower the lid, flush politely and spray air freshener around the cubicle. And behavioural problems? There’s a product or service out there to solve every single one before it even STARTS. Just ask your local pet store. We asked ours – and an hour later staggered out with this:

And this:

Hmmmm. Clearly the quest to raise the perfect dog and cat is going to require a bit more thought. The Perfect Puppy arrives in nineteen days, and counting.