When I moved back to Glasgow Dad asked me if there was a cat in the house. The Previous Regime had a cat she brought with her – transported in the boot of her car – when she was doing a long day looking after Dad.

I said no, there wasn’t a cat, but would he like one?

‘Definitely not’ Dad said.

‘What about a dog?’

‘No!’ even more firmly.

I had thought it might be fun to give a home to a rescue cat or dog. We had always had animals in the family – mice, Guinea pigs, a cat, dog and even some ferrets for a while. I had left my own cat behind in London after consulting the vet who said it would be quite wrong to relocate him at such an advanced stage of his life, so I was missing the company of a four legged friend.

We have been making do with occasional visits from friends with dogs, which Dad enjoys too. He is able to hold their gaze quite steadily and is intrigued by their seeming ability to understand him without speech.

For many people pets are a life-line. Not only those with guide dogs, or hearing dogs, and not only those people who live alone, but also, it seems, people with dementia.

‘Dementia Dog’ is a pioneering collaboration between Alzheimer Scotland, The Glasgow School of Art, Dogs for the Disabled and Guide Dogs UK. Funded by the Scottish Executive and the Design Council, Dementia Dog is about to embark on its first small-scale pilot scheme, based at the Guide Dogs for the Blind training facility in Angus.

It aims to prove that dogs can help people with dementia maintain their waking, sleeping and eating routine and remind them to take medication. The dogs improve their owners confidence, keep them active and reassure them when facing new or unfamiliar situations.

Even just having a visiting dog can produce impressive results.  According to Pets as Therapy, a UK-wide charity, someone with dementia who can’t remember the names of their own family might very well remember the name of a canine visitor, and find the co-ordination necessary to pat a dog or give it a biscuit where before they might not have had the ability to hold a cup of tea.

The Canine Concern, Scotland, Trust has established a ‘Therapet’ Service to provide visiting dogs to anyone unable to have a dog of their own. It may be that they have had to go into sheltered housing, residential accommodation, a long-stay geriatric ward or are just no longer able to care properly for a pet. The same applies to children who are mentally or physically handicapped and those suffering a terminal illness. ‘Pat dogs’ routinely visit Hospices and many Hospices have a cat that will stay with the patients after their visitors have left so that they are never alone.

For those of us not quite at that stage in our lives it is still a good idea to be around animals. It has been scientifically proven that the mere action of stroking a dog, or cat, slows down heart-rate, reduces blood pressure, and makes someone who has already suffered a heart attack much less likely to have another one.

I guess having a pet won’t suit Dad – he had a pet grass snake when he was a child so I think that says it all as far as animals are concerned, but even he would concede that a world entirely without animals would be unimaginable and unsustainable. We use them for food, to transport us around, for sport and to help save lives – hats off to the bees being trained to find unexploded mines in Croatia, and to Sasha, the 3-year-old border collie who can search for bodies underwater! And we are drawn to them because they are our devoted friends.

In Scotland we grew up with legend of Greyfriars Bobby, the terrier who supposedly spent 14 years guarding the grave of his owner, until his own death. Even if the story isn't entirely true, it illustrates what many of us already know about the loyalty and unconditional love of animals.

This week my own lovely old cat had to be put to sleep. He was almost 19-years-old (the same age as Dad in human years) and in failing health. The vet said it was absolutely the right thing to do and at the best time. I went to London and we were reunited for a few days before the dreaded deed was done.  The sun shone and when Florry wasn’t soaking up the rays in the garden he was curled up on my bed purring his head off.  My good friend Pat came with me to the vet; helped me dig a hole in the garden, supervised as I buried Florry, along with a covering of chicken wire against inquisitive foxes, and took me for strong coffee and consoling chocolate brownies.

So I am really petless, for the first time in living memory.  Anyone with an animal who wants to visit us will be made most welcome. By me and, I’m sure, by Dad.