Louis Catorze welcomed a friend during the bank holiday weekend. Well, when I say “welcomed”, I don’t really mean that. In fact, “friend” may be something of a stretch, too.

If you are a long-term follower of Le Blog, you will know that relations between Catorze and Oscar the dog next door were, erm, somewhat mixed*. Catorze seemed genuinely curious about his canine neighbour and came in peace, whereas Oscar just wanted to kill him. And, the more Catorze refused to take no for an answer, the more murderous Oscar became. You get the idea.

*Non-Brits: if your British friends ever describe any experience as “mixed”, it means it was only narrowly short of an apocalypse.

Disco the dog, however, is a different case entirely: he’s younger, friendlier and more patient than his big brother Oscar. And, most importantly, the sight of cat doesn’t trigger his Urge To Kill switch. So, after some years of debating about introducing the pair, and after too much booze for most of us at the pub, last weekend we and the Dog Family hit upon the genius idea of finally making it happen.

Dog Daddy, after arriving at Le Château: “To make this work, we all need to just act normal.”

(He and Cat Daddy then proceeded to drink three bottles of red wine between them, so they nailed that particular objective.)

In short: apart from one hissing incident (when Disco, in his keenness to say hello, bounced a bit too close to Catorze) and a lot of Catorzian screaming, the two parties behaved themselves. Catorze was offended, cautious maybe, but not particularly fearful. It helped considerably that one of us remained sober enough to veto the stupid suggestions. (“Why don’t we let the dog off the lead?” Erm, no.) Conducting the experiment with all four of us drunk would not have been a good idea.

The male humans, however, were far less civilised than the animals, with the copious amounts of red wine sending them spiralling into Unrepeatable Expletives and inappropriate conversation. I hope that none of our neighbours were home.

Anyway, Sa Maj now has his Château back to himself, and he appears to have forgotten all about what happened. Let’s hope he isn’t saving up a massive revenge -puke in some inappropriate place, at some inappropriate time …

*WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF CAT ARSE*

Anyone who knows me knows that a cat’s rear end is my least favourite part of it. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it’s one of my least favourite things in the world. I would rather face War, Famine, Death or whatever the fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse is, or even all four at once, than have anything to do with a cat’s arse.

Obviously the only solution to this is finding a cat with no arse, which is unlikely to happen unless someone in a lab were to create a genetically-modified Doctor Doolittle-style push-me-pull-you thing (younger followers, ask your parents). But a short-haired cat is a reasonable compromise. Hairless cats have everything permanently on display, with no barrier whatsoever between the arse and your furniture. And long-haired cats, whilst the arse is concealed from view, can have all manner of unspeakable horrors lurking within the depths of that fur.

On Saturday Cat Daddy and I went to Leicestershire and, whilst there, we visited one of Louis Catorze’s favourite pilgrims, who lives with her husband and FOUR feline overlords. And the cats very generously allow two dogs to lodge in their house, too.

Upon arrival, we became acquainted with the canine contingent and three-quarters of the feline contingent. As ever, when meeting other cats, I kept saying “They’re ENORMOUS!” over and over again when, in actual fact, this is what all normal cats are supposed to look like.

Cat-and-Dog Daddy brought the fourth cat – a stunning, long-haired beauty named Freya – to us and she pitter-pattered elegantly around us as we talked, with her fluffy tail aloft. As she did so, I noticed solid matter stuck to her hindquarters.

Me: “Freya’s got something stuck to her arse.”

Cat-and-Dog Mamma: “Oh, has she?”

Me: “I think it’s a leaf. It’s definitely a leaf, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Please tell me it’s a leaf. PLEASE TELL ME IT’S A LEAF.”

Cat-and-Dog Mamma, glancing at Freya’s arse: “Erm … no.

Saint. Jésus.

Freya then pitter-pattered off. I had awful visions of her returning to us with the offending substance still affixed to her arse … or, worse, returning to us with the it NOT affixed to her arse and the Cat-and-Dog Parents having to do the Chasse de Trésor around the house.

I don’t know how the offending substance was eventually dealt with, and I didn’t ask because I was too busy thanking the universe that Freya didn’t deposit it onto my lap.

Never did I think I would be GRATEFUL for the Catorzian arse, yet here I am. If my only direct dealings with it involve colouring in photos using the iPhone’s black markup tool, I have got off lightly. As for indirect contact, I don’t want to know. If I thought too hard about where Catorze’s arse had been, I would never touch anything in Le Château again.

We have some very sad news: last week we said au revoir to the Dog Family, who have moved away. I might add that this was not because of Louis Catorze. Well, that’s what they told us, at least.

Living next door to them was the best thing in the world, and I feel quite bereft without them. We had so much fun together, especially during the first lockdown with our over-the-fence barbecues, and the riotous Full Moon Hallowe’en when they came to our outdoor party dressed as Catorze (yes, all three of them, dressed as Catorze, fangs and all). Luckily they are still local and close enough for us to walk to their new place, but not so close that Catorze could find out where they live and go over to annoy Disco the dog.

Sa Maj will truly miss Dog Sister, who was his best buddy and who would always take his side during altercations with Disco’s predecessor Oscar the dog, even when it was Catorze’s fault (which it always was). He knew her voice and would respond to it before he could even see her; in fact, if she was out in the garden, he would sometimes hop over the fence and have cuddles with her. So that she can keep getting her vampire kitty fix, we have given Dog Sister this – whatever “this” may be – to keep her company:

I know. You’re speechless, right? She was, too.

We wish the Dog Family every happiness in their new home, and hope that we will still continue to be regular visitors to each other. We also hope that their new neighbours have well-behaved pets who mind their own business.