Dogs love me, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I talk to them in a baby voice like they’re the kid I never had…or maybe it’s the pupperoni treat that’s been forgotten in my pocket for two months. I’ve cared for the family dog/s while growing up from the age of 8 to 25 (including playing, walking, picking up the poo, training to sit/stay/come/play dead/shake, swimming and chasing squirrels together). I’m really good with dogs. Nah, I’m GREAT with dogs! If cats are you jam, I single-handedly loved and cared for two at the same time. Cat One was a challenging gal who was a selfish, particular, mean-spirited, chubby princess. I kept this diva alive for 18-years with no thanks or gratitude. I suspect she lived so long out of pure spite. Her step sister, Cat Two I loved for 16-years. She was a purebred Persian (ie: I know how to brush). She actually acted more like a friendly dog really, so maybe she doesn’t count under my cat experience?