*WARNING: CONTAINS TALK OF BLOOD.*
Merde: I have cut my thumb on a can of Louis Catorze’s wet food. You won’t be surprised to hear that this was because he was screaming and screaming at me as I struggled to open it and, in my fluster, my hand slipped.
If you’ve watched any action films, EVER, you will know that tasks requiring both speed and dexterity – loading guns, defusing bombs, finding the right key among a big bunch of wrong ones whilst the killer is chasing you, that kind of thing – don’t work well under extreme pressure. If you want the job done properly, just be patient and let the person get on with it, otherwise their hands will scrabble and wobble and it will all go wrong, even if they’ve done the task a thousand times before without any issue.
However, unfortunately nobody has told Catorze this. I can’t prove it, but I know that this would never have happened if he’d just shut up and waited quietly.
I haven’t seen so much blood since – well, since two days after my surgery*. There was blood in the kitchen sink from where I tried to wash the wound, blood all over the floor from when I, erm, ran to get my phone to take a photo in case Cat Daddy didn’t believe how bad it was, BLOOD EVERYWHERE.
*There was An Incident after the removal of my cannula, so bad that they had to replace the CURTAINS surrounding my hospital bed. That’s all you need to know.
And all the while, through me bouncing from foot to foot in pain and tearing off copious amounts of kitchen towel to mop up the never-ending mess, Catorze circled me like a hungry saltwater crocodile, screaming his guts out.
The photo ended up being redundant; not only is it too gross to show people but, because the wound wouldn’t stop bleeding, rendering me unable to open cupboards and drawers looking for a plaster, I had to wake Cat Daddy for help. So he ended up seeing the full horror of it, anyway. He was pretty good about being woken up but, as soon as I told him how I’d done it, he said, “Bastard cat”.
I’d love to be able to tell you that, after my traumatic experience, Catorze cuddled his mamma. However, he didn’t. He just screamed at me for a second helping of food (and this time I gave him a tear-open pouch, not a can), ate it and went outside.
Meanwhile, I am sitting here, my cut-thumb pain worse than my surgery pain by quite some way, wondering if I should just get rid of Catorze and share my house with an animal who is less trouble. A venomous snake, maybe. Or a mountain lion.
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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