Your mom has called you a hoarder now and then when she enters your room, but your books make you happy. You never get rid of them. After all, you never know if you'll one day want to revisit something you've already read. Though it's no Dewey Decimal System, you do keep titles organized roughly by genre and author, so you always know where to look when it's time to hunt something down.
There's a scratching at your bedroom door. It's a familiar sound, but one you haven't heard in months.
When you open the door, your dog rushes inside and crashes against your legs, overjoyed to see you after all this time. She's a mutt with a healthy dose of terrier in her. She's getting on in years, but she still acts like a puppy.