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Louis Catorze’s three main bêtes noires are as follows:

1. The guitar.

2. The vacuum cleaner (although he’s more offended than scared by this, and he screams at whoever is using it to shut up).

3. The pestle and mortar (again, insulting rather than frightening).

The little sod was subjected to the third one at length last weekend, when I made red curry paste from scratch. But it was well worth it because I was making lunch for some very special pilgrims: one of them was the lady who managed Catorze’s, and his big brother Luther’s, adoptions to us.

Cat Daddy, prior to the visit: “She’s got some explaining to do.”

Me: “…”

Him: “I mean, WHY US?”

Me: “…”

Him: “His online picture was very misleading. Just like those websites where the girls look amazing in their photos, and then you’re taken by surprise when you see them in the flesh.”

Right. I’m not even going to ask.

I gave Catorze a thorough brushing before his guests’ arrival so that he looked a bit less shit glossy and smart. And he seemed to know that something was afoot because he was extra unhinged that morning, screaming and staring creepily at us as we busied ourselves with food preparation and tidying up.

Anyway, our friend was quite emotional seeing her toothy little ex-charge again, almost ten years after she found him his forever home. Catorze was very happy to see her, too, although, naturellement, he preferred her husband and his was the lap of choice.

We swapped tales of rodents, birds and slugs – well, I say “swapped” but it was just us telling them our horror stories, whilst they thought, “Rather you than us!” And we barely even scraped the surface of the vast back catalogue of Catorzian misadventures. Their cats, Clementine and Puffin, are good girls who don’t do such things (well, give or take the odd worm and frog).

Catorze pitter-pattered in and out throughout, chirping and trilling, and even jumped onto the dining table during lunch, to demand extra attention – right after we’d told our guests that he never did this. It’s a good thing that he is eating again, albeit reluctantly, because otherwise we would have made them take him back.

Our hearts were fuller after a delightful afternoon talking cats. Le Royal Guest Book was, too, after one more message in it. And, whilst we don’t want to wish time away, our minds are already flashing forward to the summer, when we hope to visit Clementine and Puffin in their idyllic countryside retreat.

Here is Sa Maj, having the time of his life with the (very well-chosen) catnip rainbow given to him by our guests. He is a very lucky boy indeed.

Here are three of the worst Catorzian stories – or, rather, three of the worst Catorzian stories SO FAR – which we shared with our guests on this day:

1. The slug.

2. The bird.

3. The rat.