It’s 2024. And, if you’re a believer in starting the New Year in the way in which you intend to go on, I’m not sure what you will make of the fact that my first task of the year was cleaning up three* piles of cat puke. Because one of them was the same colour as the floorboards, and because I was wearing thick socks, I didn’t notice it until I had dragged it across the hallway and back again.
*If you’re one of the friends to whom I reported TWO piles of puke, that’s because the third was in a different location, waiting to be discovered like a newborn volcanic island (and about the size of one, too). And, naturellement, I found it right after I’d put away the cleaning products and washed my hands from the first two piles.
Cat Daddy thinks it’s the beginning of the end for Catorze, although he’s been saying this for the last three years. It’s true that, sometimes, he looks thin, scruffy and old (Catorze, I mean, not Cat Daddy); when he lifts his head after a long sleep and his fur is all splayed and haphazard, he could be a feline version of Father Jack from Father Ted (younger followers: ask your parents). Yet he’s otherwise wide-eyed and plushy-furred, and he still has the energy and the inclination to do this (whatever this might be – we still don’t know):
So, whilst I’ll mention the puking to the vet when we next go in, I’m in no hurry to rush him in right now.
In four months’ time, the little sod will be fourteen, and there is something wonderfully magical about Catorze turning quatorze. We can’t wait to see what this year will bring him.
Happy New Year to you all, and thank you for supporting Catorze and us.
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