I'm not certain what she means by this. Whether feline companionship makes children caring and responsible, condemns them to a life on anti-histamines or fosters a violent enthusiasm for small rodents.
My daughter is desperate for a cat. For two years she's been decided on the name - Frisbee - but has lacked an animal to bestow it on. Now everyone is telling me that pets are as vital to a child's emotional growth as sleepovers and probiotics and I know that they are right, but I don't want to face up to it.
The sad truth is that middle age has made me cowardly. Long ago I planned to be a spinster with 17 cats. My two moggies shared my pillow and my dining table. But age, kids and matrimony got in the way. Now I worry about paw prints on my White Company bath mats, jellified lamb chunks putrefying in the kitchen, pigeon entrails draping the stairs. I worry that now I can get away with cleaning the house every five weeks; post-cat I can't. 'Cat hair isn't a problem so long as you don't wear black,' says Woman by Condiments. But my husband is a vicar. He wears nothing but black. And paying a funeral visit with a thickly moustachioed behind will impair his gravitas.
The realisation of my reluctance is as shocking as the discovery last year that I can no longer do forward rolls. When the Cat Subject is next raised I tell my daughter: 'We'll see'. I'm hoping that I can justify a year or two of 'seeing', by which time she'll have switched her ambitions to an iPad 3.
She knows that and says that instead of a cat I could have new baby. She's heard that older people like me can get one off the internet.
That night I dream that I've adopted infant twins. I wake up sweating. I promise my daughter that tomorrow we're going to get a cat.
Now head over to Actually Mummy's new Sunday Funny to see more of the comic side of parenting