When considering treatments for Louis Catorze’s hyperthyroidism, we were offered the options of a pill, an oral liquid or a topical gel. I went for the gel on the grounds that at least Catorze wouldn’t be able spit it back at me, nor would he find inventive ways of pretending he’s ingested it when he hadn’t.
Astonishingly, despite being thicker than a concrete milkshake, Catorze is the master of making medication disappear when he doesn’t want to take it. When he was on Gabapentin years ago, for feline hyperesthesia, he went through a phase of fake-swallowing the pill, initiating a fake cuddle, then silently spitting the pill over my shoulder. I found one stuck in my hair one day, and realised not only the little sod’s deception, but also the fact that I had been inadvertently transporting spat-out pills via my hair to all manner of places, thus preventing the big pilly pile-up which would have alerted me to the problem.
Then there was this incident. I turned that room over like CSI and I still don’t understand how this happened.
The gel has to be applied twice a day, with gloves. Cat Daddy and I have agreed that, since I am a lark and he is a nightingale, I will do the morning application and he the evening one. We even created the ingenious, poetic slogan of “Right at night” (I know – Shakespeare would be so proud of us) so that we he wouldn’t end up doing the same ear twice. It means that, regretfully, I am tasked with doing the harder-to-access left ear, but tant pis.
Cat Daddy: “He’ll be fine with it. He loves having his ears played with.”
Me: “No, he doesn’t.”
Him: “He does! Look!”
[He sticks his finger in Catorze’s ear. Catorze rolls and purrs.]
Cat Daddy: “Now you try it.”
[I gently brush Catorze’s ear with my little finger. Catorze flinches and scowls.]
Oh dear.
Anyway, we are a couple of weeks in, and it’s really not fun. Catorze doesn’t attack us, but he wriggles, kicks and generally makes the process harder than it needs to be. My first morning dosage didn’t go very well at all. And Cat Daddy’s first night dosage was even worse, although I swear that the reason it turned to shite was because he stuck the wrong finger in Catorze’s ear*.
*Cat Daddy insists that he didn’t, but then this is the man who once tried to stick his middle finger up at me but stuck his index finger up by mistake. After correcting himself, he remarked that holding one’s middle finger aloft didn’t feel like a natural, easy movement, and he asked how I managed to do it with such dexterity and aplomb. Erm, regular practice, Cat Daddy. It’s called muscle memory.
Anyway, this is our new forever. (Cat Daddy: “Or until HE goes.”) I guess we just have to get used to it.
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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