Yoshi pads into the kitchen and catches the sun on his black fur. For a moment he is sheathed in a suit of shimmering silver.
In the kitchen, I hear the sound of squawking coming from the direction of the sky. I look up into the blue, expecting to see a flash of long-tailed greenness. Although I know they are here, it still surprises me, to hear parakeets in Walthamstow.