The first rule of Fight Club, apparently, is not to talk about Fight Club. And, for once, Louis Catorze has been sticking rigidly to the rules.
Because I know his face better than I know my own, I was able to tell immediately that all was not well this morning. He has cut his ear, and I know full well that he didn’t simply catch it on a trailing bramble or any such nonsense: the little sod has been fighting again. Cat Daddy, who is still away, agreed: as soon as he saw the photo he texted back, saying, “Fighting wound. Little bastard.”
I posted this photo on a cat forum and others confirmed my belief that it wasn’t an urgent vet situation. Apart from the odd shaking of his head, Catorze is absolutely fine; in fact, if anything he is MORE zany than ever, and I was lucky to get him still enough to take such a clear photo. But my bigger problem is the identity of this invisible assailant, and when and where this underground Fight Club takes place.
We haven’t seen a single cat in our garden since the week we moved in. Nor have we heard any fighting, as we used to all the time during the Luther administration – and, on the rare occasion that Luther wasn’t responsible, upon hearing the howls he would go outside immediately to get involved. So how on earth is this happening, unseen and unheard, to Louis Catorze?
The good thing is that Le Roi is either exceptionally brave or too stupid to remember the fights, because he continues to come and go happily; obviously this is far better than being terrified to set paw outdoors. But I’m not loving the thought of him having this double life and fighting like a silent, invisible ninja behind our backs.
Cat Daddy, on the other hand, now sees him as some sort of Bruce Wayne / Batman superhero and is secretly quite impressed.