It was when I caught sight of a little pile of cat sick on my pillow, just as I was going to bed, that I realised my life is no longer my own.

It started with a phonecall from my sister. “Do you want a kitten?” she asked, followed by, “Do you want two?” Someone she works with was rehoming a litter of seven-week-old kittens and I agreed to take a brother and sister.

I grew up with pet cats and, as a child, I took in strays. It would start with a saucer of milk on the doorstep, then I’d bring in whatever scrawny cat was hanging around the garden and plead with my parents to let us keep it. We ended up with several splendid moggies. A cat brings soul to a home.

Recently, I’ve thought about getting an older cat; the kind that gets overlooked at rescue centres because they’re not cute kittens. But before I knew it, I was clutching two tiny bundles of black fur that didn’t so much meeow as squeak.

I spent a small fortune on cat stuff – a basket, bowls, litter tray, enormous bags of litter, pouches of food, and an array of kitty toys – and set about ‘kitten-proofing’ my home; sussing out nooks, crannies and potential death traps. On my nice, clean kitchen floor I put a bowl of kitten food, along with a matching mat, and a funky bright pink litter tray, and felt very organised. “Cats are clean, I don’t think they’ll make much mess,” I heard myself say.

Within half-an-hour of Bob and Betty arriving, the kitchen floor was covered in bits of gravel and globules of jellied meat. They haven’t worked out how to scrape litter without sending it flying across the floor.

As they raced around, clawing their way up the sofa, swinging from curtains, knocking down lamps and sticking paws into cups of tea, it dawned on me that my home is far from kitten-proof.

Ten days later, I feel like a hollow-eyed zombie. I get up in the middle of every night to confiscate whatever object has come tumbling to the ground, I’m constantly stepping in random lumps of cat food and I spend each morning retching as I clean out the litter tray.

My hands are covered in scratches and there are little balls, cloth mice and kitchen roll tubes strewn across my living room floor.

And, waking up to the sound of two little engines purring away as four blue eyes gaze at me and a tiny soft paw reaches out and grabs a clump of my hair, I wouldn’t have it any other way…