Because I’ve been working late all week, and because Cat Daddy has been away for a couple of days, last night was our first chance to sit down together and talk about the vet visit. Whilst I’m glad that Louis Catorze didn’t make a spectacle of himself this time, I am mildly irritated that he behaved impeccably with his papa and yet is such a horror when I take him to the vet.

Cat Daddy took him to a new local practice that we hadn’t visited before, and the vet was absolutely lovely to Louis Catorze, cuddling him and telling him what a brave boy he was. He sat beautifully through the shaving and cleaning of his wound, the weigh-in (he’s now 3.65 kg) the thermometer and the antibiotic injection, and was in such good spirits after getting home that he snuggled Cat Daddy all afternoon. Not even the faintest sniff of a sulk.

Today, apart from the indignity of a bald spot in the middle of his forehead like the eye of a glaring cyclops, he’s perfectly fine. No sign as yet of his sparring partner, nor any clues as to whom it might be. All the most obvious suspects live too far down the street and I just don’t see them bothering to come here (and hell would freeze over before Louis Catorze moved his arse to get to them), so I think we’re in for a long wait before we solve that mystery.

(No photo as Le Roi refused to be photographed today.)