Our day starts at just before 7:00 am in time to get the 6:00 start of the Today show on BBC's Radio 4. My husband gets up to make tea as I doze in and out of sleep. He arrives with two mugs, sets his own on the dresser a few steps away from the bed, and walks around to put mine at my side. As he walks to the dresser to fetch his own, the dog, who had been fast asleep at the foot of the bed, gets up and plops himself down on my husband's pillow. When my husband turns around with his mug of tea, he gives the dog a look. Then he sits on the side of the bed. I turn around and watch the unfolding scene, which I know so well.

Then, in choreographed manoeuvre that has developed over the years, as my husband slides carefully into bed, I roll the dog over toward the middle where he now lies on his back, fully ensconced between us. His four paws are up in the air as he relishes a long massage à deux on his tummy and his paws (from both of us) and lots of kisses on his muzzle (from me). Then he scrambles under the blankets for a few minutes, finds a place that maximizes body contact, and finally, when it gets too hot, goes back to his place at the foot of the bed.

The cat, meanwhile, has gotten up as soon as my husband set off for the kitchen, following him to request his breakfast. I can just make out their conversation from the bedroom. Another daily ritual occurs there: Vinzelles will not, on these occasions, jump onto the counter to get his food as he does on others. My husband is to pick him up, give him a cuddle, and then plop him in front of his plate. If we stay in bed long enough, the cat wanders back to the bed and creeps slowly up my body until he greets me face to face.