In 2002 I was living with my first husband on a lovely organic farm just outside Bath, with four cats, a Labrador called Billie and a border collie called Sam. Needless to say, there were cows, sheep, chickens and a couple of horses as well. Which meant there was no need at all for a small white dog!
But Bonnie was in the Bath RSPCA Cats’ and Dogs’ Home, and I fell in love with her. The story of how she got there is told in the first chapter of the first Bonnie book, ‘Big Dog Bonnie.’ I didn’t tell anyone in my family, because I knew they would all point out that a fluffy white lapdog has no place on a muddy farm. And I wanted Bonnie.

So on a beautiful day in June I collected her – and we’ve been an item ever since. Maltese have great personalities – Bonnie makes me laugh every single day. When I’m down she perks me up. When I’m too busy she makes me relax. When I’m cheerful she makes me feel the luckiest woman on the earth.

I didn’t think I would write any more children’s books once the ‘Kitty’ series came to and end, but – guess what? Yes, I was inspired by my Bonnie. When my son Daniel was small he longed for a dog but I wouldn’t let him have one. So the character of Hary sprang into my mind, and I imagined what it would be like if a boy who wanted a big dog of his own, suddenly had to live with as tiny ‘girlie’ dog. So the Bonnie series was born.

Unfortunately she can’t read them yet, but I’m sure she’ll get there.

SO – WHAT DOES THE REAL KITTY THINK ABOUT ME HAVING A NEW HEROINE?

The answer comes in an article I wrote about Bonnie for the Times Magazine, 7/4/07

The annual dog-fest has been and gone, but I didn’t turn on my TV. Like a shopaholic crossing the road to avoid the front door of Harvey Nick's, I made sure I missed Crufts. Last year the addiction was such that I turned down a rather nice drinks party because I needed to watch, small dog tucked at my side, pricking up her ears at the disembodied canine sounds from the screen. Not this time; I’m too busy. Still, no day was safe from news of the magical mutts. ‘Did you know a Maltese was in the last seven for Best in Show’ said my brother, displaying the same cruelty he used to employ as a small boy administering a Chinese burn. I groaned.
It was strange to reach middle age and become the kind of woman you’d always laughed at. In my twenties I’d smile with patronising pity because my ex-husband’s two aunts, who shared a house, sent birthday cards to each other from the two poodles. 'It’s a bit sad really,' we agreed. But recently, when Mothering Sunday came and I’d exclaimed over the gifts from my two grown-up children, I made a moue and murmured to my partner, ‘Bonnie didn’t send me a card.’

‘Moon!’ he expostulated, ‘I can’t be sending you a card from a dog!’
‘Why not?’ I asked.

I disliked dogs all my life, and took six months before deciding to give my Ex a Labrador puppy for his fiftieth. But Billie (God stroke her soft soul) began the conversion, and a year later I presented him with nervy collie Sam to join our pack. To my amazement I started to love the dogs, to learn the stress-busting delight of nuzzling noses, lolling tongues and unconditional devotion. Then in 2002 somebody tied six month old Bonnie to a tree and walked away, leaving her to be taken to the RSPCA home, and later put into my arms. That was it. Not so much love as the beginning of obsession. I even like her ‘cesar’-infused doggy breath.