The heating is on, I’m wearing two pairs of woolly leggings under my jeans and a hot water bottle on my lap. Miffcat Mark Three has the comfy armchair next to the radiator, another hot water bottle and a microwave beanbag puppy. I don’t begrudge her them. The poor scrap’s liver is failing; we really didn’t expect her to still be around by now, but since being prescribed steroids a week ago, she’s perked up quite a bit. She still springs to life when any fish is in the offing (makes giving her her pills so much easier) and wobbles her way through to the kitchen at double speed.