It's quarter past eight in the cold morning. I am outside the front door in my dressing-gown. I am crouching down, tapping the floor, trying to persuade Harvey that he can get out, that it's not too huge a step for him.
He hasn't been out for a wee since yesterday lunchtime. He might have a bladder the size of Lake Windermere but he MUST need to go now.
In the end I lift his front paws down. I am reluctant to do this as he tends to panic and his back end collapses with all sorts of results. This time though we are successful.
He comes in through the back door. Encouraged by his walk round the garden he manages to get up the step - carefully avoiding the ramp - with only a little hesitation and much cheering-on.
He is standing by me as I write this, grumbling if I stop scratching him for the seconds I need two hands to hold down two keys to do a capital letter. He wants his breakfast. Time to go.