Enough from the cat haters! My moggie Blanche saved my life...

Anyone who knows me will attest to my love of cats, or rather a cat. My Instagram account is a shrine to my little feline friend, a grey and white fluffball by the name Blanche DuBois (yes, really). I'm also 30, single and don't have children, so I suppose that makes me a 'childless cat lady', that nasty, tired old trope. But millennial women like me are way beyond being offended by this nonsense. Frankly, rather than being a judgment on me, it's an indictment of modern dating culture that the company of my cat has so far exceeded that of any man I've met via an app.

Sadly not everyone feels so positively towards felines; this week, the news that a parish councillor is accused of trying to blow up his neighbour's cat with a firework after it kept climbing on to his bird box saw some commentators express sympathy – saying they too had been outraged by cats' 'anti-social' behaviours. But I would strongly argue that society owes cats a huge debt. For I can say, quite honestly, that my cat saved my life.

Yet I hated Blanche at first. It wasn't just that she urinated everywhere all the time, nor was it because she was so tiny I once trod on her, eliciting a little yelp so helpless and sad it swiftly made me hate myself, my life and my feet. No. It was because the responsibility of owning a cat was so enormous that I couldn't bear it. I had to keep this fluffy, adorable, living creature alive. And at that point, I was struggling just to keep myself ticking over.

I got Blanche in 2021. The decision was spontaneous; I'd had Covid for six weeks and had been struggling emotionally and physically. I was living alone and feeling desperate as my symptoms dragged on. Olivia with Blanche, who sleeps in her bed and helped her heal from the aftermath of a breakup with her presence. Then one evening, when I was feeling sorry for myself, my mum dropped off some soup she'd made on my doorstep.

As we were chatting, a cat began meowing. 'Oh my God,' Mum said. 'You should get a cat.' It sounded like a good idea; a cat would cheer up those long empty days. Scrolling through photographs of kittens for sale, I spotted one that immediately made me fall in love. Inexplicably fluffy, she was light grey with white paws and a white chest, her bright blue eyes looking up towards the ceiling almost spiritually.

A few weeks later, Blanche the Scottish Fold was mine. Naturally, I didn't consider the responsibilities of owning a pet and felt overwhelmed. She was a burden, something that needed so much from me that I couldn't give. UK writer Olivia Petter reveals how her cat helped her after a break-up but cuddling up with her. Stock image used. On her first visit to the vet, I was so anxious about taking such a small, helpless thing out the house that when I handed her over at reception, I burst into tears, hating that I didn't know when I'd get my kitten back, but also hating that a part of me wanted her to never return.

It was a constant tussle between not feeling like I had the wherewithal to care for her and a surge of maternal love I couldn't explain. It was too much for me to handle. So for a while, I resented her. But everything changed one night, in the midst of a messy break-up with my boyfriend of two years. Blanche was still just a few months old and I'd refrained from letting her sleep in my bedroom. But after a nasty fight with my soon-to-be-ex, I found Blanche curled up by the side of my bed on one of my jumpers. She looked up at me in a way that I can only explain said to me: 'I'm here to look after you, please let me.' And she has slept in my bed with me every night since.

It's hard to stress just how much having Blanche has helped me since then. There was the relationship drama, some work issues, fallouts with family members, and then the sudden death of a friend I'd known for 15 years. At my lowest, there were intrusive thoughts, internal crises and several moments I contemplated no longer being there. It was looking at Blanche's little face and thinking about my duty of care to her that kept me around.

And slowly, with Blanche's support, I did get better. Cats are intuitive; they know when something is wrong. Whenever I'm having a wobble, Blanche positions herself nearby. Sometimes I fall asleep with my hand on her paw. So yes, while at times it was my responsibility to look after Blanche that kept me going, she in turn has looked after me in ways I could never have imagined. Having unconditional love around you is heartwarming. She makes me laugh every day, from the way she poses to the way she plays peek-a-boo.