A couple of evenings ago, when Cat Daddy was putting out the recycling, Louis Catorze escaped out at The Front. Then he came to the window as we were watching television and stared in unflinchingly and creepily.
We ignored him and carried on watching television. He continued to stare.
Cat Daddy: “I’m going to have to let him in. I can’t stand to look at his eyes any longer.”
He opened the window. Catorze didn’t move.
Cat Daddy: “I’m going to count down from ten. If you’re not in by one, I’m shutting the window and you’re going to have to stay out there.”
Cat Daddy counted down. Catorze stood statue-still. The window was closed and Cat Daddy sat down.
Then the screaming started.
Cat Daddy: “[Unrepeatable expletives, then] I’m not letting him in now. He can wait.”
The screaming continued.
Cat Daddy: “I’m still not doing it.”
The screaming continued.
Me: “The neighbours are going to be really annoyed by this.”
I was thinking, in particular, of That Neighbour, who got his nickname not because we don’t like him – we do – but because he is always the one who ends up escorting Catorze home when he causes mayhem at The Front. When I tell stories of his escapades and I ask friends to guess who brought him back, they always reply, “Oh God, not that neighbour AGAIN?”
Cat Daddy: “[Unrepeatable expletives, then] Fine.”
This time the little sod came in as soon as the window was opened, only to go out at The Back immediately.
Cat Daddy: “If he wanted to be outside so badly, why didn’t he just stay out at The Front?”
Trying to figure out cat logic? Waste of time. Trying to figure out Roi logic? Seriously, don’t bother.

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