A quiet night for Barney. After I wrote last night's entry he actually got up from where he'd been lying since I got in, went and had a wee, and then came over to my sofa and demanded a fuss until I went to bed around midnight.
This morning I woke up early, half expecting to find a dead cat in the lounge. Barney always used to spend the night on our bed (frequently getting kicked off on those occasions when he encroached just that little bit too much). Last night, however, he seemed content to stay in the lounge. He didn't seem to have eaten or drunk anything, but of course with another cat in the house it's impossible to say for sure.
Anyway, I went into the lounge this morning and there he was, on the sofa he'd been on originally. So whatever else, he'd moved around a little during the night. I got myself washed and ready to go out, but decided to get the later train (from where I'm writing) and gave the boy a fuss for half an hour. He was very receptive - perfectly content and not at all in pain. The vet told us that the main sign of deterioration would be dehydration, which would manifest itself as an enormous hangover. On the contrary, Barney was happy to seek attention rather than wanting to be left alone to sleep it off. He's still quite lethargic, but maybe that doesn't necessarily spell the beginning of the end.
Before I go I must mention the football. England lost, on penalties in the end. But you'd have to say that the better team won. I'm just glad that I went through my "football" phase as a teenager - I was mad about Everton from about 1980 to 1990, and had a season ticket from the age of about 13 until I headed off to university. It used to cost around £35 in those days - I looked at Everton's web site a couple of weeks ago and you can multiply that cost by a factor of 10 now. In fairness, I used to stand behind the goal in the cheapest part of the ground, whereas of course football grounds are all-seater these days.
All I can say is that I'm glad I don't waste my money on it now. My Sky subscription is as close as I get to funding these clubs, and their players' enormous wage bills. And whilst a good game of football is a pleasure to watch, the notion of becoming elated (or more likely heavily depressed) because of the activities of 11 guys on a field is simply alien to me.