Louis Catorze hasn’t been eating much lately. We had initially put this down the fact that he does nothing all day but, one morning, I came downstairs to feed him and his bowl wasn’t empty. In fact, it was three-quarters full and, judging from what Cat Daddy later said about how much food he’d given him before bed, the little sod hadn’t touched it all night. I then wondered if something could be wrong.
He doesn’t look as if anything is wrong: he’s perfectly wide-eyed, energetic and vocal. But he’s a huge liar and con artist, so we couldn’t trust him as far as we could spit.
On that particular occasion, I emptied away his old food and gave him a new serving. He sniffed it, then looked at me and let out a disappointed whine, as if to say, “And what do you call THIS shit?” Then, when I poured a spoonful of boiling water over half of the food, he guzzled down the lot, with audible “Nyom nyom nyom” sounds.
Oh dear. So we’re back to this again.
The last time around, it was because his teeth were troubling him. This time, because he ate the dry pieces of Orijen as well as the watered ones, and because he hasn’t been eating messily, which is usually a sign of tooth bother, I’m inclined to think he’s just taking the piss. Not that it makes any difference because, even if this is the case, Catorze is SUCH a massive sod that he will starve himself before eating less-than-perfect food (or perfect food served in a less-than-perfect fashion).
At least he’s eating. And, thanks to one of his lovely pilgrims, he has his own antique Louis XIV silver spoon with which I can measure out the boiling water. But what a pain in the arse.
UPDATE: a couple of hours after guzzling his first breakfast, this is what Catorze did:
1. Requested a second breakfast.
2. Five minutes of parkour around the house, skidding on the floorboards like Bambi on ice (younger followers: ask your parents).
3. Escaped out at The Front.
4. Screamed bloody murder at the window for me to let him in, startling a dog walker in the park.
5. Third breakfast.
6. Rodent Duty in the snow. IN THE SNOW.
He’s fine, isn’t he?
louiscatorze.com 
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