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.
louiscatorze.com 
Leave a reply to iamthesunking Cancel reply