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To talk about a cat’s “leisure time” would suggest that the rest of their time is spent working. Of course it’s not. Louis Catorze wouldn’t know work if it kicked him up the arse. 

So he doesn’t have “leisure time”; he just has “time”. And, right now, he seems to enjoy spending his time with us. Yes, even me. 

The little sod follows us wherever we go. He’s next to me when I wake up in the morning, and after I leave for work he goes to Cat Daddy and screams for him to wake up. The evenings are his favourite time because we’re both around, and he’s so overstimulated by having a choice of laps that he goes from one to the other and back again, numerous times. (Cat Daddy once tried to count and gave up after ten.)

Cat Daddy occasionally gets annoyed with Catorze’s neediness, especially when he steps on the remote control in his haste to snuggle his papa, switching off whatever we are watching on television. But then I remind Cat Daddy that our next cat could end up being some miserable shite who despises us*, and he realises how lucky we are to have one who doesn’t. 

*If you’re wondering why we would choose a miserable shite for a pet, you can’t usually tell whether or not they’re a miserable shite when you view them at the rescue. And, once we’d chosen one, it would be embarrassing to then return it, saying, “They’re just too much of a miserable shite”.

So we’re making the most of having an affectionate, cuddly lap cat, knowing that, this summer, when the urge for Rodent Duty takes over, we will hardly see Catorze. 

And, no: Rodent Duty, whatever the name may suggest, still isn’t work.

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