Having all the luck

I have a habit of being hard to look after. I am lucky that my nearest and dearest are persistent, and a match for my stubborn nature.

It's not that i don't like to be looked after, the complete opposite infact, but it just so happens that it's what I do best. Caring - in utterly domestic and mundane ways - is where I find meaning and comfort. I was told recently that I give the impression of perpetually needing something to look after. I had not recognised myself in those terms before, but the glimpse of myself through the eyes of another was eerily on point.

It started with hamsters. Perhaps eight years old. I picked him because he was golden and sleepy. I named him Dutty, and in the mornings I would wake up my nocturnal pet and pop him into my pyjama pocket. We would spend most weekends this way. I loved him dearly. The departure of Dutty saw the arrival of Rapunzel, another golden bundle of hamster joy - although this time less sleepy, and a fraction vicious. Rapunzel was an elegant creature, really quite beautiful with her bright red eyes and frothy, spun sugar fur. When Rapunzel made the journey to the great hamster cage in the sky, my heart broke. It was probably good for me.

Following a short but intense period of mourning, I found Mr Timothy Rhubarb Kipling, the third in my line of hamsters. I picked him because he was tri-colour, and had a dark brown S shape in his short soft fur. He was marked as mine. His fairly eccentric name reflects my thirteen or so years. My final hamster was Orlando Fernando. A king amongst hamsters. Athletic and acrobatic, he made several cunning escapes. He was dastardly and adventurous, razor sharp and quick witted - at least, that is how I remember him.

The time line of hamsters paused for a couple of goldfish (Steven and Harry Potter), two mice (Lizzie and Katie) and were the constant companions of my most missed and beloved pet, our dog Jackson. When the pets ran out, I filled the void with boyfriends. They tend to have similar life spans and not unsimilar characteristics: some sweet, some vicious, some sharp and most sleepy. All in all, not a bad bunch, and the joy always did outweigh the heartache.

My history through hamsters; a journey through my very own pet cemetery, if you will. And now I find myself without a pet, without a small furry friend to feed and water, cuddle and love. Luckily I have friends and a boyfriend who are more than happy to comply. Even luckier, I am embarking upon a weekend of complete spoiling, with the three people who manage to charm me into submission, and look after me in the best and most wonderful ways possible.

It will start with Katharine. My domestic goddess of a colleague and friend, who will be cooking up a whirl of winter treats for me tonight. It is a forgone conclusion that I will leave Katharine's abode feeling utterly gorged and serene. It will continue with Dan. A master of steak fajitas, an expert in cosy Italian restaurants and a budding connoisseur of hot baths and general care and fuss. Consider me spoilt rotten and smug in equal measures. The weekend of goodness will end with Rebecca and Gareth, endlessly indulgent, Rebecca even warms up a fluffy towel for me to fall into after a shower. The only person (my own fabulous mother obviously excluded) who I really allow to mother me.

I am learning to let myself be cared for, because what a waste it would be not to take advantage of the amazingly generous and spoiling people I have somehow managed to surround myself with. Today it feels as if I really do have all the luck.