louiscatorze.com

I’m not quite sure what’s happening at the moment, but other cats seem to be the ones being complete shites whilst mine is behaving.

I repeat: OTHER CATS ARE BEING SHITES AND MINE IS BEHAVING.

Someone posted on our online neighbourhood forum, having found a discarded cat tracker in their garden. Apparently the wearer had been scrapping with the finder’s cat and, when the finder had gone out to break up the fight, the impinging miscreant had scarpered, leaving his ID behind.

An absolutely mortified lady replied that it belonged to her cat, and apologised for his behaviour. Others then replied to her comment with words to the effect of, “Of course it had to be your cat! Who else would it be?” I felt bad for her, but also relieved that there’s a cat out there who is much worse than Louis Catorze. And, as luck would have it, he’s a black cat, too. Apparently he’s “huge with a massive tail” which doesn’t sound at all like Catorze, but hopefully I can persuade the next eyewitness(es) that large cats can look small from certain angles.

There must be something in the London water at the moment, because the mamma of Chelsea-supporting tuxedo cat Boots had a similar experience recently. It was less public, but it made up for this in bucketloads with the level of embarrassment. One of her neighbours knocked at her door, asked if she had lost anything, then handed over a Chelsea cat collar which he’d found in his garden.

I don’t know which is worse: the whole neighbourhood knowing that your cat is a troublemaking scrapper, or one person seeing Chelsea cat merchandise and immediately knowing it must belong to you? I’m leaning more towards the latter.

Boots’ mamma tried to explain that she wasn’t actually a Chelsea fan and that it was all a bit of a joke, but then that’s what I’d say if I WERE a Chelsea fan. I don’t know that her neighbour was convinced.

Oh, and Catorze’s cat-cousin Roux brought in a bumble bee on Tuesday. If you really want to destroy the human race, what better way to go about it than to kill off the main animal that keeps us alive?

Meanwhile, in a parallel universe somewhere, Catorze is behaving. In fact, when Cat Daddy was cursing Catorze for breaking into my sock drawer and pulling everything out, I had to admit that it was me who caused the mess when I couldn’t find my grey tights. (Cat-Disliking Friend’s advice was, “You should’ve just kept quiet and let the cat take the blame.”)

We’re not sure how to handle this course of events. And why are Catorze’s comrades creating all these diversions? Is something cataclysmic about to go down here at Le Château?