I have no primary address.

Now, usually this would be a cause for concern. Lord knows this fact alone would have been enough to send me into a deep, dark depression in the past. The thing is, though, I’m not worried. Not EVEN perturbed.

Several months ago, I fell into a bit of a sticky living situation and I found myself on the hunt for a new form of residence. Feeling slightly daunted by the cost of rent in London at the time, I began to explore other options. One of those options was house and pet sitting.

It took me a while to obtain my first assignment, but eventually it arrived in the form of Jack, a 21-year-old cat that required a daily cocktail of medication. Now, I’d given medication to animals in the past, but I was admittedly quite concerned that I would be in some way responsible for Jack’s untimely demise. But I gave Jack his daily dose of drugs and cuddles and somehow we managed to get through it. As far as I’m aware, Jack is still alive and well and is gunning for the record of Oldest Cat in Recorded History (Apparently, the title is held by a cat called Creme Puff who lived until the ripe old age of 38… you’ve still got a while to go Jacky boy!)

Since then, I’ve looked after a couple of boisterous Tibetan spaniels in Bristol, a sweet ginger cat in London and an extremely chilled out Persian cat in Reading (I swear he had some sloth in his genetic makeup). I’m currently typing this post from Horning, a small village in Norfolk, where I’m looking after a couple of dalmatians, several geckos, a tree frog and a python!

I had been using a short-term let in Brighton as a base, but as of a couple of weeks ago I have completely dedicated myself to being a full-time house and pet sitter. I honestly can’t tell you how long I’ll be able to keep this up, and for all I know the novelty will wear off any day now, but right now it feels like an adventure. And I’m only at the beginning.

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