A couple of nights ago, Cat Daddy and I settled down on the sofa to watch the latest series of Unforgotten on Netflix. Usually, when we watch television in the evenings, Louis Catorze is on his papa’s lap. But, this time, we didn’t know where he was.
Cat Daddy, a few minutes into the first episode: “This isn’t right. He’s always with us in the evenings.”
Me: “It’s fine. He’s probably arsing around outside somewhere.”
Him: “This sort of thing isn’t like him.”
Me: “What do you mean? It’s EXACTLY like him.”
Him: “Something’s wrong. We need to go and look for him.”
Cat Daddy, might I add, was a couple of bottles of wine under at the time, and in no fit state to be going up and down stairs looking for Catorze. So, when he said “WE need to go and look for him”, we both knew that he meant just me.
My strategy was to start searching in the places that I really didn’t want him to be and, would you believe, he was in the first/only place that I looked: on top of a freshly-cleaned duvet (not a duvet COVER, but an ACTUAL DUVET) which is now no longer clean.
I brought the little sod downstairs and placed him into the lap of his overjoyed papa. After a little Boys’ Club drunken roughhousing and some name-calling of the Unrepeatable Expletive variety, the two of them were friends again and snuggled up together to continue watching Unforgotten.
Cat Daddy will always try to have people believe that, of the two of us, I am the one who is obsessed with Catorze and who frets about him every waking minute.
May this post serve as proof that it’s all lies.
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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