Cat Daddy and I were met with this scene when we came downstairs yesterday morning. The photos do not do it justice and, in real life, it was more horrifying than I ever thought possible:
Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: this is snail juice. And, judging by the huge amount of ground covered in just one night, you would imagine a full-on gastropod party with several attendees. But a search of the area revealed just one culprit, and not a very large one at that (shown below with a 20p coin for scale). You can even see some of the sofa fibres stuck to it:
I have questions:
1. How did it get into the house? (Cat Daddy: “I think we both know the answer to that one.” And, regretfully, he has a point, because Louis Catorze has previous when it comes to bringing in slugs and snails. In case you missed the worst incident, here it is: https://louiscatorze.com/2016/04/03/la-limace/)
2. In the extremely unlikely event of Catorze not being responsible for bringing in the snail, why the flip didn’t the little sod try to stop this carnage? (Cat Daddy had no response to this one.)
Anyway, the snail juice was promptly cleaned up, with Cat Daddy philosophically declaring, “It could have been worse. At least it’s not bird shit.” (This is true. But it doesn’t really help.)
It’s a tragic day when the slasher-clawed killing machine that is your cat not only fails to stop the slowest animal in the world from wreaking silent havoc overnight, but most likely gave it a helping hand by carrying it in in his mouth or letting it hitch a ride on his fur. And, short of keeping Catorze in a cage for the rest of his life, I don’t see how we can prevent this horror from happening again. Any advice would be gratefully welcomed.