I had hoped to kick off our blog with something rather more positive than this, but unfortunately Louis Catorze isn’t very well. Recently he has inexplicably stepped up his efforts to go burrowing in dusty places and remain there unnoticed for long periods of time, which aggravates his skin allergy, and today he scratched his itchy face with such force that he ended up bleeding and wailing. So we had to take a trip to the emergency vet and, one antibiotic injection and one antihistamine pill later, and with our pockets £68 lighter, we brought him home and embarked upon the onerous task of getting Le Cône d’Honte (the Cone of Shame) around his neck.
I weigh 21 times more than Louis Catorze does. Cat Daddy weighs 31 times more than Louis Catorze does. (We’re not fat, by the way: our cat is just very, very small.) Yet it took the pair of us – clad in padded jackets to protect ourselves from the Freddy Kruger slasher claws – to get the job done. We couldn’t help smiling a TINY bit at the sight of Louis Catorze in his new neckwear, but our smiles were short-lived as he shot upstairs and under our bed for the papa of all mega-sulks (and a revenge-puke on our bedroom carpet).
After a while – well, several hours, actually – we decided to check on him, but he was nowhere to be found. We searched every inch of the house, starting, of course, with all the places he wasn’t allowed to go, but to no avail. Our panic was eventually interrupted by a knock at the door and a never-seen-before cheery neighbour, who said, “Hello. Do you happen to have a black cat with a cone? He’s in our flower bed and doesn’t seem to want to move.” Black, coned and refusing to move his lazy arse? Bingo.
We ambled over to the cheery neighbour’s house, met his equally cheery wife and collected Louis Catorze somewhat shamefacedly, as if bailing out our underage, drunk and disorderly child from a police cell, and all the while hoping they wouldn’t be judging our cat parenting. He is now holed up in the wild strawberry bush outside, having embarked upon Mega-Sulk Partie Deux. I don’t suppose giving him his next lot of antihistamines is going to be fun in a bun, but it has to be done. (That wasn’t supposed to rhyme.)