Three years ago my wife and I got three pet rats. A little over a year later, we added two more, and for a brief moment had a lovely little mischief of five happy boys.

Then we lost one of the new babies in a freak accident after he got injured during a scrap, then, a few months after that, the first of the original trio left us, and so on, and so on, until today, when the last of the new babies, who was now just over two, passed away.

And as much as I try to focus on the happy times, watching them boing about on the sofa, or stealing snacks from us, or just snuggling inside the hood of my jumper and falling asleep, it’s really hard to reconcile that with their short little lives.

We recently adopted a pair of 6yo cats, and while they could feasibly spend the next 10/15 years with us, there’s always that nagging doubt that they’ll suddenly develop an incurable illness, and we’ll lose them too soon.

But that’s all kinda worth it when they’re asleep on your lap, purring away. Or in the case of the ratties, boggling and bruxing.

Sorry if this is a bit maudlin; I’ve just buried Wilbur in the garden, and I miss my little toast-stealing friend.