Cat Daddy and I have decided to escape for few days (to a self-catering cottage on our own, I might add, not to some virussy plague pit with lots of other people). We have arranged for a friend to to come and live with Louis Catorze during our absence and, rather than give her the stress of having to pill him, we took him for a month-long steroid injection before we left.
Naturellement, on the morning of the appointment, I forgot to lock the Sureflap and the little sod escaped out, burying himself so deep in the almost-as-tall-as-me garden plant matter that not even a land mine would have extracted him. Cat Daddy tried poking him out with a stick, to no avail, and eventually he had to resort to the water cannon like the riot police.
Cat Daddy, after the event: “That was really nasty of you.” (Ok, it was my idea, but he still did it. And it’s not as if he had any better ideas.)
Anyway, the pain of that, and the indignity of having to sit with my screaming holdall in the Dog Area because there was already someone in the Cat Area, were worth it, because the injection will make life much easier for our chat-sitteur. Plus we were too embarrassed to tell her that Catorze only takes his pills in freshly-opened jambon de Bayonne, room-temperature organic aged Comté or Brittany tuna rillettes. Far better for her to just deal with the more predictable and straightforward Roi issues: food, water, beauty oil, rats, Donnie, Foxy Loxy, unlawful entry into neighbours’ houses and communing with evil spirits. Oh, and also the fact that the injection has turned him absolutely stark raving mad.
This picture was taken just as we were instructing the little sod to be on his best behaviour. I think the body language says it all.