Pet Cemetery our house should be called. Not that we’ve had many. But the pet debate has been raging for years in the MacAlister household and would definitely be one of the first subjects brought up should we ever need marriage counselling.

So when they suggest at pre-marriage classes that you discuss all of life’s important decisions before tying the knot, they omit the most important question. Not whether you want kids or not (I was already heavily pregnant when that little gem was raised, much to the mirth of the rest of the class), or what you’d do if one of you lost your job (leave him obviously). But the burning issue, that remained dangerously untouched until after I had that ring on my finger, was the pet question.

To cut a long story short and put it as succinctly as possible – Him Indoors likes dogs and hates cats and I’m the exactly opposite. Which, when you have four kids, all of whom want a pet, any pet, proves quite difficult.

So every Christmas, when we ask what they want, and they all say ‘a pet’ with dark, accusatory faces, we start the annual Christmas rant about picking up dog poo in the rain and cats catching all the birds, followed by the hamster versus guinea-pig toss-up (one is nocturnal and the other terrified), the rabbit row (needs to be kept indoors in winter and we don’t have room for a hutch), insects (I’m arachnophobic).

And then we come up with the same conclusion, the Simon Cowell buzzer – uh-er.

So we overcompensate by buying them all sorts of rubbish they don’t want instead, including a ridiculous array of wind-up, mechanical, talking, walking, miaowing, barking animals that urinate on your leg until the batteries run out.

And then this week, while clearing out the cupboards, I found our old fish tank, sadly redundant since goldfish Wayne and David died during christening party number three, when my nephew pulled the entire tank over in our sitting room, creating waves on the carpet like some kind of water park ride.

And as I was trying to hide said tank in the recycling bin, my son caught me and asked if we could resurrect it. Just as I was about to say no, my daughter came up with the award-winning words: “Then we could all have a pet,” followed by a beseeching look that rivalled Puss In Boots in Shrek. Genius.

Problem solved in one fell swoop. You could hear my car wheels screeching out of the drive for miles as I raced to the fish shop in anticipation.

Now that the diversionary floodgates have opened I’ve also ordered some caterpillars and a butterfly kit. Fish today, zoo tomorrow.

David Attenborough eat your heart out.