It’s been two months since Louis Catorze’s last steroid shot. He’s only allowed a maximum of one per month, and there have been times when I’ve anxiously checked my calendar, desperate to take him for the next one, to find that it’s only been three weeks and we somehow have to hang on for a little longer. So to reach the two-month milestone, at a time of year which usually sees the return of his problems, is quite something.
That said, I might book him in soon, to keep him nicely ticking over through December and to avoid the festive rush for the vet.
Cat Daddy: “Is there a festive rush for the vet?”
Well, not in the same way that there’s a rush for sliced white bread every December* but, knowing our luck, Catorze will hit us with some dire emergency five minutes after the vet closes for the holidays.
*It’s true: in the few days leading up to Christmas, there’s no shortage of turkeys or puddings; however, sliced white bread disappears from the shelves of every supermarket in West London, and nobody knows why. I don’t believe for a second that everyone suddenly has a burning need to make bread sauce from scratch. So who’s buying it? And what are they doing with it?
Catorze is wide-eyed, swishy-tailed, and his screaming is beyond belief. Even Puppy Mamma – who was a cat person until she betrayed the cause and defected to the other side – told me how curious and otherworldly he was, with his alien eyes and the body which remains kitten-like and petite despite his advancing years and lifelong drug use.
I have often said that he is the Dorian Gray of cats, and that has never been more true than now.
louiscatorze.com 
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