My mum wasn’t home to give her cat his meds today, so she called and asked me if I’d do it. In my head I shrieked, “You have GOT to be joking; I’ve just waged a week-long pill war with one yowling, claw-wielding maniac and I really don’t fancy doing it again! It’s not just a NO: it’s a HELL, NO!” But, out loud, I said, “Sure, Mum. No problem.”

“Oh, Carlo’s really easy,” she told me. “He opens his mouth, you put the pill in and he swallows it.”  

Seriously? That’s not normal. No cat does that.

Despite our doubts Cat Daddy and I trusted my mum on this one, so we went to her house leaving our tear gas and riot shields at home. Obviously I know her cat and have seen him many times before, but spending time with minuscule Louis Catorze gives a disproportionate idea of normal cat size; Carlo is an intimidatingly huge ginger puma in comparison. I really didn’t see how we were going to get a pill down this monster, given that pill sessions with our kitten-faced assassin half his size have both failed in administering the pill AND left us whimpering, shaking and begging for mercy.

Cat Daddy kept Carlo purring whilst I searched out the Atopica pills (the solid form of the same thing Louis Catorze has, but Carlo is only on them short-term). I then took hold of him, gently prised his mouth open, popped the pill in, stroked his chin to help him swallow it, AND THAT WAS IT. He even purred all the way through. It’s just not fair, is it?

One of the outfits below is what I wore for Carlo’s pill session. The other is what I need to wear for Louis Catorze. I bet you can’t guess which is which.