louiscatorze.com

I always go to bed much earlier than Cat Daddy, even during the school holidays. After I have settled down and closed my eyes, we go through this same ritual repeatedly:

1. Louis Catorze lies with/on me for a little while, then leaves.

2. When he arrives back downstairs, he discovers that Cat Daddy has shut him out of the living room so he whines to be let in.

3. Cat Daddy either doesn’t hear him or chooses to ignore him.

4. Catorze whines again. And again. AND AGAIN. [At this point may I mention that, however bad Catorzian screaming may be, it doesn’t have the gut-wrenching, fingernails-down-the-blackboard pathos of Catorzian whining. And, no, I have no idea why Cat Daddy cannot hear it from the other side of the door, yet I can hear it all the way upstairs.]

5. I shout, “Please would you let him in?”

6. No response. Whining continues.

7. I repeat my message to Cat Daddy via WhatsApp.

8. No response. Whining continues.

9. I finally phone Cat Daddy and beg him to let the little sod in.

10. I hear living room door open, then, “Well, are you coming in or not, you little f***er?”

11. Door closes again.

12. Pitter-pattering up the stairs, then Catorze, having decided that he no longer wishes to go into the living room, appears back in the bedroom.

13. Cycle restarts from Point 1.

Good grief.

Am I going to have to start sneaking stealthily off to bed, in the same way that people with normal cats have to slide the tin opener silently from the drawer?

Cats are weird. And ours is the weirdest of the lot, most likely because he isn’t even a cat.