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December 9, 2001
Argyle sighs again, in that way that suggests that too much responsibility has been placed on his simple feline shoulders. 'Nothing measurable. I sudden sense of ennui, a slight tilting of personality, a fading of the sense of humour, a lowered resistance to disease. People may notice the change but they won't be able to work out why. They'll just put it down to stress or mid-life crisis and adjust to it. They'll have to - they'll be like that for the rest of their lives.'

He pauses, and glances up at me. 'But right now we have more serious concerns.'