*WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF CAT ARSE*
Anyone who knows me knows that a cat’s rear end is my least favourite part of it. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it’s one of my least favourite things in the world. I would rather face War, Famine, Death or whatever the fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse is, or even all four at once, than have anything to do with a cat’s arse.
Obviously the only solution to this is finding a cat with no arse, which is unlikely to happen unless someone in a lab were to create a genetically-modified Doctor Doolittle-style push-me-pull-you thing (younger followers, ask your parents). But a short-haired cat is a reasonable compromise. Hairless cats have everything permanently on display, with no barrier whatsoever between the arse and your furniture. And long-haired cats, whilst the arse is concealed from view, can have all manner of unspeakable horrors lurking within the depths of that fur.
On Saturday Cat Daddy and I went to Leicestershire and, whilst there, we visited one of Louis Catorze’s favourite pilgrims, who lives with her husband and FOUR feline overlords. And the cats very generously allow two dogs to lodge in their house, too.
Upon arrival, we became acquainted with the canine contingent and three-quarters of the feline contingent. As ever, when meeting other cats, I kept saying “They’re ENORMOUS!” over and over again when, in actual fact, this is what all normal cats are supposed to look like.
Cat-and-Dog Daddy brought the fourth cat – a stunning, long-haired beauty named Freya – to us and she pitter-pattered elegantly around us as we talked, with her fluffy tail aloft. As she did so, I noticed solid matter stuck to her hindquarters.
Me: “Freya’s got something stuck to her arse.”
Cat-and-Dog Mamma: “Oh, has she?”
Me: “I think it’s a leaf. It’s definitely a leaf, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Please tell me it’s a leaf. PLEASE TELL ME IT’S A LEAF.”
Cat-and-Dog Mamma, glancing at Freya’s arse: “Erm … no.
Saint. Jésus.
Freya then pitter-pattered off. I had awful visions of her returning to us with the offending substance still affixed to her arse … or, worse, returning to us with the it NOT affixed to her arse and the Cat-and-Dog Parents having to do the Chasse de Trésor around the house.
I don’t know how the offending substance was eventually dealt with, and I didn’t ask because I was too busy thanking the universe that Freya didn’t deposit it onto my lap.
Never did I think I would be GRATEFUL for the Catorzian arse, yet here I am. If my only direct dealings with it involve colouring in photos using the iPhone’s black markup tool, I have got off lightly. As for indirect contact, I don’t want to know. If I thought too hard about where Catorze’s arse had been, I would never touch anything in Le Château again.
jesuisleroisoleil 
Nobody is perfect, even a cat.
Normally, when it has just happened, your nose tells you it isn’t a leaf.
🤣🤣🤣
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My nose told me nothing. It let me down.
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And what about the other noses?
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Also nope. We were outside when the offending substance was spotted, so that may have been why.
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Happily, Lucky Jim, the floofy kitten, has learned to groom himself (or rather, did it instinctively. We definitely weren’t there showing him how to lick his own arse!) but during his early kittenhood would often have (as Mr FD delighted in referring to it) “a bit of claggy on the waggy” Reference Ian Dury & the Blockheads “This Is What We Find” Mr Fd was the claggy cleaner.
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“Claggy on the waggy”! Oh. Mon. Dieu. 😩😩😩
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Hmmm…well…nor much I can add to THAT. At least you know what the rest of the world deals with, so maybe Petit Catorze isn’t so bad ?
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Yes, I guess constant psychological torture, financial ruin, and sleep deprivation from the 3am parkour, are a small price to pay!
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It’s not only cats! I stopped by a neighbor’s house last week. She has a very small dog. I walked in and right there in the foyer was a brown plop. Must have caught on her rear hair and she dropped it by the front door. Neighbor was a upset and yes, the foyer smelled like someone had taken a dump! Laughed my arse off.
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Well, this is what’s somewhat mystifying: my sense of smell did not alert me in any way to Freya’s, erm, hitchhiker. I even picked her up and put her on my lap! 😱😱😱
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The plop was substantial.
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Oh God, was it? Even coming from a small dog? 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱
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Small dogs eat the same things.
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Not in the same quantity, though? What comes out surely reflects the quantity of what goes in? Oh God, I can’t believe I am even talking about this. 😬😬😬
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Still stinks! 🙂 🙂 🙂
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But you are.
😁
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I am what? 🤣🤣🤣
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« talking about this. 😬😬😬»
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Ugh, I am. 🤢
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I hesitate to say this, but aren’t you being a trifle ungallant towards poor Mlle Freya?
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Possibly, yes. She was not impressed!
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As Miss Penny is 18 and arthritic, we have a few accidents every now and then, nothing too bad so far, but sometimes she doesn’t smell like she put on her Channel 5 that day so I have to wipe things a bit… and we have a few puppy-training pads around the litter box because bending her legs can be painful sometimes… C’est la vie 🙂
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Aww, Miss Penny! 18 in human years is 88 in cat years, so that’s understandable! Catorze will be that age one day – I hope. ♥️♥️♥️
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I hope so, too ❤️❤️❤️
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Don’t tell les chats, but those dogs are adorable (I know–heresy). The cats are also lovely, although more so without attached “substances.”
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They were all a delight! 🖤🖤🖤
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