Middle-class animal lovers like me are mired in 'pet debt' - including the cat mum who couldn't pay her tax bill after a VERY costly pitfall that traps so many owners

Freddie is the main man in my life. He sleeps on my bed, nuzzles me on the hour and yet, just like the worst kind of romance fraudster, he is in danger of bankrupting me. A six-and-a-half-year-old, black and white rescue cat, he had already endured a traumatic start when we first met 18 months ago. His previous owner died, so he had been returned to the Celia Hammond cat charity. He lay listless in his cage. But when I stroked his nose, he quivered. And I just knew.

Today, he's bursting with health but he still has abandonment issues, so I want everything in life to be nicer for him. Which means paying a harem of women to feed and cosset him. If I'm away working, it costs around £85 a time to book a sitter on one of the whizzy new pet-sitting apps such as Rover or Pawshake. I have a battery operated cat feeding unit (£35) in my kitchen, of course, but Freddie pines if left too long. So I pay a sitter to go in to cuddle him.

In return, I receive a stream of messages, photos and videos, as the sitter analyses his play behaviour and talents as a mouser. At the end of the booking, we both fill out a report card on each other (frankly, my own internet dating subscription is less complicated and expensive). And don't get me started on the pet insurance (£13 a month), raised cat bowls to stop him eating too fast and vomiting (£15) and new cat flap (£70). I was just about to replace Freddie's Beastie Band collar (comfier to wear because it's made of soft, stretchy neoprene) and, oh my God, it's gone up from £5.60 to £25.

Liz Hoggard loves cats so much a friend painted her with one of her favourites, Spooky. My name is Liz and I'm mired in 'pet debt', a phenomenon hitting the middle classes as the cost of animal ownership soars. To keep up with Mr Fred's bills, I've cancelled Netflix, sold books and clothes, rarely have the heating on and am on first-name terms with all the supermarket 'basic' ranges. In contrast, Fred's fancy Scrumbles biscuits costs £7.50 for a small bag.

Recently, when I visited my bank of 40 years to plead for an overdraft extension (some freelance work hadn't been paid), the polite young man ran a credit check and went white. The bank couldn't help me, he explained, 'because of current concerns'. It was a deeply humiliating experience, but I know what those 'concerns' are. Mostly four-legged. If I had a full-time job, it would be cheaper to take out a loan to pay the vet bills, but instead I max out my credit card.

The trouble is, cat lovers are a notoriously soft touch. Two years ago, after the demise of my 18-year-old lady cat, I adopted a stray (let's call him Mr Grey) who had spent the summer in my garden. At the vet's insistence I had him neutered, chipped and paid to treat an abscess. He was so lovely I couldn't complain. But when his original owner spotted him on my social media feed and turned up to reclaim him, I couldn't refuse. She loved him, too – but let's just say most of those vet bills have never been repaid. Trust is a tricky thing, even between pet owners.

Fortunately, Freddie came into my life, but now that I'm poorer I've had to cut corners. No more pet-friendly taxis (Uber Pet is £5 more). I lug Freddie (5kg) to the vet in his carrying basket as he squawks with rage. People stare at us in the street. He should technically be starting on more expensive senior (seven-plus) cat food – better for his kidneys – but, like a Hollywood star, I'm pretending he's younger than he is.

A friend and I have a WhatsApp group dedicated to cheap pet care tips – where we recommend (illegal) websites on which you can buy prescription meds. without an expensive vet consultation. If I go abroad for work, I stock up on flea capsules and worming tablets which, unlike in the UK, are sold in ordinary pharmacies. When I first became a cat owner 30 years ago it was all much simpler. A cat wandered in from outside, you defleaed them and fed them cheap tins of food. Now I feel like I'm running a small business.

The pet care market is estimated by Bloomberg to be worth an annual £258 billion worldwide. There are pet hotels, fashion ranges, 'wellness' supplements and you could mistake the Instagram feed of many vets for a medi-spa. During lockdown, 3.2 million households in the country acquired a furry friend, according to the Pet Food Industry Association. But as flexible home-working has crumbled, with companies requiring workers back in the office, the cost of pet care has escalated.

My newest cat, Freddie, has seen me through a romantic break-up, work anxiety and cold winter nights, Liz Hoggard writes. Feeling guilty about leaving our babies, 'pet parents' are investing in pet tech, from drinking fountains to Fitbits (gizmos that track sleep, heart and lung activity). As for vet bills, they are insane even with pet insurance. A colleague has just had a £2,300 bill for an emergency three-day hospital stay for her six-year-old male cat, who now needs special cat food for life, plus supplements.