Friday morning, 7am. Sitting outside on a peaceful patio with my morning coffee and a good book in the most perfect temperature imaginable — 72 degrees Fahrenheit — under a cloudy sky pregnant with rain that never seems to fall. The only sounds are of birds chirping, gardeners chatting, the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance, and my cat’s collar bell chiming as he runs after foolhardy lizards. Lucy the monkey hears us stirring and bounces down from her bamboo perch to squeak new year’s greetings after my month-long absence. She doesn’t often vocalize but when she does, I’ve decided it sounds a lot like Chewbacca.