I’m Not Really a Dog Person, but Was I a Cat Person Either? I Was About to Find Out

A last-minute request to look after a cat came with an unexpectedly luxurious condition: moving into a friend’s architecturally striking house with poured concrete floors and a view of Dalkey Island.

The writer had never minded a cat before. The family had no pets, apart from two hamsters when the daughters were younger, so taking responsibility for Sooty felt serious. Friends offered mixed advice. One said cats required much less work than dogs. Another, a self-described dog person, warned that cats could be difficult and sassy.

There was also a more immediate concern. One daughter was wary of cats and had moderate ailurophobia. She became frightened when neighborhood cats appeared on the family’s back wall. But the fear seemed to recede when she saw photographs of the friend’s home, including its outdoor sauna, indoor fire pit and wide sea views. The family agreed to spend the week in Dalkey.

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You are a special lady, Sooty.

Sooty quickly emerged as a relaxed and appealing presence. Once a roaming cat from a few streets away, she had made the friend’s house her permanent home five years earlier. Her previous owner accepted the change after recognizing that Sooty seemed happier there. She no longer roamed, and the writer admits barely leaving the house and garden during the week.

The family settled into a routine: a morning treat, Sooty’s main meal at 3 p.m., and an evening wait until she was ready to come inside and curl up on her bed. On the second day, the daughter with moderate ailurophobia admitted that she liked Sooty. The family, the writer thought, was doing remarkably well at cat-sitting, just before everything began to change.

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We are completely slaying at this cat-sitting business.