Dogs represented a love I could never attain – so I gave up waiting, and adopted a wonderful cat | Elle Hunt

I have this theory. If you self-identify as a dog person, you have stereotypically cat characteristics: self-sufficient, transactional, fickle, aloof. People who prefer cats, meanwhile, are warm, friendly and open with their love. My thinking is that we gravitate to those qualities that we feel we don’t possess. “I envy their insouciant air,” a friend said recently, unprompted, of his love of cats. He just so happens to be the neediest man I know, with a labrador-like ability to see The One in every woman he meets.

Of course, if my pet theory is revealing about anyone, it’s me. Dogs have been my first, longest and most straightforwardly enjoyable love. My first word was “woo-wah”, meaning dog, as I made clear with enthusiastic gestures. About 30 years later, I still delight in pointing out every dog I see – much to the frustration of some. “Yes, yes, it’s a dog!” a boyfriend once burst out, a few months before breaking up with me.

It was never going to work out: he was a cat person (not that kind!). Cats have only been of interest to me when there were no dogs around. Sometimes they’re cute. Mostly, though, they’re just cats: aloof and capricious, with fast-flying claws, acting all scandalised when you stop to say hello in the street.

What I have always loved about dogs is their free-flowing affection, their openness to new friends, their sincere appreciation of simple pleasures. Of course, it’s a rosy view – some dogs (beagles mostly) are just bastards – but I see in them something to aspire to, not to own. When my parents finally conceded defeat to my decade-plus campaign, I was 14 years old. In some ways, Ruby the Hungarian vizsla proved to be a life coach as much as she was a companion; an ever-present reminder to go for walks, chat to strangers, assume the best in people, enjoy my life.

But since Ruby (who sadly died young), I have not been in a position to get a dog of my own. Fifteen years after moving out from my parents’ house, I don’t seem to be getting closer. I rent, I’m single, I travel for work and to visit family overseas – and, though I work from home now, who’s to say about the next decade?

Over time, a dog emerged as not just a symbol of stability – pushed out of reach along with home ownership – but a prize to be earned, one day, when I was sufficiently “settled”. That is, until early this year, when, with a sudden, piercing clarity, I realised two things: first, that it would be at least 10 years before I would be able to get a dog. And then: I could get a cat. Cats’ only advantage over dogs, as I had always seen it, was that they were lower maintenance. I had at least put down enough roots that I had friends who would be happy to drop by and put some food down when I went away. And any pet was better than none.

Six weeks later, after a six-hour journey by car and train, I welcomed a very angry Vlada, a four-year-old rescue, into my flat. As a Cornish rex, Vlada is not quite hairless but has a very short, downy coat. My thinking was, if you are going to get a cat, why not get one that is very funny to look at? Plus, Cornish rexes were said to behave more like dogs. Nearly three months in, I have been quietly astonished by the impact this little cat – more a big rat, bless her – has had on my life.

A lot of it is the companionship. Vlada follows me between rooms. She head-butts me to get up when I’ve slept in, or shoves me off the laptop when I’m working late. When I have friends over, she goes from lap to lap, evenly apportioning her audience no matter how rowdy we get. Every night she sleeps next to me like a very bony Beanie Baby.

As a dog person, I could never have dreamed that a cat would have so much personality. But the biggest revelation has been the stability Vlada has brought me. Last year I was constantly travelling, not quite switched off on holiday but not quite focused on work. Now I go away less, but plan it better and enjoy it more.

I have also learned something about love. By dreaming of a dog, denying myself until some distant date, I had been investing in a future, unattainable vision of happiness over the one that’s possible now. I was perturbed to realise that I also had this tendency in relationships. It’s not that I have quit being a dog person, just as I haven’t given up on ever having a partner (though, compared to Vlada, they do both now seem shockingly slobbery). But, as someone who has been cautious about taking a leap in love, or sought it from the wrong places, caring for Vlada reminds me that I am capable of it – and that it can come in very funny-looking packages.

Sure, a cat might not love you like a dog does, and neither is a replacement for people. But the sneering stereotypes of lonely “cat ladies” have it the wrong way around: better the love that’s present, and steady, and given, than the love that’s ambivalent, or imagined, or withheld.