I spent last month making an offer you absolutely could refuse. “Would you like to spend a fortnight in a Yorkshire suburb with limited public transport, ministering to an absurdly early rising, heavily medicated dog who spurns affection, six lawless bantams who sit on your head without consent and a priapic tortoise who might take a shine to your shoe? For nothing?”
The fact that, for an annual fee, housesitting sites offer accommodation to people looking for places to stay across the world in return for pet or plant care is one of the few genuine wonders of life in 2023. But what if no one likes the sound of you?
It’s a funny business, trying to make your home and menagerie sound appealing while remaining truthful, though some site users apparently agonised less than I did: “Frankly, he’s not a very nice cat,” I read on one ad.
Mine led with the garden – authentically lovely in June when I posted; a scrubby tangle now – plus fresh eggs and our profligate streaming service offering. I confessed to Oscar the dog’s unholy wake-ups and, unable to use any of the site’s preferred descriptions for him – “fun-loving”, “friendly”, “loves cuddles” – I chose “peaceful” (broadly accurate, except at mealtimes and 5am).
I skirted other minor domestic issues: the tap that needs a wrench to turn it on, the coffee machine that has declared war on its own drip tray and the robot vacuum cleaner plotting to kill us.
Despite that, we drew no interest for weeks. One potential sitter found a better offer; another I approached, pleading our case, ghosted me. But just as my saintly stepfather agreed to step in and save our holiday, an angel materialised, inexplicably fine with dawn wake-ups and the bath wrench (which I admitted to on our pre-sit video call).
L tended lovingly to all our pets’ complex needs, providing regular pictures of Oscar’s scathing death stare, and even tamed some of the garden chaos. It made for a miraculously relaxing break. The only problem is, I fear everyone – from the neighbours to our sex-pest tortoise – is disappointed that we came home.
• Emma Beddington is a columnist for the Guardian
