Le génie du jean, il crie et il hurle

Louis Catorze really is determined to try my patience at the moment.

Here he is, happily settled on my new jeans, so new that I had only unwrapped them from their packaging a few seconds beforehand. The piece of paper behind him is the invoice that came in the parcel with the jeans. I hadn’t even had the chance to cut off the tags. Yes, they are THAT new.

Bastard cat.

Here he is again, with the situation having remedied itself:

Still a bastard cat, whether atop my jeans or not.

In actual fact Catorze chose to get up, at which point Cat Daddy was able to safely retrieve the jeans before claws – or, worse, cat arse – could do their damage. However, I prefer to think that Cat Daddy whipped away the jeans in one deft movement, the way old school magicians used to whip away tablecloths leaving crockery and glasses intact. (Younger followers: ask your parents.)

Had these been my old jeans destined for the clothes recycling bin at Waitrose, I’m fairly sure the little sod would have given them a wide berth. But that’s Catorze for you. Why we continue to be surprised by his behaviour is, perhaps, the biggest surprise of them all.