It’s been a couple of weeks since we (Cat Daddy: “What do you mean, “we”?”) bought Louis Catorze his new bed, and he still hasn’t slept in it.
In fact, as if to try and spite us, he has been making a special effort to sleep in as many places as possible that are not his new bed. Mind you, this is not unusual, because he once spent about half an hour trying to make himself comfortable on a surface that would never have been comfortable even if he had spent the rest of his life trying. Despite the fact that he has human beds and sofas galore, it seems there’s nothing quite like … a paper bag containing plugs and wires:
I even found him sleeping on a pile of Cat Daddy’s clothes in the bath* last week. I know that this kind of behaviour would usually be an indication that all is not well with poor kitty but, trust me, there’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just being an idiot.
*Before Cat Daddy goes to bed at night, he puts his clothes in the bath. I know. Nobody understands it.
Right now, on an uncharacteristically hot September day, I would bet my savings on him having rejected his cool cardboard bed in favour of being in the attic, which is the hottest room in the house. In fact, no, I would bet HIS savings on that, since the little sod has more money in his account than I do.
As we roll on towards the autumn equinox, which is when we would ordinarily swap from his open spring-summer bed to his enclosed autumn-winter igloo, we are running out of time. But I know that there’s no point in trying to force it, and that he will just inexplicably start using the new bed at some arbitrary moment. In fact, he will most likely do this on the morning of the planned changeover.
I would usually end such a post by saying something about so-called cat logic. But I am starting to have my doubts that Catorze is even a cat.