Marmaduke has found the best seat in the house, and nothing is going to move him. He’s stretched out along the top of the old writing desk, eyes shut and whiskers relaxed, with his paws resting on a scribbled note and a set of keys he has clearly decided are his too.

Behind him, a row of well-thumbed books leans against a bird-patterned wall, with The Catcher in the Rye and Of Mice and Men among the spines. A cricket ball sits in the corner and a jar of tulips brightens the shelf. Who would dare to disturb him?