When a cyclone threatened, my friends wondered whether the guinea pigs would have to stay in cages. The guinea pigs had other ideas — mostly involving taking over my workspace.

With Singh terrorising Red, Abe demanding attention and baby quails learning to fly, elderly Minnie apparently decided she’d had enough of aviary life and moved herself under the fish tank. Clever girl.

When I get home late and Graeme forgets to feed the guinea pigs, they don’t need to make a sound. They simply give me the “Where’s our food?” look — and the guilt works immediately.

I thought Singh might need re-homing because he was too rough with the smaller birds. Then I noticed he sits perfectly peacefully beside Rosa — probably because Rosa has made it very clear that she won’t tolerate any nonsense.

Bath time for the guinea pigs apparently ends with everyone wrapped in towels and tucked under a blanket like tiny burritos. Whether they felt pampered or offended is difficult to tell.

Bath time turned into a guinea pig onsen — one communal bath, absolutely no privacy, and several very unimpressed-looking customers.

I knew Mellie was pregnant when I got her, but I expected one or two babies — not three nearly identical little balls of fluff. Now I just have to work out who is who.

At nine days old, Millie’s three babies joined the adults at the dining table for the first time — and apparently needed no lessons on how to eat vegetables like champions.

Ram apparently caught me taking photos while he was sleeping. Judging by the look he gave me afterwards, I don’t think my surveillance was as discreet as I thought.