Any day that starts with being spat on HAS to get better, non?
My alarm call this morning was Louis Catorze standing on my chest, screaming, followed by one of those shuddery full-body shakes that cats and dogs do. Because he can’t close his mouth fully on account of his protruding fangs, his shakes are like monsoon season in the tropics, and his spit landed on my mouth. MY MOUTH. Ugh.
Catorze is wide-eyed and full of energy, and his fur feels silky-soft and beautiful. The synchronicity of this sudden change with the equinox was as if a switch were flipped the minute we transitioned from winter to spring. It’s quite spooky, yet still not the weirdest thing about him.
Me: “What’s happened? Why is he looking so good?”
Cat Daddy: “It’s spring, isn’t it?”
Me: “It can’t be just that, surely?”
Him: “And all that expensive food we give him. He’s such a good advert for Orijen. Look at how great he looks now …”
Me: “I know.”
Him: “… Compared to how ****ing shit he looked before.”
Harsh. But fair.
Here he is, basking in a sunbeam, loving life and loving himself:
louiscatorze.com 
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