I grew up with cats. A house doesn't quite feel like home to me without one.
As a child I'd rather sleep pressed against a cold outside wall on top of the blankets than dispossess the enormous black cat who had decided to sleep in the middle of my bed. There was always a sense of disappointment if he chose to leave - and worse, if he preferred someone else's bed to mine.
Today a mishap in the kitchen with a jar of Dijon mustard demonstrated my current cat's decidedly un-feline taste for condiments.