Cat Daddy and I went to Manchester at the weekend, to watch the football. And it seems that Mancunians are cat people, too:
Despite the weekend being non-stop action, we didn’t realise quite how comparatively peaceful was until we stepped back through the door of Le Château, and the screaming started.
These are just a few brief snapshots of what we had to endure upon our return:
There was plenty more, but it wouldn’t have been fair to subject you to it all. And it wasn’t just the duration or the volume, although both of those were pretty bad. It was also the variety of tone that got under our skin, ranging from “normal” screaming and multi-layered, throaty trills to a horrific, witchy rasp.
Blue the Smoke Bengal’s mamma has often described Louis Catorze as “loud” and “chatty”. But, apparently, when she fed him on Sunday morning, his screaming had been “murderous”. And when something is described as “murderous”, that usually isn’t a brilliant sign.
We wouldn’t mind quite so much if we were able to understand why he screams. But, after twelve years of putting up with his shit living with him, we still don’t know.
Cat Daddy: “I really pity [our summer holiday chat-sitteur].”
OH GOD, OUR SUMMER HOLIDAY CHAT-SITTEUR. Holy hell. She is going to be stuck with the little sod for two whole weeks.
Are we doing a morally wrong thing by not warning her about how bad the screaming has become, a bit like selling a house with massive subsidence/damp/poltergeist problems and not declaring them to the estate agent?
Or dare we hope that, by the time our holiday rolls around, Catorze will inexplicably decide to behave?
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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