Pavlov strikes back
We have a cat. Or, rather, we don’t have a cat. But there is a cat. She lives somewhere in the neighbourhood, and seems to think that we’re her second home. This is a happy arrangement for all concerned: we have all the fun of owning a cat, without all of the annoying feeding and litter-box-changing and licence-obtaining - except for one of the flatmates, who for some reason loathes cats.