Je suis mon pire ennemi en personne (Partie 2)

Louis Catorze’s El Día de los Muertos cold-weather igloo comes out in autumn and remains in place until May. The little sod is always delighted and refuses to be removed from it during daylight hours. However, in late January, he suddenly stopped sleeping in it.

At first we didn’t think much of it but then we felt bad that we hadn’t checked for something nasty in the igloo (massive pile of puke, dead rat, mummified human body part plundered from some ancient burial ground, that kind of thing).

I peered into the igloo upon returning home after a walk to discover … a huge clump of cat hair. Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: Catorze’s OWN DISGUSTO-FUR has repulsed him enough to propel him out of his favourite place and send him searching for alternative sleeping spots.

Anyway, the igloo has been cleaned, la personne royale has been brushed and normal service has resumed. As you were.

Zoom in for the tiniest glimpse of fang.

Rester en bonne santé

The week before last, after around five days of being clean, Louis Catorze started scratching again and his inner eye corners began to swell, JUST like this time last year. This time we didn’t hang around so, as of last Monday, he is back on one steroid pill a day, and this means that the day-long psycho screamathons have restarted.

This is completely the opposite of what is supposed to happen (see below), but that’s Catorze all over:

Nope. (Taken from Trudell Animal Health.)

Cat Daddy, shouting to be heard over the screams: “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s gone bloody demented.”

Because we don’t know what triggers his allergy and are highly unlikely to find out, all we can do for the moment is keep pilling him and blasting him with the beeswax candles, wear earplugs and hope for the best.

Over the last six years we have changed our minds about 9,052 times about what could be causing his problems. For a while we were convinced that it was some sort of household item, because Catorze’s worst ever episode* in January 2014 took place when he was an indoor cat, before he came to live with us.

*I had since referred to last year as his worst ever episode but, having compared photos, I can now confirm that January 2014 was, in fact, worse. The length of time in Le Cône may have made last year seem worse than it was yet, with hindsight, I think this may have saved him.

However, last year he was – and remains – an outdoor cat, and his eyes seem to look the weepiest when he’s just come in from outdoors, indicating that something outside is irritating him. We have noticed this on numerous occasions during the last few months, which is most bizarre considering it’s the time that most plants are asleep. Unless, of course, he’s allergic to soil. Or water. Or perhaps, several years on from when he was originally left behind by a UFO, his body is finally starting to reject our air, and what he really needs in order to thrive are the atmospheric conditions of his home planet, wherever that may be.

Please keep your fingers crossed that we can hold it off and stop it from turning nasty.