Some things are so predictable that not only should we see them coming, but we don’t really deserve much sympathy if we don’t. One of those is Louis Catorze doing the ONE THING that we don’t want him to do. And, yet again, he has delivered.
The little sod has managed to slalom his royal rump between Cat Daddy’s barricades and is sitting in the tarragon trough again. Yes, I know you told me so. And, yes, I know I was stupid for thinking it would go any other way than this.
Cat Daddy, as you can imagine, is enraged beyond belief. He has now jabbed even more shanks into the trough, at various forbidding criss-cross angles, in an effort to discourage Catorze, and only time will tell whether or not this will work. We have to hope that it will. Otherwise, what next? Poison-tipped razor wire? Motion-activated toxic gas sprinklers? Garlic and a crucifix?
I often talk about ear plugs to block out Catorze’s screaming. However, right now, it’s the Unrepeatable Expletives that are battering my eardrums. Between them, the males of this household are doing me in.