A Swedish study found the risk of heart attack was 11% lower in pet owners
I have a cat. He is called Miles. He is a rescue cat who languished in his cage because he was extremely shy and therefore no visitors bonded enough with him to give him a chance. Eventually I took him home, with a “pet pack” I bought from the cattery. This included a “food scoop”, which was, in fact, just a plastic shot glass. Miles arrived in my flat and bolted under the desk and didn’t come out for days. Then, in the dead of night, he bolted under the cooker, and didn’t come out for… weeks.
Months later, Miles loves me. He does not love or trust anybody else, and still responds to the front door unlocking the same way he would to a firework. But I am allowed to pet him. He adores being petted. He does not like being groomed, which is a problem, because he has a Shakespearean ruff and furry britches. His fur knots like a cat’s cradle. He likes petting, which has no practical purpose except his own comfort and pleasure.
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