How was Louis Catorze’s summer solstice? Well, I wouldn’t know. I barely saw him because he was constantly out, with his activities varying from sunbathing to fox-goading to Rodent Duty.
Oh yes, Rodent Duty. ‘Tis the season. Look at his silly little ears stood to attention:
In other news: another day, another Zoom call ruined. And it was with the same group of people as the previous, also-ruined, Zoom call.
For the first forty minutes of the hour-long call, my microphone didn’t work so, although I could hear everyone else, nobody could hear me and I was only able to communicate via the written chat. As I fussed and faffed with my settings trying to work out what had gone wrong, Catorze sat quietly beside me, well out of sight of the camera. Eventually he curled up into a little ball and went to sleep.
After forty minutes, I hit upon the magic formula which made the microphone work. And, naturellement, that was when Catorze bounced back to life.
He started by just walking across the camera field, dragging his tail across my face as he went. When it was my turn to speak, that was when he really decided to go for it (whatever “it” was), and the worst point was when he stood on my lap, his face in my face and his arse pointing camerawards, whining like a dying dog.
Everyone on the call responded in customary British fashion: ignoring it and pretending it wasn’t happening. Nobody’s face so much as twitched. And, as soon the call was over, Catorze decided that he no longer wanted to whine, and went back to sleep.
I shouldn’t be surprised, given that this little weasel DESTROYED my online lessons and staff meetings during lockdown. But at least, back then, there was a spate of cats doing the same thing. By now, the rest of them have found better things to do.
What is WRONG with him? What do we do?
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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