Merde. I have sustained the most middle-class of all injuries: a cut finger, whilst opening a bottle of port to make Cat Daddy a cocktail.
(It was a Suburban, merci for asking: three parts whisky, one part each of rum and port, and a dash of Angostura bitters.)
The resulting sticking plaster has added a couple of seconds to administering Louis Catorze’s thyroid medication, because said finger no longer slides easily into the glove. It’s a bit of a squeeze, which means it takes longer.
Now, this may not sound like very much time but, just as in the timing of the 100m sprint in athletics, it all makes a difference. Even one extra second spent gloving up gives Catorze vital time to realise what’s about to happen, and to abscond. And we really don’t want this.
Please send my index finger your best wishes. We absolutely cannot let Catorze salvage any kind of victory from this.
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
Leave a comment