LONDON: I have had cats for as long as I can remember. Not just one at a time, but a whole gang of them all together. Cats that we adopted, cats that adopted us, cats that moved out and adopted other people. I spent my childhood covered in cat hair and dealing with fleas, furballs and mangled rodents. But then, in the flush of post-pubescent maturity, there were dogs. Since then, I have always regarded dogs as the ultimate pet: loyal, adoring and guaranteed to do clever stuff like save your life.

My past few years have been catless and I was convinced my cat-sized dogs would react badly to a feline intruder. And yet, sense succumbed to sensibility. In June, I recklessly adopted a kitten. After all, I reasoned, she’s as cute as a button.

Manufacturers of chocolate boxes and greetings cards seem determined to convince us that puppies and kittens spend their lives together in a garlanded, sugary-sweet love fest. But their efforts have been seriously undermined by cartoonists. The age-old enmity between the two species has always been a staple of animation. More often than not, the cat is held responsible for the breakdown in relations. Jerry is ruthlessly persecuted by Tom and frequently rescued by Spike. Tramp, the working-class hero of Lady And The Tramp, is framed for a crime he didn’t commit by two hoity-toity Siamese cats. The evil Persian cat in Babe conspires against the lovable pig and his adopted canine family. In Cats And Dogs, cats are nasty, manipulative creatures with nothing, but world domination in mind, while dogs are faithful companions dedicated to human happiness.

In my case, though, it was the dogs who were an obstacle to peace. I was expecting trouble from Tosca, scourge of bunnies and the occasional cyclist. But even mild-mannered Pepper, who has been known to flee in terror from an apricot poodle, suddenly turned into the Hound of Hades. Despite my reassurances that I still loved them dearly, the dogs growled and whined and barked themselves into a frenzy. They weren’t jealous, but murderous.

Meanwhile, little Sylvia was cherubic — purring sweetly, using the litter tray, playing with her catnip toys and being cool as a cucumber even as the dogs snapped around her.

The delicate business of feline-canine relations is taken very seriously at Battersea Dogs Home, in south London. Although some cats may find the name of this famous institution irksome, their welfare is paramount when it comes to cross-species cohabitation.

After all, cats have been killed by dogs, but there are no recorded incidents of puss doing away with a mutt. Battersea dogs are routinely “cat tested” before they are trusted with a feline friend. Cats, on the other hand, are not required to demean themselves by feigning friendship with any drooling, slobbering, proud-to-please pooch.

I’m not sure the staff at Battersea would have been very impressed with my dogs. But, after the initial high anxiety, the unfolding drama quickly lurched from tragedy to comedy. The dogs opted for play rather than kill. Before the week was out, I was living in my very own cartoon world: dog chases cat out of view; seconds later, dog enters, pursued by cat. Sylvia quickly learned to amuse herself by attacking the dogs’ tails and ears. The whole lot of them engage in three-way mock battles. They share toys, the sofa, my lap and pilchards.

Now the fur has settled, the canine and feline members of my family loll about together in poses so sickeningly cute they could be hand-painted on to limited edition collectable plates and sold in 10 easy-to-pay instalments to readers of middle-brow Sunday newspaper supplements.— Dawn/The Guardian News Service.