Cat Daddy and I recently had friends over for dinner. Two of our three guests were men so, naturellement, Louis Catorze found this very pleasing indeed and spent the evening pitter-pattering back and forth between our gathering and ICB in the Zone Libre.
When our guests were about to leave, I made sure that the coast was clear because I really didn’t want Catorze escaping out at The Front at 2am. I was tired and couldn’t face the sleepless night that I knew would follow if I went to bed with him still outside.
Just as I was closing the door after saying our goodbyes, we heard the most almighty BA-DOOMPH, BA-DOOMPH, BA-DOOMPH. The little sod, who had been waiting silently on the landing for the right moment to strike, galloped down the stairs like a wild deer. You would be forgiven for wondering why the loud stomping didn’t trigger us to shut the door more quickly, but it was so un-catlike that it took us by surprise and we froze.
Catorze shot out and under That Neighbour’s car.
Guest 1: “Oh. Is he allowed out here?”
Me: “Not really. But, as you can see, he doesn’t give a shit.”
Guest 2 tried to entice Catorze out, without success. I know from bitter experience that, in situations such as these, the more one tries to chase, the more resistant he becomes, so the only thing to do is wait until he decides to come back. Regretfully there is no way of knowing whether that will be in the next few minutes, or at sunrise.
Cat Daddy decided to have a go at calling Catorze, to see if he would respond better to his favourite human. But Catorze, seemingly buoyed by the novelty of the quiet, empty street, taunted him by dancing tantalisingly out of his reach and refusing to come in.
Eventually I went to bed, with Cat Daddy promising that he would wait up and keep trying. But I decided that I couldn’t leave Catorze to the mercy of his papa, who was drunk and therefore highly likely to forget and/or fall asleep, so I came back downstairs at 2:40am for one last attempt. Luckily Catorze was waiting on the doorstep when I opened the door, and he gave me a little squeak of gratitude, then pitter-pattered up to bed with me and lay across my stomach like a living, furry belt.
What IS this peculiar beast who can both float silently and BA-DOOMPH like a charging rhino, and who can sense exactly when we don’t want him to do something and then do that very thing? One thing is for sure: no way in the world is he just a cat.
louiscatorze.com 
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