louiscatorze.com

Je crie, donc je suis

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Sa Majesté Louis Catorze, Le Roi Soleil, supreme ruler of Le Château, sworn enemy of canine foe and scourge of Ocado delivery drivers.

  • Une trilogie française 

    Towards the end of September, I bought myself a set of glass pumpkin lights. (They actually ended up being a bit shit and the seller refunded me, but that’s another story.)

    Me, to Cat Daddy, as I was unpacking them from their box: “Don’t throw this box away, will you?”

    Him: “What do you want it for?”

    Me: “After Hallowe’en I want to pack these pumpkins back in their box to store them.”

    Him: “Ohhhhh.”

    Me: “What?”

    Him: “I thought you were going to say you wanted the box for HIM. You know, when he goes.”

    This time it was my turn for the Unrepeatable Expletives. But, since then, things happened which very nearly made this a reality. I remember how soulless Le Château felt without Louis Catorze, and fearing that we wouldn’t get another week with him, never mind another Hallowe’en. Yet the little sod is on great form, eating, screaming and being a massive pain in the arse. We don’t understand how he’s gone from being at death’s door in late September, to this. But we’ll take it.

    Cat Daddy: “Well, I should hope he IS still with us, after we spent £1800 on him last month.” (He felt much better when I reminded him that it was actually only £1600.)

    My expectations for an Official Hallowe’en Portrait this year were quite low. Yet not only did the little sod deliver, but there was only one outtake. This is the final, cropped version: 

    That’ll do, cat. That’ll do.

    And this is the original version, showing the unsightly, scuffed-up stair runner which I originally wanted to hide. Cat Daddy prefers this version because both the artist and the “art” are visible:

    That won’t do at all.

    Better yet, I received an actual Catorzian portrait for my birthday, from Cocoa, Chanel and their humans:

    They have captured the monofanged look perfectly. (The other is still there, just concealed under the floppy cheek/jowl.)

    So, this October, the little sod has THREE OFFICIAL HALLOWE’EN PORTRAITS. 

    Joyeuse Hallowe’en à tous. Please hug your furry overlords, because our time with them is never as long as we want. 

    Rodan posed for his Portrait this week. Yes, he just lay there whilst the kids put leaves on him.

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Les glaçons royaux

    Oh. Mon. Dieu. Blue the Smoke Bengal’s mamma has given me some French cat ice cubes: 

    I imagine they’re meant for making drinks for us but I will, of course, mostly be using them for Louis Catorze’s ice cube massages when summer comes around again. 

    However, thinking ahead to Hallowe’en and wondering how I can safely turn them black for our seasonal cocktails without making anyone sick or dead, I have been experimenting with activated charcoal and black coffee. And the combination of the two has yielded some quite acceptable results:

    Not bad.

    Cat Daddy has very gallantly agreed to give up his time to help me test them in a cocktail or six this Hallowe’en, and I might even join him. This is our favourite Hallowe’en recipe (although we skip the biscuits). 

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Je ne sais pas ce que j’ai vu

    Last summer I started reading “I Know What I Saw”, a book about modern-day cryptid sightings, and I didn’t quite get around to finishing it. The approach of Hallowe’en made me pick it up again to resume reading, I realised that the next chapter was about creepy cats. Imagine that. 

    It seems to be that most creepy cat sightings seem to involve those much larger than domestic cats, and the same description seems to weave through many of the eyewitness accounts: muscular bodies, rope-like tails and blistering speed. 

    However, in terms of colour, all seem to be either tan or black. Nothing in-between, no other colours, just those two. Furthermore, the cats of one of those colours are generally regarded as flesh-and-blood animals, not yet known to the world of science. The ones of the other colour, however, are believed to be spiritual entities not of this world, carriers of messages of doom. 

    I’ll leave you to conclude which is which. 

    Meanwhile, here is Louis Catorze in a few bizarre yet genuine photos which make me even more sure that he belongs in The Second Category:

    What the heck.
    What the heck!
    WHAT THE HECK!

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Chaque pas est un but

    Do you set personal goals for yourself?

    I was about to say that Louis Catorze’s one personal goal is to do what he wants, irrespective of any upset or offence caused to others.

    However, goal-setting is what people do to better themselves, and Catorze already thinks he is perfect as he is. So it’s a firm no to any suggestions of needing self-improvement.

    “Non.”

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Avec une télécommande, on vit heureux 

    One of Louis Catorze’s favourite things to do is step on the TV remote and either change channels or switch the TV to the home screen. 

    He has probably done this about 784 times in the time that we’ve known him, so it’s certainly nothing unusual. If we are doing something he doesn’t like, or watching something that we really DO like, we know that he will pounce. It’s as predictable as day following night (although this probably means that we ought to have found a way of preventing it by now). 

    However, Cat Daddy has noticed that, whenever Catorze does it and takes us back to the home screen, we are not able to replicate this ourselves without multiple clicks of the remote. Catorze seems to be able to do it with just one step. Whatever it is that he does, it would actually be quite handy for us to know it so that we can do the same, the next time we need to return to the home screen quickly. But, of course, the bastard cat isn’t saying. 

    Cat Daddy: “I’m telling you, it’s some psycho thing. He does it with his MIND.”

    Right. I don’t suppose we can compete with that even under normal circumstances, but in October we are especially powerless. 

    An old picture from 2024, of our TV. Just a TV. Nothing more.

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Mon cœur qui bat 

    We have just discovered that we can see Louis Catorze’s heartbeat through his bald, shaved chest.

    Naturellement, the first time we noticed it, we had perfect lighting and a perfect angle, and it was very clear, but we didn’t have our phones handy. We have tried to recreate those same conditions about 962 times and failed. 

    This is our least shit attempt. It’s very subtle but, if you zoom in, you can see it pulsing:

    “It breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its chest.”

    Yes, it turns out that the little sod actually has a heart. Nobody is more surprised about this than the two of us. 

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Le bizarre incident du chat pendant la nuit (Partie 2)

    I am not impressed with Louis Catorze. Yesterday morning I was an hour and three-quarters late with his breakfast*, and the little shit absolutely destroyed my forearm with his digging and scratching. Yes, this is the same cat who is ambivalent about food. For goodness’ sake.

    *In my defence it was my birthday the day before, and I’d had eight shots of vodka after barely drinking all year.

    In other news: oh. Mon. Dieu. Remember when Catorze kept me awake by thrashing around in a plastic bag, and I couldn’t understand why I was unable to locate the bag? 

    Well, it turns out that there was no plastic bag. In actual fact the sound came from an old picture, wrapped in bubble wrap, which was standing in a corner of the room, propped up against a wall and hidden by a folded-up duvet cover. Obviously it wasn’t hidden well enough, because the bastard cat had located it and was trying to break through the bubble wrap. 

    He has previous when it comes to this kind of behaviour. The last time was much worse, but he hasn’t really done it since on account of us not having bubble wrap lying around. Now we know that we have to keep it away from him, adding another tiresome task to the already-long list of tiresome tasks that we have to do because of him.

    As you can see, the little sod is deeply regretful of all the bother he has caused. Doesn’t this picture just scream “deep regret”? 

    Dreaming of bubble wrap.

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Je mange, donc je suis

    In the dining room sits a box of canned cat food, all of which Louis Catorze has rejected over time. For ages I’ve been meaning to pass it onto a more grateful cat but, a few days ago, Cat Daddy accidentally gave one to Catorze, thinking it were his current supply, and the little sod ate it. 

    He didn’t just eat it hesitantly; he devoured it, as if he hadn’t been fed for a thousand years. And then he wanted more. And more. AND MORE. 

    Cat Daddy, very helpfully: “He doesn’t like having the same flavour day in and day out. He wants VARIETY.”

    I wouldn’t usually recommend constantly giving food to a cat just because they ask for it, but Catorze was pitifully haggard after his pancreatitis. So we just kept going and gave him as much as he wanted. On one notable day he ate four cans of wet food, plus a good couple of servings of Orijen, and he looks so much better for it, chubbing up like a good ‘un. (Mind you, who wouldn’t chub up with an unlimited supply of food and a pair of suckers who bring it to you every time you stare or scream?) 

    Fat boy.

    I really hope this is a sign that we have turned a corner regarding his health. 

    Here he is, sitting in a most ungainly, asymmetric position, looking more like a fat tarantula than a cat, waiting for his third – or maybe fourth, we’ve lost count now – dinner: 

    What is happening with that leg?

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Le bol effrayant 

    Merci à Dieu: Louis Catorze’s antibiotic course is over. Towards the end I had developed an almost-foolproof knack for applying the liquid: instead of probing around inside his ears, of which he was not a fan, I, erm, turned them inside out. Unbelievably, they stayed like that whilst I was able to wipe them then, when I was done, he just flicked them the right way around again.

    In other news, I have bought Catorze a Hallowe’en present and, as you can see from his face, he absolutely loves it: 

    “Merci, salope.”

    Cat Daddy: “He won’t be using it for long.”

    I expect he means that the Spooky Season is relatively short-lived and, before we know it, it will be time to deploy the Yuletide bowl. (I haven’t bought one yet, but I’m working on it.)

    This is what he means, isn’t it?

    It is a thing of beauty, non?

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Vis à la campagne pour toi, au lieu de vivre à la ville pour les autres

    I would like to move out to a rural area one day, later in life. Cat Daddy would probably do so now if he could, and he says that the only thing stopping him is the thought of a bird of prey picking off Louis Catorze, having mistaken him for a largeish rat or ferret or some such thing. 

    I always used to laugh this off. However, Cat Daddy showed me a post from our local neighbourhood social media group, which has (sort of) proven his fears to be correct. 

    The lady who had posted lived in a suburban area, and her cat was having a nap outside when a red kite swooped. Luckily, when he moved, the bird realised that its prey was actually alive – and, since red kites apparently favour dead prey, this was a huge NON. So it aborted its plan, and the cat lived to nap another day. 

    Catorze’s fondness for napping outside, along with his past history for pissing off the avian contingent, mean that country living is probably not a great idea. If crows can tell their friends all about humans who have wronged them, surely parakeets and magpies can pass a message to their neighbouring birds of prey? He wouldn’t be a very filling snack, but he’d be pretty easy pickings. 

    Here is Catorze, having a little rest in what used to be a herb trough but now isn’t (because of him).

    A sandwich short of a picnic.

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • L’oreille est le chemin du coeur (Partie 2) 

    Tell us about your morning routine.

    Mornings used to be my favourite part of the day: exercise, breakfast, coffee, then read a book with Louis Catorze on my lap. 

    Now, however, they’re absolute shit on wheels. I knew that giving Catorze his antibiotics would be grim, but dear God. 

    Half the battle is catching the little sod to do the deed. Because I need to apply the liquid to the gauze before grabbing him, the smell alerts him to the fact that something is afoot. Plus the gauze is hard to hide in my hand, so he absconds when he sees it. Therefore I need to prepare the gauze in another room, then leave it there (to stop the smell from spreading) and go and look for him. Bringing a cat to a piece of gauze, rather than taking the gauze to the cat, makes no sense, yet that’s the way it has to be. 

    And that’s the easy part. 

    Wiping his ears with the gauze is quite the most horrific thing I have ever had to do to Catorze. He screams, writhes and kicks. Bits of indescribable crud come off his ears and onto the gauze, sometimes even dropping all over me. And, when the horror is over with one ear, I need to do it again with the other. 

    Thank God and all his angels above that this is only for a week, and today is Day Four which means that we’ve done most of it. And, best of all, Catorze’s ears have lost the Maine Coon look and are starting to look normal again, so he will be his usual chic self when Hallowe’en comes around. 

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • L’oreille est le chemin du cœur 

    Sorry we’ve been quiet for a few days. However, a lack of posts certainly doesn’t mean a lack of Catorzian bullshittery. 

    Louis Catorze had an absolute blast with his papa whilst I was away. Cat Daddy told me that he showered Catorze with love, “talked to him nicely”, and that Catorze “looked all happy and proud” when he cuddled him. The little sod was quite displeased when I came home and, despite the fact that he hadn’t seen me for two days, he declined my lap and repeatedly chose Cat Daddy’s.

    Although he was very well looked after during my weekend away, Catorze somehow managed to scratch up his ears until they were red raw, something that he hasn’t done in a long time. And, on Monday morning, Cat Daddy noticed that his ears had started to curl at the tips, like a Maine Coon’s ears. 

    It was very subtle, something barely even noticeable unless you knew Catorze well, but the effect grew more and more pronounced as the day went on, with his ears feeling hot to the touch and Catorze constantly flicking and shaking them. So, on Monday evening, we were back at the vet’s AGAIN. 

    These are NOT normal Catorzian ears.

    We might as well take sleeping bags and go and live there. And, while we’re about it, we might as well give them shared use of our credit card, too. You know, like a joint account but a kind of three-way thing.

    Catorze was, as usual, an absolute hell-beast during the examination, writhing and yowling. At one point he tried to kick the vet, but ended up getting me instead. It turns out that he has an ear infection, which is probably the one single ailment that he hadn’t had until now, but it certainly explains the hot, bat-like ears. 

    The vet concluded that Catorze might be “a bit challenging to get ear drops into”, then, bizarrely, gave us the far worse option of an antibiotic liquid that needs to be wiped onto the ears twice a day, with a piece of gauze. This was to be done IN ADDITION TO his Methimazole, with at least a thirty-minute gap between the two. I couldn’t see myself managing both in the morning, so we agreed later that I would do the antibiotic early before going to school, with Cat Daddy being Methimazole Monitor.

    I will update you on the progress of his antibiotic application, but I imagine it’ll be a gladiatorial fight to the death, every time. Please keep your fingers crossed that no blood will be shed. 

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • La saison effrayante

    I am in Hastings visiting Otis, Roux and their humans, leaving Cat Daddy and Louis Catorze to have a lads’ weekend in London. Cat Daddy was supposed to come with me but, after everything that’s happened with Catorze, although Blue the Smoke Bengal’s mamma had very kindly agreed to feed him, we decided that it would be best not to leave him this weekend. 

    (By the way, when I was explaining Catorze’s ear medication and showing her the finger-condoms, Blue’s mamma thought the medication had to go UP HIS ARSE. We get on very well, but some things would test the boundaries of even the best friendships.)

    Naturellement, Cat Daddy has been telling people that his weekend has been ruined because he’s “stuck at home cat-sitting”. Erm, is it cat-sitting when it’s your own cat? 

    Anyway, Roux has declared the Spooky Season officially open by breaking into a cupboard, pulling out a packet of treats, CLOSING THE CUPBOARD AFTERWARDS (!) and then doing the inevitable. Here is the primary piece of evidence, along with the main (only?) suspect’s arse end: 

    Roux!
    Bastard cat.

    Meanwhile in TW8, my biggest worry was that Cat Daddy would stuff up Catorze’s medication and that I’d return home to find a freakishly malformed, mutated FrankenRoi. However, it’s worse than that: Catorze has been on Rodent Duty. INSIDE THE HOUSE. 

    This isn’t good. Bastard cat.

    Someone or something drew his attention enough to have him leap off his papa’s lap and dart straight for the gap between the fridge and the pull-out cupboard. And that is where he stayed, staring at an invisible intruder. We are mystified as to how an elderly cat with hyperthyroidism – and recovering from pancreatitis – could possibly bring in a rodent and release it in the house, but at least it’s Cat Daddy’s problem for now, and not mine.

    Even Catorze’s cat-cousin Zelva, who is usually the best-behaved of our gang, isn’t immune to bullshittery, it seems. My mum caught her doing this:

    “Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the west, the powers of Dreamies and catnip. Hear us!”

    We don’t know what Zelva (left) is up to with her friends, but let’s hope that they don’t find a fourth cat to represent the spirits of the south. 

    What is happening? Are your furry overlords up to mischief too? 

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com

  • Un ami comme moi

    The genie grants you a wish. What is it?

    Ten days or so ago, the only thing that I wanted was for Louis Catorze to come home. When he had to stay overnight at the vet’s, and that one night then stretched into two, we wondered if we would ever see him again. But he’s home, so my wish has been granted. I don’t want to tempt fate or be greedy by asking for a second wish. This is good for now.

    Being without him for those two nights has made us more determined than ever to make the most of whatever time he has remaining. But there’s not much left to do that we don’t already do. Showering him with love? Check. Giving him every luxury possible, even if this leaves us destitute? Check. (Do you see a pattern emerging here?) 

    Having a nap on, erm, a Disney evil queen blanket.

    Meanwhile, the little sod is screaming up a storm AND jumping onto the kitchen worktop, which he knows isn’t allowed. Surely this means he’s getting better?

    For more Catorzian capers, please visit http://louiscatorze.com