And where, exactly, was the cat? I like cats...

To London on Wednesday for a social occasion, as the Parliamentary Party in the Lords, newly buttressed by its new members, was invited with significant others, spouses, grandchildren etc. to 10 Downing Street by someone described as the Deputy Prime Minister but who I tend to think of as 'that nice young man who was so impressive when I was his Returning Officer in 1997'.

I don't come into London so much these days - ghastly place, crowded with expensive beer, where you can only get decent cheese at Borough Market (and have you seen the prices?) and where people seem to think that standing right in front of the doors when you're trying to get off of a tube train is so obviously clever (I increasingly have to resist the urge to wave a walking stick at them angrily, even though I don't possess one... yet). But the prospect of meeting some old friends and, just possibly, some celebrity glitter, was enough to lure me onto a Greater Anglia train.

Sadly, Freya was off somewhere - she probably isn't Liberal Democrat friendly - but it was a fun evening anyway. There are no pictures - mobile phones are taken from you at the entrance - and you are pretty well supervised but the chance to catch up with the Family, as I lovingly think of them, made the effort well worth it.

The 'perfectly charming young man' spoke to an audience who were respectful in the way that grandparents can be towards great-nephews and the like sometimes but were rather more there to catch up with old friends, check out the soft furnishings and mark the nibbles for quality and quantity. And for the spouses, it's a chance to catch up, ask after each other's grandchildren and what they've been up to since last we met. It is surprisingly gemütlich, for want of a better word.

But, just as we were talking about quilting and swapping stories about late, lamented colleagues, it was time to be herded gently back towards Whitehall and back to our normal lives.

I'm sorry I missed you, Freya. Maybe next time?...

Cincinnati (1993-2010)

It is with much regret that I announce the death of Cincinnati, our much loved and much treasured orange and white cat, of multiple causes, this morning at approximately 11.30.

For those that knew him, especially in his prime, it will be hard to imagine his passing, as he was the ultimate 'people cat'. He was always first on the scene when there were visitors to the house, and he took a keen interest in the activities of service engineers, estate agents and Liberal Democrats.

But it was our personal bond that made him a central part of my life. A combination of the world's loudest purr, the rich orange colour of his fur, and his utter conviction that my life would be improved by regular grooming, especially if administered by him, meant that, no matter how messy my personal life was, a few minutes in his company would be enough to bring a smile.

In his last years, he discovered outside, an additional room which came with a soft, green carpet, high ceilings and a revolving set of moving furniture, apparently called birds or squirrels. He took to it like a zoo lion transferred to the Serengeti. It was obviously designed for him to wander around, and the garage was perfect as a place for an old codger to sit peacefully.

His final move to Suffolk added an additional year to his life, and he took to village life with enthusiasm. His late-blooming interest in local politics, his careful project management of the new office building, despite a combination of an overactive thyroid, failing kidneys and a growing tumour at the base of his tail, gave him purpose in his final months.

He will be greatly missed, by both of us...

The continuing perils of Cincinnati...

Whilst visiting the pharmaceutical plant, I received a message from home. Cincinnati had been rushed to the vet, and I needed to ring the practice to find out what was happening. Luckily, the vet was satisfied that he had had a good night and was recovering well. However, I would need to bring him in again on our return.

And so, a fortnight ago, I took Cincinnati back to the vet, with Katherine for company. There is no doubt that he is struggling, in that he is losing weight, his hind legs are weakened by muscle loss, and he is generally slower. The vet concluded that he was suffering from a hyperactive thyroid and early stage renal disease, and prescribed medication and a change of diet.

A fortnight later, not much has changed. He takes his medication every day, whether he likes it or not. The new cat food is not to his taste, even though it is low in phosphorus and fearfully expensive, so I treat him with expensive, nice-tasting cat food. Signs of recovery are, at this stage, few and far between, but he still enjoys a stroll around the garden, even if he wobbles a little from time to time.

Cinci has had a good run, and at sixteen years old, he has outlived average life expectancy for a house cat. In the meantime, we'll make him as comfortable as possible, keep him warm and safe, and give him as much attention as we can.