*WARNING: IF YOU ARE IN ANY WAY WEAK-STOMACHED, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER.*
The day after the Spring Equinox, Cat Daddy, Louis Catorze and I went outside to survey the grounds of Le Château. Our garden can be something of a cabinet of curiosities, with random things growing that we can’t identify and that we almost certainly didn’t plant, but we rather like this about it.
Or at least we did, until today.
One of that day’s discoveries was a mossy-looking crop of something, with hairy, almost-black leaves. Cat Daddy was about to touch it, but then I screamed at him not to in case it was some freakish alien pathogen, so he poked it with a bamboo cane instead.
It wasn’t a plant. It was a dead mouse that a certain little sod had caught and saved for later. And the hairy growth around its midsection was mould.
Imagine, if you will, a mouse wearing a bearskin fur gilet, and you will have some idea of the horror that we encountered on that fateful day.
My sister: “I can’t picture what you’re describing at all.”
Erm, will this help?
The only good thing about this story is that Catorze had the grace to leave it outside. We don’t know why – after all, his usual M.O. is to bring mice up to the bedroom – but we’ll take it.
And the worst thing about this, other than having to dispose of a rotting mouse sprouting hairy black tendrils, is that fact that I’d just – as in, LITERALLY THAT MORNING – bragged to my family over WhatsApp about the fact that my cat no longer hunts.
Oh, and whilst we were stood there, staring at the fur-gileted mouse and not knowing whether to believe our eyes, Catorze then sounded the dreaded hork-hork klaxon and puked all over the grape hyacinths at our feet. So much for the beauty and the romance of the Spring Equinox.
With the summer and Rodent Duty still ahead of us, it’s only going to get worse, isn’t it?
Absolute bastard cat.
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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