Meet Wendy: From NHS Dentist to Full-Time Cat Sitter

People are often surprised when they find out what I did before this. So here’s the story properly — who I am, how I got here, and why your cats are looked after by someone who genuinely couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

The dentist years

For eighteen years, I was an NHS dentist. It’s careful, precise, caring work — and I’m proud of every one of those years. But somewhere along the way I realised that the part of my week I looked forward to most had four paws and a tail. Working with animals wasn’t a hobby waiting for retirement; it was the calling I’d been circling my whole life. So I did the thing people talk about and rarely do: I left, and I built a life around cats.

I’d like to say it was a difficult decision. It wasn’t. It was just a long one.

If you’ve ever wondered whether your cat sitter takes the responsibility seriously — mine is a background of eighteen years in healthcare: hygiene, careful records, calm hands, gentle handling of nervous patients, and turning up, on time, every single day, because people are counting on you. It turns out that’s exactly the training a cat sitter needs. The patients are furrier now, and they complain slightly less about needles.

A lifetime of cats

Cats aren’t something I came to late. I grew up with a rescue cattery in the back garden — my mum fosters rescue cats to this day — so my childhood was a rotating cast of nervous newcomers learning to trust. Watching a frightened rescue cat unfold into a confident, affectionate one, week by week, is the family business, and it taught me the thing I use most in this job: patience. Cats decide when you’ve earned them. Your job is to be worth the wait.

I’ve been a cat owner myself for fifteen years. The current head of my household is Freddie, a ginger boy I refer to, without irony, as my eldest son. He supervises my admin, inspects my shopping, and remains unimpressed by my career change on the grounds that it means I sometimes smell of other cats.

The paw print on my left hand

If you meet me, you might notice a small paw print tattooed on my left hand. That’s for Ronnie — Freddie’s brother, who we lost ten years ago. Anyone who’s loved and lost a cat knows they’re not “just a cat”, and I wanted him with me permanently. Now, in a funny way, Ronnie comes along on every visit — a little reminder, as I’m fussing someone else’s beloved cat, of exactly how much these animals matter to the people who trust me with them.

That, honestly, is the whole philosophy of this business on one hand: every cat I visit is somebody’s Freddie. Somebody’s Ronnie.

Manchester, via Wolverhampton

I’m originally from Wolverhampton, but I moved to Manchester twenty-three years ago for university and did what so many of us do — never left. South Manchester is properly home now: I know the streets of Didsbury, Chorlton and Withington the way you only can after two decades, several thousand cat visits, and a great deal of rain.

What all this means for your cat

When you book us, this is what turns up at your door: a lifetime around rescue cats, a healthcare professional’s habits, a local’s knowledge, and someone whose hand literally bears the proof that cats are family. Alongside Katrina — an experienced cat professional in her own right — we’ve built the service I’d want for Freddie: first-aid trained, £5m insured, DBS checked, and sending you a photo update after every single visit.

If that sounds like the person you’d want minding your cat, come and say hello — the meet and greet is free, and I’d love to meet them. 🐾

— Wendy