After showing zero concern for human food for all these years, Louis Catorze has decided that he’s now interested.
He doesn’t usually eat any of the food (apart from that one fateful time which had huge repercussions for months afterwards); he just licks it and walks away. However, this makes it more annoying because then the food is ruined and nobody benefits from it.
Every morning, I prepare my old-lady breakfast of stewed apple and ricotta and bring it into the living room. Before eating it, I wrap myself in a blanket and tuck the edges right underneath my body, a bit like when you wrap a beef wellington tightly in pastry. Once I’m sealed in, I’m there for the next half hour.
Catorze often comes to sit with me, but I have to be very careful in case he lunges for my breakfast. One morning he was especially maniacal and excitable, so it was quite the feat to do the wellingtoning with one hand and fend him off with the other. I was quite proud of myself for managing to achieve both but, in the midst of it all, I forgot to secure the spoon.
BASTARD CAT LICKED THE SPOON.
I was the left in a quandary: do I use a cat-spitty spoon, or do I un-wellington myself and dislodge Catorze to go and fetch another one?
In the end I did neither. I ate the apple and ricotta with my fingers, like a savage. And I had to sort of drink the last bits. Not my proudest moment but the Law of the Wellington decrees that, once wellingtoned, one does not move unless the house is on fire. Plus I was TUC, compounding the issue and making any kind of movement even more impossible.
We all know that the little bastards rule our lives, but to drive us to eat our almost-liquid breakfast with our fingers is quite something. Please, someone, send help now.
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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