A routine trip to the vets has revealed our darling Sinclair has only weeks to live. He doesn't know it and nor shall he. We will spoil him rotten (think prawns, haddock etc) until such time as he becomes aware of his illness and is no longer enjoying his life. It's very odd as he is as well as he ever has been, still hunting field mice in the garden. I've come to terms with it and now realise this isn't a bad way for his life to end. He's thirteen, not a huge age but he won't suffer the aches and pains of old age, and the last weeks of his life could well be the best ever.