1. The rhythm of our life has changed – we’re getting up earlier, going to bed earlier and exercising far more – and it’s got its own percussive beat too: the thump thump thump of Lily’s happy tail banging against everything.

2. Carla knows the dog is there – she’s seen her, she’s definitely seen her – but the strip of sun across the living room floor is too inviting. She stretches out and rolls around, her belly warm and red in the light. I can hear her purring across the room.

3. The relief when I see my keys locked in the porch – much better there than lost on our walk.

1. She wakes up at dawn but is coaxed back to the sofa for another couple of hours sleep. When my alarm goes off at 8:30 (her old feeding time in the shelter), she’s still sleepy and we cuddle instead. I explain to her that this is how the Peach household works: we always start the day with hugs.

2. By early afternoon, the cats still aren’t sure of her but seem to have decided she’s not a threat. They keep watching but not obsessively so and blinking all the while.

3. I spend the afternoon stretched out on the floor in front of the stove, listening to Joanna Newsome. The dog and cats take it in turns to lie across the newspaper and when they do, I stare out of the window at the bare branches silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky.

4. She takes the blue rubber bone from me and carries it to her bed. She puts it down matter-of-factly at one end and looks at me with disdain: “the blue bone is clearly for later, mum, clearly”.

5. Tom arrives at bedtime and as I lead him through the porch, I explain that Lily can be nervous around new people so let her come to him rather than crowding her. Or rather I start to explain because before I can finish, she’s launched herself at him, tail wagging, the happiest, most welcoming dog in the world.

1. We go to the rescue centre expecting to meet one dog but end up meeting another one. We can’t stop stroking her back – it’s unbelievably soft.

2. In my mum & dad’s attic, I find games and toys from my childhood and John gushes that he had the same things too. We liberate an old chair, some board games, a soldering kit and vintage macrame shopping bag from their extraneous existence.

3. The drive home from Southport is always filled with chatter. Discussion in the dark.

1. I look at the menu but know in my heart I’ll get the same thing I always do – the chorizo and potato salad with baby spinach, a poached egg and red pepper aioli. If they added cheese and a cat to it, it would be all of my favourite things in one shiny white bowl.

2. Joe’s all smiles when I return him to his favourite lady after her haircut. All smiles and sticking his tongue out. Today’s the day he discovered he has control over the floppy thing in his mouth and boy, is it fun to stick it out into the open.

3. The cats, circling my ankles, call out to me to hurry up as I sliced the freshly roasted ox heart into smaller chunks for them.

1. Even without my glasses or raising my head from the pillows, I can tell the world’s gone white again. Our plans are abandoned and we give ourselves a snow day of relaxation.

2. The cheese stretches between my teeth and the toasted bread shell.

3. I rarely play PvP battlegrounds and forgot how much fun killing other people can be. Fighting NPCs is rarely as exhilarating – it’s often just a case of going through the motions – but my half-hour in Warsung Gulch is electrifying.

4. Katherine & I discover we’re having the same soup for dinner. Katherine types “smiling now” and I am too. For all our differences, we’re so alike.

1. Two pleasantly dull sounds within ten minutes of each other – the sound of vomit hitting a window in a cartoon and the knock of wood on wood as I throw logs onto a pile.

2. Boron watches us from the wall then when I rest, he pads over to sit on my knee. One of his longest stints in the garden for a long time – spring must be on its way.

3. We stand by the beck – deep in the woods but still in our garden – holding hands and talking about our future.