There is a concept sometimes used in pastoral care (and palliative care) of those with end-stage disease that speaks of "one last good day" - the one, often surprising, surge of vibrancy and joy, laughter and activity that occurs very close to death.  The trouble is, of course, that only retrospectively can this be identified... "good days" and "not good days" arise naturally, and even if the trajectory is inevitably towards the end, there can often be no way of being sure when it is "the last time".

When I took Holly to the vet on Tuesday, she was a very sick cat: lethargic, hiding away and obviously in pain.  After some painkillers, she perked up and seemed to enjoy herself, sleeping in the open and enjoying being stroked.  On Wednesday after anaesthetic and steroids she was very out of sorts - not in any obvious pain but quite disorientated... had I done the right thing?  Then yesterday, when I arrived  home she strolled to meet me, tail curled up, purr on max... she had eaten all her food and wanted more; she jumped up next to me and enjoyed lots of fuss... this morning she actually came into my room to demand breakfast, and having eaten some is now curled up next to me, snoozing gently.

I expect this is one last "good weekend" because Holly is a very ill cat... but she is not in any obvious pain, she is warm, content and loved.  On Wednesday I will take advice from the vet on whether it is fair to her to prolong treatment.  For now, though, whilst there are jobs to be done, my intention is to enjoy this "good day" with the cat who has given me so many "good days" of my own.

Here she is, on Thursday evening giving me one of her "looks" and still as gorgeous as ever...