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I am not impressed with the males of the household. 

A couple of nights ago, despite my strict instructions not to do so, Cat Daddy let Louis Catorze out at The Front “because he loves it there, and it’s not fair not to let him enjoy his summer” (?).

(Cat Daddy used to say, “This might be his last summer” but, since Catorze has turned out to be more resilient than Michael Myers and could very well end up outliving the whole darned lot of us, he’s saying it much less often now.)

I don’t like Catorze being out at the front, for numerous reasons: he’s vulnerable to traffic and to marauding youths in the park, and he pisses off the neighbours by screaming outside their houses or creepy-staring through their windows, which upsets their dogs. Sometimes, Cat Daddy has forgotten that the little sod is out, so he’s been there all night. Cat Daddy knows all this. But he lets him out regardless. 

Anyway, I needed to do Catorze’s thyroid medication, so I went out at The Front to call him in. Most of the time, he’s pretty responsive when he’s called. However, this time there was no sign of him although, annoyingly, I could hear him thrashing around and muttering obscenities in the undergrowth that divides our garden and that of Family Next Door. BASTARD CAT WAS TAUNTING ME. 

I had no option but to take off the glove, ointment and all, and ask Cat Daddy to do it if and when Catorze returned. The next morning, I woke up to find Catorze indoors and the glove exactly where I had left it, on the kitchen worktop, with the drop of ointment still on its index finger. 

I usually manage to medicate Catorze before breakfast but, that morning, I failed to Act Normal enough and he was instantly suspicious. I tried to grab him but he wriggled out of my grasp, escaped out of the cat flap and nobody has seen him since. He is shunning both food and water in favour of remaining hidden, and not even Cat Daddy going outside and pretending to water the plants was successful in flushing him out from his hiding place. 

It’s been over twenty-four hours since Catorze’s last dose. I am dismayed beyond belief that an animal has managed to give us the slip. 

*EDIT: we found the little weasel in the end, sleeping at the bottom of the garden. (Cat Daddy: “He’s enjoying the shade. He’s a smart cat.”) I had to rinse off the glove and apply a new dose of ointment as the old one had dried up and gone all manky, but I FINALLY GOT HIM. 

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

Have you heard that saying: “You’re only ever one mouse click away from cats and their bullshittery”?

Meet Pumpkin: 

In a truly exploitative fashion that only a cat could get away with, Pumpkin conned her way into someone’s house (including a break-and-enter through an upper floor window at 3am, scaring the merde out of the resident) and refused to leave. Unfortunately the bloke who hosted her wasn’t able to keep her due to family members being allergic to cats so, after being scanned and confirmed chipless, Pumpkin moved in permanently with Antoine (Louis Catorze’s frère-from-another-mère) and Boots (Antoine’s usurper stepbrother). 

Pumpkin had only been in her new abode for a few hours when she disappeared. Her mamma found no trace of her, although she did find … an open bathroom window. Nobody had actually seen Pumpkin leave but, having searched the house, the humans came to the most logical conclusion: that the little sod had done a runner. 

Where on earth does one start when looking for a cat who isn’t yet chipped (the vet appointment had been booked for three days later), and who knows neither her house nor her own name? 

That evening, both Pumpkin’s mamma and I looked at maps and messaged one another about where she could have gone, and how easy it might be for anyone to find her. The surrounding area included a cemetery, which wouldn’t have been the most fun place to trawl at night, not even with the hilarity of shaking a bag of Dreamies and pointlessly calling out, “Pumpkin!”

One of the traditional strategies in this sort of situation is to place the humans’ dirty clothes in areas surrounding the house, in the hope that the smell of home might lure back the absconded kitty, but of course Pumpkin hadn’t been in her house for long enough to know that smell. My single, desperate idea, if she still hadn’t been found the next day, was to ask Cat-Hosting Bloke to give us some of his worn clothes – ridiculous, I know, since Pumpkin hadn’t been in his house for long, either – but it was all we had. 

The following morning, Pumpkin’s mamma found a trail of cat food pouches strewn across the house, each punctured, with the contents drained. This isn’t Antoine’s style, and Boots, whilst food-orientated, is far too lazy to bother with this kind of caper, so the resident cats were swiftly ruled out. Either there was some sort of chupacabra at large … or Pumpkin was still in the house. 

The little sod was finally found under the coffee table. And thank goodness for that, because I was ready to drive to the home of Cat-Hosting Bloke, bang on the door and shout, “Hey, you don’t know me, but I need you to take off your clothes and give them to me.”

Anyway, the moral of this story is that, unless you see the cat escaping, you should assume them to still be on the premises, and keep all perimeters closely guarded. The naughty miscreant is now under room arrest and won’t be going anywhere for the foreseeable future, apart from to attend that vet appointment which didn’t quite go as planned; Madame refused to be chipped and vaccinated despite four veterinary staff members’ best efforts.

How will the balance of power shift with Pumpkin’s arrival? Will Alpha Male Boots retain the crown, or will he be toppled by the young upstart?

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