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Part 21. I bet you thought that this sorry saga was in the past, didn’t you? Well, it’s not.

Cat Daddy and I bought ourselves some hot-smoked salmon as a New Year treat. We took some to a friend’s house and ate it there, so that we could enjoy it in peace without being bullied and intimidated by Louis Catorze. And we decided to finish the last of it at home, on an especially cold day, when we knew that the little sod would be buried so deeply in his igloo that not even tear gas would shake him out. 

It seems that we hugely underestimated the power of the hot-smoked salmon’s come-hither aroma. This was, after all, not only the food that Catorze stole from my plate, but the food that drove him to go on hunger strike for two days when I didn’t give him more. (Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: Catorze would rather starve to death slowly than be forced to eat his second choice of food, even if said food was perfectly acceptable to him prior to encountering his top choice.)

Anyway, the hot-smoked salmon flushed Catorze out of his igloo with the speed and devastating efficacy of an atomic bomb. And, for the remainder of our meal, we were subjected to this: 

And this: 

And this:

Note that his bowl, in the background, was full. 

Ordinarily, we would have no objection to sharing a few slivers of good fish with an ageing animal approaching the end of his life. But do we want to feed him nothing but hot-smoked salmon for the rest of his days? And, knowing him, he would probably then go on to live for another fifteen years, just to spite us.

For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com