Oh, Eliza, yes it breaks the heart. That’s the last thing they do for us.

Watson climbs into my arms like that. He takes a position on a counter or piece of furniture and leans meaningfully, meowing loudly, until I come close and stoop toward him. Then he puts his hands on my shoulders and waits for me to scoop up his hind end.

When he was younger and thinner, he would fling himself straight up in the air in the general direction of my chest, expecting me to catch him. This practice took quite a toll on my wardrobe.

We had friends in for dinner last night, and Watson entertained the company by ankling everyone during the cheese course. (He likes cheese.) Fortunately, the guests did not arrive until after we had flung him off the table for the last time. Isobel made a fleeting appearance — most unusual for her. I think she lets her brother take all the risks, showing up later when the tumult and shouting are over to nab the best spot on the sofa.