Cat Daddy and I have just finished the last of Louis Catorze’s birthday hot-smoked salmon. And the whole débâcle drove Catorze absolutely insane from start to bitter end. Cathie, if you’re reading this, this is your fault.
First of all, there was the screaming. “But he screams all the time anyway.” Trust me, we know this. But, when hot-smoked salmon is involved, it’s so much worse than usual: louder, longer, more urgent, and with at least 738 utterances which we have never heard before.
Then there was the disturbing flicking of his head from side to side, sniffing the air like a Jurassic Park velociraptor. Occasionally he would go to his plate and sniff it, to see if the irresistible aroma was coming from there. And, when he discovered that it wasn’t, he would turn to us, glare threateningly and let out the most agonised, ungodly wail. “Perhaps my loving êtres humains have put some salmon in my OF COURSE THEY HAVEN’T, THE SELFISH CONNARDS!”
I also had to repeatedly wrestle him off the kitchen worktop, where the hot-smoked salmon had been placed. Yes, he only weighs 2.78kg, and I weigh considerably more. You would be surprised at how difficult it is to remove a small cat from a place when he doesn’t want to be removed, especially when said cat is able to summon, at will, the strength of ten angry grizzly bears.
Anyway, the hot-smoked salmon is now gone, and we won’t have to worry about the bullying and intimidation until the next time we want to eat it. But that’s just kicking the can down the road until the next time we eat it, isn’t it? The little sod is going to get us at some point.
For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com
louiscatorze.com 
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