Celebrities with pets: "It no longer seems strange to love them like one of the family."

Warm-eyed, playful, or full of curiosity, but also astute, inquisitive, and even hardworking. Cats and dogs have become unique and irreplaceable companions for humans. In Catalan homes, pets now outnumber children up to 14 years of age by 54%, according to cross-referenced data from the Council of Veterinary Colleges of Catalonia (CCVC) and the Catalan Institute of Statistics (Idescat). Those who care for them often display their pets publicly on social media. "It's no longer seen as strange to love a pet as a member of the family; on the contrary, it's socially valued. Images with animals also give a closer and more tender view of the person," says Paula Calvo, an anthrozoologist and ethologist. The new animal welfare law, approved in February 2023, reflects this shift in societal awareness and values the rights and recognition of companion animals. Therefore, adopting one not only expands the family but also contributes to "individual and social well-being," this expert points out. Below, famous people who have pets at home explain the greatness of owning and living with them. Warmth and laughter, but also fear and anger. The feelings that animals inspire in us are, in fact, very diverse, and a universal trait.

Òscar Dalmau, communicator: "Nowadays, it would be unthinkable not to live with Pinya!"

Pinya, Òscar Dalmau's red poodle, was forbidden from climbing onto the bed and the sofa. But it was a requirement that lasted only 24 hours. "A day after arriving, we put her on the sofa and she slept with us," he jokes. When the co-director and co-presenter of RAC1's La competencia sits down at his home office desk to work, Pinya scratches his leg: she wants to lie on his lap. And she does the same when he settles into the dining room armchair to read a book. "She has this tendency to always seek contact with us. I, in this respect, am also very much a dog: I like contact, the escalforeta..." the communicator admits.

With a reddish hue, since Pinya arrived in the family, she has taught him—and his partner and their two children (a 10-year-old girl and a 7-year-old boy)—values such as responsibility, care, and love for animals. Aside from that, she's also given us a few scares. "When we'd had her for a week and were still new to this, we went out into the countryside and she ran off. A couple of horses passing by got nervous and raised their front legs. When they lowered them, we heard Pinya whine, and she immediately came toward us. We were really scared! The vet told us she had a fractured bone in her foot.

With Pinya included, they go out together whenever they can, although they try not to take her out of her "usual habitat" because she's a "fearful dog, and when she's not in control, she gets anxious." "That goes for when she gets in the car, when we're at the beach and we move away so we can go into the water, or even when she's out for a walk on the street: if one of my children moves aside to put something in the trash, she gets anxious and starts barking. She wants the pack to be together," explains Dalmau. She also amuses other children who see her on the street. "She's attractive because of her color. They've also seen her on television. Instead of saying 'Look at that dog!' or 'What a poodle!' they call her by name," he explains. But the dog—who has turned more orange with age—knows exactly what to do when she goes out for a walk: approach dogs her own size. "If they're bigger, he gets scared. Maybe he mistakes them for a horse?" wonders Dalmau, who adds that he's "surprised" how well the dog has fit in with them. "Now it would be unthinkable not to live with Pinya!" he assures. Although he also likes Chihuahuas a lot, for the moment they'll stay as they are. Coexistence, the communicator believes, could be "complicated," because these types of dogs are more embroiderers. "I write a lot at home and I need silence. If it's difficult with small creatures, imagine if we also had a Chihuahua. The cocktail could be explosive!"

Empar Moliner, writer: "My cat is a kind of Jeffrey."

Tell is an old cat who likes warm places. He perches on the back of the sofa and gradually collapses until he falls. "He picks up bad habits," says writer Empar Moliner about her cat, who also does something very "funny" on rainy days. If he opens the door and sees it's raining, "he gets angry." Then he goes to a window, from where he observes the same thing. "He'll think there's a parallel reality. And we end up checking all the windows, and then he realizes it's raining on them all, and he wants to go back to the first place he went," explains Moliner.

The writer, who has always had cats at home, says she likes to give them "a great, extraordinary life." "If Tell dies, we'll feel really bad, but we'll have another one, and that way we'll always be taking care of a cat," she assures. This feline, now about five years old—originally named Sasha, but later called "cat," which became "trigger" and finally, Tell—looks for Moliner when she sits in front of the computer. "Pop! He freaks out and sticks his head out so you can scratch the area he likes. If you scratch the wrong spot, he can bite you. There's always a time when someone in the family ends up calling him "bastard" because he bites," she confesses.

Of felines, the writer admires their gossip. "If you move your hand under the sheet, they already know it's you, but they have to check. They can't help it. I wish we had that curiosity," she says. Although she had dogs as a child, and until a few years ago had one from a shelter, which died during the pandemic, Moliner believes cats are "easier to care for." And even more so Tell, who lives in a rural area and has a field to run around in. "He sees the freshly plowed fields and thinks it's a huge mess to do his business. He must think it's been prepared just for him. He's happy!" she emphasizes. According to Moliner, cats also "do their thing." However, if they want something, "they demand it." There's a joke that Moliner tells in reference to this haughty attitude attributed to felines: "It's mealtime and the dog says, 'Now God will come and give it to me,' while the cat says, 'I am God and now they will come to feed me.'" Moliner knows he's not doing too much good by pestering Tell "so many cans," but Tell loves them. Besides, he also hunts mice, birds, and rabbits. "My cat is a kind of Jeffrey Dahmer," Moliner jokes about Tell, who is often seen on the balcony. "Cats are always a fun lesson. In fact, everyone who has a pet knows that at some point during the day they'll laugh at something they do: look at how they sleep, how they eat... And they'll be a fool," he concludes.

Lildami, musician: "I thought my music would be disruptive to him, but the guy doesn't even flinch and keeps sleeping."

They had always said they wanted a dog, but an apartment, which was where they lived, wasn't the best place, as they preferred outdoor space for him to run around. Some time later, Lildami, the musical alias of Damià Rodríguez, and his partner, Marina Juks, had the opportunity to move into a house, and a dinner with their friends and artists Miki Núñez and Sara Roy, both animal lovers, helped them take the plunge. More than a step, it was a trip to Chiclana de la Frontera, Cádiz, to pick up their dog, Croc, from a shelter. He is now one year old, but arrived home at just a month and a half old. "A few days ago Marina and I were looking at shelters and a post came up. We filled out an application and they called us the next day. We didn't know they were from Cádiz! We took a plane on the way there and rented a car for the three of us on the way back. Lildami–. Now we drive him to a thousand places and he doesn't care at all: he doesn't get motion sickness at all. To this day, Croc has eaten headphones, pillows, and boots. "When I saw him, I checked his entire family tree, but, deep down, it's just headphones... There are more important things in life!" he admits.

When Lildami enters his home studio to record, Croc—a name that refers to the shoes he and his partner wear around the house—sits next to him and stretches out on the bed with a stuffed animal. "He can spend the whole afternoon with me. I thought my music would be disruptive to him, but he doesn't even flinch and keeps sleeping. When he gets tired, he goes out into the garden. He's very lucky because he's almost never alone," he says. In fact, Croc has two other companions, Potxo and Pupa: a male rabbit, who was the first to arrive, and a female rabbit. "They have a room for themselves, where there's also a mini-bed for Croc, who stretches out whenever he wants," explains the rapper, who has lived with dogs since he was 10: a Schnauzer, who died at age 10, and a mini-Pinscher, who still lives with his parents. "Croc is a shelter dog and he's a terrific dog. Super-good," he points out. Whether at a restaurant, at the beach, in the mountains, or on a trip, he's enthusiastic about going everywhere. "It's like a dream. He looks at you with such devotion, eyes that you can't describe. Only people who have dogs and have a good bond with them understand that look of 'I'll believe whatever you tell me' and 'I'll do whatever you need,'" the artist emphasizes, referring to his dog, who isn't a G. "We get up before him. He goes out into the garden, but immediately goes back inside and stretches again. His grandfather was a hunting dog, probably mistreated to make him very efficient and a hunter. They probably lived outdoors, and this bastard has gotten used to the good life."

Peyu, actor and comedian: "Holy crap, I love the smell of goats!"

At an altitude of one thousand meters, overlooking the plains of Vic, a "way of life" unfolds. Ninety goats are part of the Les Cabres d'en Peyu project, launched by Peyu—the stage name of Lluís Jutglar—and his partner, Mireia Colonques. The actor and comedian had a space in his house that he wasn't too lazy to clear. So he asked a friend who owned dwarf goats to bring him a pair to do the job. However, if it turns out that the person who owns goats really likes cheese, the project naturally grows. "We spent a year traveling around Catalonia and Northern Catalonia looking at cheese factories. Once you've started, then you have to pedal..." explains Peyu. He enjoys it like a local, and Colonques is the one who really takes care of it. "I come here to make my own cheese." hobbies, which are DIY, being in touch with nature and lending a hand with whatever is needed. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have done this on my own, not even if I were crazy! Mireia, who's a veterinarian, handles the day-to-day running and the less thankless things: accounting, permits...", he explains.

And who does he prefer to stay with, the goats or the public? Peyu feels "comfortable" in both places, but perhaps more so with the animals: the goats. The people are kept apart there and I know we're not going to interact too much. When you dedicate yourself to being a comedian and making people laugh, everyone thinks you're very extroverted, but I'm actually a shy and discreet guy," he confesses. This space, which offers guided tours and is rented out for business meetings, also has some very special staff: the dogs: Drop, a border collie who regularly works with the flock; Rita, a second border collie, the most recent addition, from the Basque Country, who is also just starting to work with the flock; they listen to the shepherd and do what he thinks is right.

In this herd, all the goats are paired together. They go into heat twice a year, the goat mounts them, they appear suddenly, and they are milked except "during the last months of gestation, so they can focus all their energy on the upcoming kids and on better postpartum recovery," she points out. Since they don't have fresh cheeses, this is the time to concentrate their efforts on selling the matured ones. "These cheeses, turned manually in the maturation chamber, spend six months on a wooden shelf. When you eat them, you think, 'This started a long time ago.'" Although the goats smell, Peyu and Colonques are used to it. "When the goats come in, the corral sings loudly," she admits. But it doesn't pose any problem for them: "Mireia used to work in the pork industry, which is the most common in Osona. Until the goat arrived home, the stench of pork was unbearable," she explains. "And damn, I love the smell of goat."

Agnès Busquets, actress: "When I walk the three dogs together, it looks like a dance of ribbons of the dancing esbart"

When Will, now 5 years old, was a puppy, they had a scare. They were spending the day at a house in the Empordà region, and the dog ran off after hearing something that caught his attention. "After a long hike, he came back. They're smarter than we think. They keep me company and make me laugh," explains actress and writer Agnès Busquets, who immediately after saying this has to put things in order with a long "Prooou!" Busquets not only has Will—the friendliest and most hyperactive, according to her—but also two other dogs. In total, three dachshunds. When people are on the landing of their house with the elevator door open, they start barking. They are "very barking" animals, and Trotsky, especially, has a very powerful bark. "They're dachshunds and stubborn. A bad combination," she says.

Fuet, who is 11 years old, was the first to arrive and is like a cat-dog, that is, a dog but with a cat's personality. "The vets are amazed because he's superb and lets you do everything. However, he's very stubborn, and when he doesn't want something, he doesn't do it. He pretends it's not his business and acts like cats do, ignoring you and only coming when they want to," Busquets explains. Then came Trotsky, who is now 13 and was used to living outdoors. "He does his own thing. He's a skeptic. He pulls on the leash and does what he wants. He's like a diesel. A trailer can go by and he won't move. But he's very affectionate. He'd stay with anyone on the street and be super happy," she explains. If, in addition to stretching the leash, Trotsky stops to sniff all the other dogs' pee, then how does Busquets manage on the street, since she almost always takes them off at the same time? "When I walk the three dogs together, it's like a dancing Esbart ribbon dance: ropes this way and that," describes the actress, who lives in Barcelona. In the mountains, it's a different story. There, she can let them free. "Dachshunds are burrowing dogs. So when they can run, they're super happy," says Busquets, who on the day she records the program Polonia and has to leave home at six in the morning is walked by her son, Pep. Having dogs—and three of them, at that—"obviously ties you down," but it's perfectly possible to combine them. "The theater performances are also in the afternoon, so I take him out at night when I get back. And there are many days when I'm at home," she adds.

As a child, she had canaries, a hamster, and fish. She also had a cat named Barrufet, who lived for 20 years and was, in this case, a cat-dog, and a cat named Gertrudis, whom she had when she shared an apartment with a roommate and later lived for a time with her and her son. "The other day I was talking to her about how happy I would be as a farmer, although I'm obviously aware of the work it entails and that there's no rest, because chili peppers don't have a holiday and you have to be there all day for them," she confesses. Dogs and animals in general, according to her, have something special. "Touching them, looking at them, petting them, being with them without saying anything... There are reptiles that I find endearing. Of course, a capybara is cuter than a crocodile, for example. But I like them! Although I couldn't tell you why: there's simply an understanding."

Judit Neddermann, singer and songwriter: "Whatever dog you have, it pushes you to surpass yourself and tests various facets and emotions."

"I'm recording, Maní! Please help me," singer-songwriter Judit Neddermann tells her now 4-year-old dog while recording in her home studio because she sometimes starts barking when she sings. The two of them, however, communicate with glances and gestures; they don't need too many words like Nestar speaks to them. Having just released her sixth album, she records at home with her guitar. Maní sits on the couch because he knows it will be there for a while, before going out for a walk. –to whom Neddermann dedicated a song (bonus track from the fifth album Lar)– has destroyed a packet of tissues, Maní immediately captures her expression. "He knows I'll get angry. He reads me...", he says.

If Neddermann is out, the person Maní usually stays with is Arnau Figueres, her companion, who has a special ability to handle and relate to her. "With him, Maní really does square up," he admits. Since they have the dog, her training has become a common goal. "Whatever dog you have, it pushes you to excel and tests various facets and emotions, which in the end are the ones that accompany us in every aspect of life: receiving and giving love, being with each other, caring, knowing how to set limits... Caring for Maní and training her is a shared challenge," explains the artist, and it's a "grace" that the dog is the subject of an interview.

In her home in Vilassar de Mar, Maní – a name that in Latin America means peanut, and Antonio Machín recorded a song about it—among other places, she hangs out on the terrace. "She loves watching the sea. She can stay there for hours. Of course, when she sees a dog on the promenade, even if it's far away, she lets us know," says the singer. This behavior, they don't know, might also occur when neither of them is home: "I have the feeling that when Arnau and I aren't around, she relaxes. She doesn't have to be protecting us, and she's probably calmer." One place where he's already learned he doesn't need to defend them is during the artist's encounters with his family on some land in Aragon: Maní, who returns happily everywhere, has finally understood, after a while, that "it's a safe place" and that "the people in the other houses around here are cousins and other members of the same family." Furthermore, there's someone there who has the dog on her list of favorites: the singer's grandmother. "She calls him 'poor thing'—she speaks to him in the masculine, even though he's a female—and gives him things to eat," he notes. But... what food! "The first day they met, my grandmother, who is 83 years old, gave her a roasted rabbit liver she had in the kitchen. And, after that, the dog has associated my grandmother with that specific moment, and every time the voice goes crazy."