Dérouler le tapis rouge

Cat Daddy: “The red carpet in the living room looks awful. I can’t believe it’s worn down so quickly.”

Me: “Erm, it didn’t wear down.”

Him: “What do you mean?”

Me: “…”

Him: “What happened to it, then, if it didn’t wear down?”

Me: “…”

Him: “Oh my God. Please don’t tell me it was HIM?”

Me: “…”

Him: “[Unrepeatable Expletives of the Worst Kind]”

Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: he leaves the Yuletide tree and the leather furnishings well alone, but Louis Catorze will attack carpet with every ounce of his evil little being. Carpeted surfaces are his bête noire – or, rather, he is theirs – so it’s just as well we don’t have many in Le Château. But what an almighty mess he’s made of the few that we do have.

So I’m snipping out the unsightly white stringy bits – they ruin every photo taken in this room – and hoping for the best. No doubt as soon as they are gone, Catorze will scratch up new ones, and when they’re cut out he will scratch up other news ones, and so on, until we cave pathetically and buy a new carpet.

Meanwhile, the little sod has no opinion one way or the other. Indifference is what he does, and he does it so well.

“Get a new carpet. Don’t get a new carpet. Whatever. Couldn’t give a merde.”

Chercher et détruire

Oh. Mon. Dieu. It’s every cat owner’s nightmare: you hear your little sod making that horking sound, you rush to the source with tissues and antiseptic spray, and there’s no puke to be found.

The last time this happened was (I think) May 2016. I am still looking for that one.

This time, not only did I hear the horking but I also heard the splattery thwack as the puke hit the floor. Horrifying, indeed, but this told me that it was on floor, at least, and not on carpet or soft furnishings. And, thanks to the disgusting yet reassuring echo of the splattery thwack, I also knew that it was out in the open and not secretly left to fester until the tragic day that I discovered it by opening a drawer or slipping my unsuspecting foot into a seldom-worn shoe. But, upon racing into the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of a lip-smacking Roi and nothing else.

Où est le puke?

“I don’t understand,” I said to Cat Daddy. “I heard its sound, clear as anything. Why can’t I find it?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, without looking up from his laptop. “You will.”

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