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When I want Louis Catorze to approach me so that I can administer his thyroid medication, the little sod is skittish and suspicious. I do my best to Act Normal, pretending to move around doing random household things so that he will let me slither ever-closer to him, but it doesn’t work; the slightest wrong move from me and he’s off, never to be seen again. 

However, in a state of emergency when I absolutely do not want him to approach me, he’s there, bug-eyed and screaming. And he won’t go away. This is exactly what happened the other day, when Cat Daddy dropped a Kilner jar of chutney on the floor. 

Now, you’d imagine that the stickiness of the contents would somehow prevent thousands of lethal shards from scattering around the kitchen. Sadly, this was not the case. And, as I scrabbled around desperately trying to clean up (saving Cat Daddy the job on account of his bad back and knees), Catorze appeared, like Bloody Mary in the mirror on a full moon Hallowe’en night.

Me: “Nooooo.”

Catorze: “Mwah!”

Me: “Go away!” 

Catorze: “Mwah!”

Me, trying to do lots of sudden pouncing movements with one hand to scare Catorze away, whilst also trying to scrape up glass with the other hand: “Please. Go. Away.”

Catorze, pitter-pattering even closer and actually KICKING a piece of glass, sending it sliding across the floor: “MWAHHH!”

I even thought about reaching for the syringe of thyroid medication, because I knew that the sight of that would have him racing off. But it lay out of reach, on the other side of the ocean of broken glass. 

Given that the little sod is neither limping nor bleeding, I have assumed that the precious Catorzian paws managed to survive, unglassed. But how, and why, are cats always the kings and queens of not doing what you want them to do, and of doing the one thing that you really DON’T want them to do?

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