louiscatorze.com

Bugs. The ones I can see, the ones that I can’t, the ones that are there AND the ones that aren’t.

The Scottish midges have, despite everyone’s warnings, been scarce so far. The kamikaze horseflies, on the other hand, have left life-changing scars. They like the taste of Cat Daddy better than me so, that one time when we forgot to apply bug repellent whilst out walking, my job was to walk behind him and swat them as they landed.

Cat Daddy didn’t like being hit without warning, so he made me alert him to each incoming swat. I wonder what observers might have thought, watching me trailing him and shouting out body part names before hitting them? “Left shoulder!” [Thump!] “Lower back!” [Thump!] We could have done with Louis Catorze who, despite being useless in many ways, is an excellent fly-hunter.

In its bedroom of our second week holiday let. we were greeted by this fine individual:

When I told Cat Daddy that I wouldn’t be able to sleep under this beast, he thought it was because I was scared of cows. I’m not. I’m not even scared of this one falling off and impaling us as we sleep. My fear was the possible bugs living on/in its fur (do cows – including fake ones – have fur?), which could drop onto us during the night.

If you’ve seen that meme about not wanting to swim in a pool containing one dead body, yet happily swimming in the ocean which contains countless dead bodies, perhaps you’ll think I am the idiot for not wanting to sleep under a cow that may contain bugs, yet happily sharing a bed with Catorze whose fur definitely contains countless bugs? Over the years there have been all sorts of things deposited on/in my bed, having been transported by cats. Surely nothing residing on/in the cow could be worse than THIS horror (not an actual bug but still awful)?

In the end I slept upside-down on the bed with my feet at the head end but, when Cat Daddy came to bed later and made me right myself, I sleepily did so. I wasn’t aware of any bugs during the night, although I guess that’s the point of the urban legend about swallowing spiders in your sleep; apparently we all do it, but we don’t realise.

Catorze and the chat-sitteur are still having a marvellous time together, and she has only had one complaint about him so far: he was all over her, but dropped her like a hot stone when her boyfriend visited, resuming his affections only after his departure. I did warn her that this would happen, but she had assumed that reports of Catorze’s man-love, as with all events featured in Le Blog, were served with a helping of poetic licence. Now, of course, she understands that I am producing a memoir, not a work of fiction.

Here is Catorze, snuggling up to her in bed. I shall refrain from mentioning what may, or may not, be hidden in his fur: