Le dernier repas

It’s all kicking off here in the U.K. and we Brits are the laughing stock of the world. Again.

During lockdown, when we weren’t supposed to be seeing more than one person outdoors, parties took place at the Prime Minister’s residence. The person hosting the parties initially denied that there were parties, and has now admitted it but claims that he thought they were work events. The person originally investigating whether or not there were parties, attended one of the parties. The person who wrote the Covid rules and who decides whether or not they were broken, also attended one of the parties. The newly-appointed person investigating whether or not there were parties, works under the person who hosted the parties.

I know. It couldn’t be more absurd if it tried, although it certainly explains why Louis Catorze behaved so badly during my online lessons and meetings: clearly he thought he was at a party. And, to be fair, there were a couple of occasions when things were completely chaotic and/or I was drinking neat Absolut Vanilla from a tea mug at 3pm, so I can’t really blame him.

Meanwhile, Catorze’s war against mealtimes is waging on. Cat Daddy has weighed Catorze’s food on our new set of precision scales, and it turns out that we are only supposed to be giving him three scoops per day. In actual fact we have been giving him around 978 scoops per day.

Now, I wouldn’t normally advocate overfeeding a cat but, since the vet told us that the little sod needed to chub up, we aren’t in a rush to change the overall quantity of food. We have, however, been reconsidering his feeding times and, instead of feeding Catorze whenever he asks, we decided that would give him set mealtimes, just like normal cats.

Catorze came downstairs from his nap one afternoon at around 4pm, then began to creepy-stare for food.

Cat Daddy: “Look at him, trying to bully us.”

Catorze continued to creepy-stare.

Cat Daddy: “Ignore him.”

Catorze continued to creepy-stare.

Cat Daddy: “In fact, let’s take his bowl away.”

I put Catorze’s empty bowl into his food cupboard.

Then the screaming started.

Mon Dieu: I know I have said this numerous times before, but you really could strip paint with his voice.

Our new tough love regime lasted a whole minute and a half before we reverted back to our previous system, because I just couldn’t stand the screaming. So here we are – again – at the mercy of this shouty, toothy little dictator.

He really is the worst. And we are pathetic beyond belief for allowing it.

“Feed moi.”

24 thoughts on “Le dernier repas

  1. Great picture, once again.
    Our new cat is the first one which is accustomed to asking me to go play with him outside.
    When I try to explain him he’d better play with a cat friend, he creepy-stares at me too.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. At about 2130 every day Jenny Cat will sit by the bed and creapy stare me into submission. It’s my own fault for giving her a few treats at that time every night as a kitten.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Indeed so.

        If I’m downstairs at 2130ish, Tabbi Kat doesn’t creepy stare. She demands that I go upstairs to bed and give them their treats.

        Liked by 2 people

  3. You think your country is the laughing stock?!? What about my own USA, where many believe that 80 million voted for a bumbling dementia patient to lead our country?!?! I’m pawsitive that fraud was involved and hope that sooner rather than later, a forensic audit is done on each and every precinct to see if I’m correct AND correct any problems/issues/anomalies found.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Miss Penny has always had a weird “voice” but now that she is becoming deaf, it’s way way worse, so I understand your situation very well 🙂 On a Sunday at 5am, I WILL get out of bed and feed her. She understood that I understood, and now asks for food at the most random times of the day and the night. Sigh… I guess I was born to be her slave…

    Liked by 1 person

  5. During the Depression my Mother worked as a maid/nanny/housekeeper for several different families.In one of them she had charge of a bulldog puppy she was supposed to train. Having little luck at it, she was explaing her frustration to her mother, at which point Gramma told her “You have to be smarter than the bulldog.” Not that I am not a cat slave myself, you understand.
    And as a kitty – or a human – grows deaf they just get louder and louder in order to hear themselves. Miss Penny hasn’tt changed her technique, just her volume. The old goat who lived next door used the same technique.

    Liked by 1 person

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