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.
