NON-WORKINGMONKEY: Day 34: I Visit The Cat Museum In Richelieu

Cardinal Richelieu. Prime Minister in one of those pre-Revolutionary periods of French history when the Catholic church were in charge and lovin' it. He wore red and had a big conk and a goatee. Also had an ego the size of a planet, so, obviously, he built a whole town and named it after himself.

Not sure that he'd be that happy nowadays, though. His palace was flattened at some point by some disenchanted peasants and now all the fine town of Richelieu has to offer - apart from some nice architecture and an OK bar - is The Cat Museum.

But the Cat Museum! My dears! Take a fucking fantastic house, and fill it with tat that is loosely cat-related, and what do you get? The WORST museum in the world. If you're wondering what Richelieu looked like, for example, you don't have to wonder anymore: according to this splendid bit of tray-based sculpture, he looked like this (including giant cats in the background, obviously).

The owner of the museum, who was obviously one kitten short of a litter, was very keen for us to enjoy the splendid collection of cat portraiture 'assembled' by some of Europe's finest Cat Artists. Now, I don't get out much anymore, what with the leg and the rash, but I haven't seen that many owls with the faces of cats (one of many splendid exhibits). Nor have I seen that many cats made out of paper and grapes.

Still, it wasn't all bad. Amongst the cats made out of fruit, tin, old dogs, weasels and cake, we found a children's play area where tiny, tiny children could draw a picture of a cat and add their art to the collection. Thinking fondly of my own spastic feline, only now terrorising squirrels back in Brixton whilst I sit in the garden sipping faine waine, I was moved to make this lovely tribute. Do you think it's good enough to make the permanent collection of the Cat Museum? I do.