Louis Catorze has barely budged from the living room recently. Every time we wonder whether he’s ill, we check on him and see that he’s perfectly fine. Then it dawned on Cat Daddy that his poor boy is probably taking refuge from the dreaded guitar.
Yes, Cat Daddy is still practising for several hours a day in the kitchen. And, yes, Catorze is still hating it with every grain of his being.
I came home from work the other night and was greeted by an incensed Catorze. The reason for his outrage? The cleaner was vacuuming, and Cat Daddy was playing the guitar. Yes, his two least favourite things in the world, in his Château, AT THE SAME TIME.
The little sod followed me upstairs and circled me as I changed my clothes, screaming absolute bloody murder. The only way of calming him down was to cuddle him on the bed and do his favourite thing: squeeze and rub his belly flesh quite firmly (sounds cruel but, trust me, he loves this).
By early evening I thought he would have recovered from his double-trauma. However, although he wasn’t angry anymore, he was alternating between creepy-staring and whimpering like a needy child, and I’m ashamed to say that I buckled under the pressure of his sinister intimidation-guilt combo. I took down the tree decorations with one hand whilst cradling Catorze over my shoulder, like a baby, with the other. It was just as absurd as it sounds and 986 times more difficult; unwinding lights from a tree whose Blood-Letting Needles of Death slash you with every movement is quite the Herculean labour even with two hands, let alone with one.
Anyway, our house is clean, the living room deYuled and Catorze back where he belongs, in his happy place. Cat Daddy, however, has a dead arm after having to watch television like this, which is a whole new way of being TUC:
Catorze loves his papa. But he still wishes he would stop playing the guitar.
louiscatorze.com 
Leave a comment