Right, humans of the world: I'd already made my mental bed for another night in our secret paradise. Silence, a private beach, not a human in sight, and sand so soft it cleaned my paws on its own. It smelled of eternal camping. But at two in the afternoon, Daddy Edu, that unpredictable being with a driving license, decided that enough was enough of quiet happiness and started the car. I watched the door like someone watching their ham being hidden.

Storybook landscapes, curves like croissant spirals and not a house for miles. Deep France, or so I understood when Daddy said, "If something happens to us here, they won't find us even with a drone." I enjoyed the rattling... until a sign appeared: Puy de Senigour, viewpoint. To get there, there was a steep climb that cried out for the car's four-wheel drive. But as our 4x4 is on vacation because of a rebellious ABS sensor, Daddy didn't dare to go up on wheels. We parked below and off we went, walking almost a kilometre through the forest.

The walk was fine, it smelled of moss and little bugs, but when we finally got to the top... well yes, there are views, but I didn't see castles, dragons, or giant steaks. Some gentle hills, some trees and wind in my ears. I was expecting a sausage stand at the very least. We went back down, with canine dignity and a bit of emotional hunger.

Thirty more minutes of curves and we landed in Treignac. Sunday. A town in spiritual siesta mode. You could bark an opera and no one would come out to look. We went down to see the Vézère river, which meanders as if it were in a hurry to escape boredom. We only crossed the medieval bridge, the Pont Finot, the one that's been there since knights rode horses and dogs had noble titles. The modern bridge, the Pont de la Brasserie, we saw it and passed under it, without glamour but with shade.

Then we saw the upper part of the town: a church, pretty houses, quiet streets. Nothing stole our hearts like a steak falling to the ground, but we took a long, pleasant walk. I liked it because there were a thousand corners to mark... if Daddy didn't spoil the fun every three steps.

We went back to the car and drove for about forty-five minutes south. Daddy's stomach was growling more than I do when I see a cat, so we stopped at a picnic area. We ate in the camper: he his human stuff, me my survival food. Then we lay down for a while... or rather half a lifetime, because when we moved it was already after half past six.

The area was next to the road, with a truck on making an industrial dryer. Between the noise and the smell, zero glamour for sleeping. So we started up again, looking for a better place. In this corner of France park4night had fewer options than a cat in the shower.

More than an hour driving on lonely roads, and already in the dead of night, we arrived at the Etang du Prévost car park. A lake, supposedly. I only saw shadows, trees and a quiet air that smells of a good night. There's a camper and a motorhome, but plenty of space for my kingdom. Silence, a dark sky and a promise of tomorrow with exploration and puddles.

This time I didn't complain. I sniffed the ground, did three laps, snuggled up in my blanket and thought: with Daddy Edu I never know if paradise or a curve with ugly views awaits me, but hey... I'm not bored.