But there was nothing magical about our Thomasina. He was a wildcat, getting into scraps around the neighbourhood night after night, coming home with bleeding scratches all over this nose; or he'd leave dead mice or mutilated birds at the doorstep; and the number of neighbourhood kittens with a little bit of ginge in them always made me suspicious.

But I loved that damn cat. But did that make me a cat person? The pets I've had since have all been dogs - forsaking that one lone turtle - but am I a dog person?

Recent events have got me thinking that perhaps I'm not even a pet person. And I'm okay with that.

When I moved house I rehomed the dog. I was moving to a townhouse with a small courtyard and I didn't think it fair on him to make that move. My dog people friends raised their eyebrows, telling me I'd just have to walk him more often and allow him the run of the place. I knew neither of those things were going to happen. He was terrible on the lead, all my fault I know, but, bless him, he came into a disintegrating family at the wrong time and we had other things to deal with than training the dog. I realise the whole unfairness of it now, unfairness on him.

I'm happy for him that he's now living a better life, running free on a property, sleeping in front of an open fire, getting the training and attention and affection he needs and deserves.

And then the other day someone said to me, so are you going to get a cat? Ironically, this friend was a dog person too. Does she think I'm a cat person? What qualities does she see in me that may have made her think that?

Apparently, cat people score higher in intelligence and are more curious. They're introverted and tend to be more sensitive and open-minded. Dog people are more outgoing and lively, more confident. I'd like to think I'm a mixture of both.

Or perhaps, as a single woman of a certain age, I'm at that point where people are expecting some kind of transition to crazy cat lady. Not happening.

In her delightful little book The Divine Feline: A chic cat lady's guide to woman's best friend, (Murdoch Books, $35) Belinda Alexandra talks about the concept of the crazy cat lady. The book is an unashamed celebration of the bond of feline and feminine that has been handed down from ancient times. There's a little bit of Thomasina magic in there, as Alexandra discusses sacred bonds and rituals and the connection between cats and women throughout history.

She says society has often driven a wedge between women and their cats, both physically and emotionally.

"In history they were persecuted together during the witch hunt and in modern times the lore of the 'crazy cat lady' persists," she writes.

"The 'cat lady' is thought of as a hermit and a hoarder. Shunned by society, she dies alone. Her body isn't discovered for weeks and when it is, she has been half-consumed by her ravenous cats.

"The story is a subtle warning to women who want to remain single, independent and childless: better get a husband and family because this could be you! (It's interesting that there is no equivalent of the 'crazy cat lady' for men.)"

I found some research that suggested people get dogs for companionship and cats for affection, but I'd rather find both in another human. All the pets in my life have never been a substitute for actual company.

Each to their own, but I love watching young people I know get a pet, it's usually a dog, and talk about it as their baby. How hard it is when the puppy whines, or how they've put it in doggy day care, or can't go away for weekends because who would look after the dog. I often tell them they should just jump straight into having children, it would save them years of thinking that's what they were doing. It's often not well received.