Heyyy macadamia!

Cat Daddy and I went to the bulk store the other day to stock up on a few bits. The bulk store is one of my favourite places in the world but it’s very dangerous; it SOUNDS healthy and wholesome but, if you want to buy 934kg of sugary junk, you can. Nobody says anything or tries to stop you. Puppy Mamma and I once bought our weight in Turkish delights and chocolate-coated coconut things, then congratulated ourselves for being so earth-motherly and disciplined.

One of the things that I bought this time was a kilo of roasted macadamias, and part of the ritual of shopping at the bulk store is decanting our goods into jars when we get home. It’s messy but very satisfying. However, during the decanting process, I spilled macadamias all over the kitchen worktop and some of them rolled onto the floor.

Louis Catorze, who was hovering nearby when the incident took place, gave chase to one stray macadamia and sniffed it quizzically. Then he ran for the hills as if he’d just been poked in the eye with a sharp stick.

I can’t imagine what narrative must have been going on his head to make him think, “Sight of a macadamia: interesting and worthy of further investigation. Smell of a macadamia: MERDE, GET ME OUT OF HERE.” Or perhaps The Mothership beamed him a message to say, “Sniff it and run away, just to see what she does. Go on, it’ll be funny!”

For the non-believers among you, here is the little sod fleeing from the offending macadamia. And, yes, I needed a little help from my good friend the black markup pen, on Catorze’s rear view:

Running away up-tailed makes the whole thing even more weird.

La folie du Roi Soleil

Pour l’amour du ciel, Louis Catorze! He’s never exactly done things as most normal cats would do them, but over the last few days he’s taken nutso behaviour to new heights. The photo shows him, this morning, having scaled the bookcase (for the first time ever) to paw at thin air and shout at the ceiling.

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I don’t know what they put in that steroid shot, but they should bottle it and sell it. Oh, hang on …

Cat Daddy keeps telling me that this change has come about purely because Louis Catorze is drugged up to the eyeballs, and that I shouldn’t read too much into it. But, equally, could it be that the improvement in his physical symptoms is simply causing some sort of innate nutsoism to manifest itself? Either way, it’s delightful to see him this way because a shouty, energetic cat is a cat who’s enjoying life. Nothing was more heartbreaking than when he spent all day under the bed, emerging only for occasional food and use of les toilettes.

I had a wonderful response from fellow cat freaks when I opened up the steroids-or-no-steroids debate and, the more I think about it and see my boy’s new-found joie de vivre, the more I’m inclined to consider steroids for him. I’m aware that they could cause complications long-term; however, Louis Catorze isn’t aware of this, nor would he give a shit if he knew. As others pointed out, even if he could think long term (or just think, full stop), what the poor little sod probably wants more than anything is to feel better now.