I’m a woman in my mid-forties with four cats , and I desperately want another. And, because of this, I feel everyone leap to the conclusion that I’m some barren, sexless spinster, when I’m anything but.

There comes a moment in a woman’s life when you’re forced to reckon with society’s script – some parts patriarchal, like marriage; some biological, like fertility ; some just deeply nosy, like everyone’s unsolicited opinion on what you should have done by now.

If you’re not married with kids by the time you’re 30, there’s a faint whiff of judgement. But for many of us, our careers are thriving, our friendships are rich and our options are broader than ever. Then the mid-thirties hit, and biology taps you on the shoulder. Fertility begins to feel slightly more like a roulette wheel.

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