Before you read this review, there are some things you need to be aware of. In my house, the cats run the show. We have two half-Siamese cats, who have their own personalities, their own voices, syntax and mannerisms. They have opinions, that are listened to and validated as much as the other members of the household (and read into that what you will.) They are also quite neurotic. And disgustingly spoiled.

For Christmas, Himself had the wonderful idea of buying me a Reading Chair. He then had an even better idea, which was to consult me and give me full autonomy of the type of chair I wanted, the style, fabric etc (proving that Himself has learnt the Right Way to do things!). Eventually I found a chair that met my spec, ordered it and awaited delivery, which was set for Valentine's Day. Happily, this is the day before my birthday and at the start of February half term, so I bought books, specified the sort of throw I wanted, dragged Himself out on a number of frustrating but ultimately successful hunts for the right reading lamp, and spent the intervening weeks fretting about whether the (large) chair would fit up the stairs. The Reading Chair, I stated to the world at large, will be in the bay window of my bedroom and it will be MY chair. A chair for ME. The chair I will go to when the Daughters are watching tv in the sitting room and Himself is gaming in the study and I want peace. To read in. It will be my Reading Chair. And I need not have worried about it fitting up the stairs as when delivery day dawned, the delivery chaps ran it up the stairs and placed it in situ, in the bay window. The next day I unwrapped the fleeciest, most snuggly throw ever made and my chosen reading lamp, as well as a number of books.

The cats came to have a good sniff, looked at the chair, covered in soft fleece, in prime position in the bay window, allowing excellent visuals of street, human and bird life and jumped and sat. Needless to say, the Reading Chair is now the Cat Chair. Occasionally, when they are outside, I can sit in it for up to five minutes, but I know that they will feel the tremor in the force and soon I'll hear the patter of paws and know that I will be moving imminently, unable to face their vocal outrage that I am sitting on the Cat Chair. And this chair was not cheap. It was expensive and it is now the Cat Chair. I may be slightly resentful of this, but the cats are indulged enough that I would never dream of chucking them off or not moving for them.

If the above paragraphs leave you shaking your head, dumbfounded then you will not understand Close Encounters of the Furred Kind by Tom Cox. Don't even try to read it. You won't get it. Unless you have pets (preferably cats, but I guess dogs kinda count too), or know (and love) people who do have pets and are down with them being family members, this book will have you making a WTF face throughout. If, on the other hand, you've got this far through the post with a wry grin, or a wince of recognition, then read the book.

This book has chapters with titles such as There is a cat who never goes out and I put a bell on you (because you're mine) and this is almost a selling point in its own right, frankly., because you got the references, right? It's a book that's nominally about the trials and tribulations of moving house...with cats, but really it's about owning cats and spending not insignificant periods of time creating an inner world for them, where they have rich, complex (and slightly tiring) lives. Tom's cats have very definite personalities (and I believe one or two of them have their own Twitter feeds). Shipley who can swear like a navvy (and does, a LOT), Ralph the wasted, aging God of Rock, Roscoe, the lone (I think) female, surrounded by men and trying her best to be a factual and sane, albeit slightly harassed voice of reason, George a stray who finally finds his way in but has something of a gentleman of the road sense about him and last but possibly most importantly The Bear. I'm not going to tell you about The Bear. You need to read the book!

It'a also about having a slightly bonkers parent (ahem) and about the joy they bring you, as well as about seeking out a place that feels like home, and what home really means to us all.