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.

  • Boire l’eau en pensant à sa source

    The cold water tap in our kitchen is leaking. It varies from a light but steady flow to a drip per ten seconds, but it never fully stops. Cat Daddy was all for just ignoring it until I showed him exactly how much water was being wasted: a washing-up bowl placed under the tap at 10pm is overflowing by 7am. It simply won’t do to just allow clean water to run down the sink in the middle of an ACTUAL DROUGHT. 

    Louis Catorze was initially profoundly displeased by the sound of the dripping, especially when it changed pace (as it does when we’ve had to open the tap). He’s now used to it, and only very occasionally flicks an ear when he zones back into it. I, on the other hand, am slowly being driven insane. It’s like Edgar Allan Poe’s Tell-Tale Heart, thumping away ominously in the background and becoming progressively louder, until I can’t stand it any longer and end up confessing to murder.

    (Disclaimer: I’ve not murdered anyone yet, but I’m teetering on the edge. I swear I can hear the rhythmic drip-drip-drip even whilst I sleep.)

    The person who needs to come and fix the tap is Chris. And Catorze scared Chris the last time he visited, by pulling this ridiculous stunt. 

    Cat Daddy has called Chris to make an appointment, and Chris has replied that he needs to order a part first and wait for it to arrive. Is this true, or is it just a delaying tactic to avoid having to return to the Demon Cat House? 

    EDIT: it turns out that I actually CAN hear it as I sleep, and that I wasn’t dreaming. The sound of the dripping echoes up through the Velux windows and into my bedroom at night. It’s inescapable.

    “Demon Cat House, y’say?”

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

  • Se rétablir, c’est progresser, pas atteindre la perfection 

    Cat Daddy’s recovery has been a mixed bag so far. Physically, everything is healing as it should. However, I fear that Le Château is not a suitable environment for someone recovering from surgery, and this is mostly Louis Catorze’s fault. 

    His actions, so far, have included the following:

    • Thundering around the house early in the morning, sounding just like an adult human in heavy work boots.
    • Constantly fighting to get into Cat Daddy’s bedroom. And, naturellement, Catorze’s efforts to access his papa rise proportionally to Cat Daddy’s desire for him to go away.
    • Screaming. Oh dear God, the screaming. 

    Poor Cat Daddy, having been desperate to escape a noisy hospital with alarms buzzing and people rushing around, had hoped for a little calm upon coming home. He says we should have arranged for someone else to take Catorze during his convalescence. But who would have him? 

    (That wasn’t a rhetorical question, by the way. WHO WOULD HAVE HIM? We want actual names.)

    Mid-scream, again.

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

  • Qui Zoom qui? (Partie 4) 

    Just before his knee surgery, Cat Daddy had another Zoom call. He messaged me asking if I could be prison officer again, but unfortunately I didn’t see the message until just AFTER I had turned Louis Catorze loose in the house. So he had to recapture the inmate and haul him back to the cell before the call started, and the whole thing was just like launching a grenade: open the door, fling in the incendiary device, close the door and flee. 

    Catorze was highly displeased at this state of affairs, and promptly started screaming at the door to be released. I thought, “He’s bound to wear himself out sooner or later”. 

    He didn’t. 

    Catorze paced up and down by the door, screaming himself senseless. Not even the Dyson air cooling unit and the television turned up to maximum were enough to drown him out. As the minutes ticked by, I had to content myself with recording the Catorzian cacophony and sending the resulting horror shorts to my friend, so that she would believe how awful it was. 

    Every few minutes, I would think, “Surely the Zoom call can’t go on for MUCH longer?”

    It did. And so did the screaming.

    Saint Jésus.
    SAINT JÉSUS.

    I then decided to boot him out at The Front, through the window. He has escaped out there 9,663 times when we haven’t wanted him to, yet, naturellement, at the one moment when I was desperate for him to go, he wasn’t having it. So the screaming continued, in stereo, with Le Roi leaping from the floor to the armrest to the back of the sofa, all the while hollering his guts out as if he’d been shot.

    Finally, after FIFTY torturous minutes, Cat Daddy’s Zoom call finally came to an end, by which time I was just about ready to claw at my own flesh with what was left of my fingernails. He was disappointingly casual about the trauma that I had suffered, replying that I “ought to be used to it [the screaming] by now”. And it turned out that he had been able to hear it throughout his call anyway – yes, Catorze had been THAT loud – so shutting him away only partially achieved the desired goal. 

    Catorze then lunged for his empty bowl, wild-eyed and still screaming. Cat Daddy gave him some food, of which the little sod ate about 20% before going out. 

    I don’t know what more I can say about this, except that there are twenty-two days left until the start of term. And I shall be counting every single one of them. 

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

  • Attraper un chat noir dans une pièce sombre

    Share a photo of your pet and tell us one thing that makes them uniquely them.

    Years ago, when we adopted our first black cat, we would wonder how to tell ours apart from others. Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: we were part of the brigade who thought that all black cats looked the same. 

    If you have a black cat who misbehaves in the neighbourhood, this can actually be quite useful because, in the event of anything untoward, you can just say, “It must’ve been some other black cat”. And, even if nobody believed you, they would struggle to prove anything. 

    However, the truth is that each black cat has certain particularities which distinguish them from their fellow agents. I am probably shooting myself in the foot by sharing Louis Catorze’s unique features, because having people know these considerably weakens the “It must’ve been some other black cat” defence. But, since the vast majority of you won’t have the misfortune to meet Catorze, and those that have met him already know what he’s like, here are a few of them: 

    1. Abnormally small size. FREAKISHLY small, like a five-month-old kitten. (This is no joke: my friend’s 5-month-old kitten only weighs 100g less than Catorze.)
    2. Vampire fangs which protrude at all times. These days Catorze gives the impression of only having one fang, but this is because he managed to chip one of them (no idea how) and because, over time, the corresponding cheek/jowl has started to hang lower and lower, further concealing said fang. 
    3. A caustic voice that could strip paint. Numerous people, both friends and strangers, have, over the years, expressed concern at Catorze’s anguished wail. We have had to explain that he’s not distressed or unwell, and that that’s just his normal voice. 

    If you spot a cat bearing all of the above characteristics, and you’re in the TW8 area of west London, then, yeah, it’s probably Catorze. Even if I tell you that it’s not him, it most likely is. Sorry. 

    That said, SURELY, with his advancing years, he will be less and less inclined to go around being a massive shite and forcing me to lie for him? 

    One of my favourite Catorzian photos of all time, before he chipped that fang.

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

  • La récupération de notre force physique 

    After a number of consultations, Cat Daddy has finally had the first of two knee operations. He came home yesterday and, as he hobbled up the front path with his crutches, Louis Catorze sat on the bottom step and screamed and screamed. Cat Daddy says he wishes he were still at the hospital.

    It’s not easy to make a small, Victorian terraced house accessible for a person with reduced mobility. Prior to the surgery Cat Daddy was researching the recommendations made, and one of them has generated quite some debate between us.

    Cat Daddy has taken this to mean that Catorze needs to be removed from the house. What do you think? 

    This is pretty damning, non?

    Regretfully, we haven’t had any takers for him so far, so we might have to work around him, whatever that might mean.

    Recovering from the surgery will also impact Boys’ Club, since even a light weight resting on a just-operated-on limb probably isn’t a good idea. So, for the time being, Catorze will have to get used to sitting beside Cat Daddy, but not on his legs (or, at least, not on his sore leg), which could be tricky; let’s just say that taking no for an answer is not the little sod’s superpower.

    That said, Cat Daddy’s biggest worry is being unable to escape the Catorzian screaming; even if he were to move away, Catorze would be able to follow faster. So he might have to either make sure the guitar is always within reach, despite it not being an easy thing to carry when you’re on crutches, or buy a guitar for every room.

    Will Catorze be sensitive towards his convalescing papa, with his Creepy Kitty Sixth Sense™ informing him not to be a massive shite? Or will he be as he was after my spinal surgery, when he jumped onto my torso and then used it as a springboard to jump somewhere else? 

    There’ll be no more of this for the time being.

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

  • Qui Zoom qui? (Partie 3) 

    Cat Daddy had another Zoom call the other day, which meant that I was on prison officer duty minding Louis Catorze in a locked cell. 

    Just before the call started, Cat Daddy told me that he had already contained the inmate, so all I had to do was go into the front room and join him to make sure he didn’t escape. I darted in quickly, in case the little sod tried to slip out … but, upon closing the door, I realised that there was no sign of Catorze. 

    I then heard his pitter-pattering in the hallway, so I was able to grab him and shut him in the room with me.

    Later that day, Cat Daddy thanked me for my shift and said, “He’s always awful in Zoom calls. That’s why I shut him in another room before even starting.”

    Me: “Well, you did a shit job, because the room was empty when I went in.”

    Him: “What?”

    Me: “He wasn’t there.”

    [Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.]

    Oh. Mon. Dieu.

    Cat Daddy is 100% convinced that Catorze was in the room when he’d shut the door. I’m 100% convinced that he WASN’T in the room when I’d gone to carry out my observation detail. This can only mean one thing: THE LITTLE BASTARD TELEPORTED OUT. 

    I have a Zoom call scheduled for the end of the summer holidays, although the other attendees are all women so it probably won’t appeal to Catorze. Will he leave us in peace? If I succeed in shutting him out, will he teleport in? My mind is boggling with all the various possibilities. 

    Mid-scream.

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

  • Les chiens mangent, les chats dînent

    Remember when Louis Catorze liked wet food, then he didn’t, then he did, then he didn’t? Well, now he does again. 

    The little sod had been looking a bit haggard and brittle, so we decided to see if he would eat the wet food left over from his last sojourn. We were pretty sure he would reject it, just to spite us, but he tucked in with tremendous enthusiasm. And now he’s constantly tormenting us for more.  You cannot IMAGINE the feeling of being bullied by a tiny beast who weighs less than my lightest dumbbell. 

    Naturellement, there are some rule changes from the last Wet Food Odyssey: 

    Firstly, if the shreds of chicken are more than 1.47cm in length, they are to be cut in half. If we don’t cut them in half, we risk them either being left behind to go dry and attract flies, or being flung around the feeding station. 

    (Yes, that’s right, he can rip the heads off rodents the size of chihuahuas, but he can’t possibly eat a strip of chicken longer than 1.47cm.)

    Secondly, the previous wet food routine of set mealtimes is now obsolete, and Catorze expects a fresh serving of food every time he asks. This might be three or four times a day. Equally, it could be 783 times a day. It’s such fun finding out what kind of a day it will be. 

    Anyway, he’s eating well, and he even appears to be chubbing up a little. This calls for another rendition of the Chubbing Up Dance, non?

    Here is Catorze, informing us of his tragically empty bowl. Mind you, he sits like this even when it’s full: 

    “Feed moi.”

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

  • Qui Zoom qui? (Partie 2) 

    If you had to give one life-changing tip, what would it be?

    If you have a cat, don’t bother trying to have professional Zoom meetings in your house. Seriously, just go to someone else’s house to do them. Or hot-desk somewhere. Or sit in your car. Anywhere but your house.

    Remember when Louis Catorze used to be a complete and utter pest during Zoom calls? Yup, so do we. And, regretfully, so does he, because he’s still doing it. 

    Luckily I hardly ever have to teach online lessons and, when I do, I do so from school and not from home. However, Cat Daddy, being on the board of trustees for a local business, has had quite a few video calls. On one occasion, I even heard him say, “Sorry, that’s my cat. I thought I’d shut him out but he’s barged into the room.”

    In short, Catorze cannot be left unsupervised during Zoom calls. And, since Cat Daddy tends to be the one doing them, that means I am the one shut in a room with Catorze and responsible for making sure he doesn’t escape. 

    When the last call took place, the little sod was nowhere to be found so there was no way of imprisoning him. However, minutes later, as I sat in the front room, I heard him in the kitchen, emitting the horrible, scowly rasp, that he does when someone grabs him unexpectedly. (Don’t worry, he’s not upset or in pain or anything like that; he’s just being dramatic. He once did it when I was applying his thyroid meds, and Cat Daddy shouted, “You liar! Don’t you DARE pretend that it hurt!”)

    Cat Daddy then marched into the room, dumped Catorze onto my lap with one hand, then marched out again. It transpired that, despite being absent pre-call, Catorze had appeared as soon as it started, being his usual self and annoying the merde out of everyone listening. 

    Just as he started to settle on my lap, a fly shot out of his fur. I picked up a nearby envelope, swatted it and watched it fall to the floor. 

    Catorze then jumped off my lap, sniffed the fly and ate it. 

    It’s just non-stop glamour and sophistication here at Le Château, isn’t it? The phrase “You couldn’t make this up” was INVENTED for us. 

    Hopefully the Zoom participants didn’t have this view.

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

  • Laissez-vous éternuer 

    Louis Catorze doesn’t like it when people sneeze. His reaction is more annoyance than fear: he emits an audible scowl, then runs away making bird-chatter sounds. Yes, we know that this is weird. 

    Cat Daddy’s sneezes are so ear-bleeding loud that they make his guitar sing (or maybe gently weep, I don’t know). This is no joke. Even when the guitar is hanging on the wall, in the immediate aftermath of one of his sonic boom sneezes we can briefly hear the metallic hum of the strings. 

    One night, as is typical of most nights, I went to bed early, and Catorze accompanied me and settled on the bed beside me. Downstairs, Cat Daddy sneezed. 

    Catorze: “Mwah.”

    Cat Daddy: [Another sneeze.]

    Catorze: “Mwah!”

    Cat Daddy: [Another sneeze.]

    Catorze: “Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah!”

    The little sod then proceeded to take off, muttering obscenities under his breath as he went. YES, HE THOUGHT I WAS THE ONE TO OFFEND HIS EARDRUMS WITH THE SNEEZING.

    I don’t know what happened after that, nor do I want to, but I imagine he went running to his papa, and the two of them snuggled each other and debated how much better life would be without me. 

    An artist’s impression of scenes following The Sneeze.

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

  • L’amélioration domiciliaire

    What’s your home decoration style?

    Cat hairs and despair, mostly.

    Little sod.

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

  • Au revoir, Doug 

    Whilst holidaying in the Scottish Highlands, I learned of the passing of Doug Thomas, a fellow cat blogger. Although I knew that Doug hadn’t been well, with frequent trips to hospital, this news really knocked me off my feet and I’m still not sure how to process it. 

    Doug’s was one of the very first cat blogs – perhaps even THE first – that I followed on WordPress and, through his words and photos, I soon got to know him and his smoke-black Persian cats, Andy and Dougy. 

    (Yes, his name was Doug and one of his cats was called Dougy. I know.) 

    When a friend or a family member passes away, there is a well-trodden path to follow: a funeral service, mutual friends with whom to share memories, birthdays and anniversaries to commemorate, and so on. But, when you only know said person through their writing on your WordPress feed, and you haven’t met them face to face, what exactly is supposed to happen? It seems that you simply unsubscribe from their life, and they from yours, and that’s it. It’s a very strange feeling.

    That said, when I read Doug’s final farewell, posted by one of his family members, and scrolled below to comment, there we all were: a comment from Person A, whose cat blog I follow and who follows mine, then Person B, whose cat blog I follow and who follows mine, and so on. We all knew Doug. The threads of the Cat Internet that link us together may be gossamer-fine, like the nylon wires of those illusion necklaces with floating pendants that were popular in the early 2000s. But, despite being almost invisible to the naked eye, they are there nonetheless and, perhaps, are more enduring than they may seem. 

    Doug, may your paradise home be just like that of your earthly life: a peaceful place with a creepy SpongeBob soft toy lurking in the corner of your living room, good enough WiFi to allow you to write every day, and, of course, cats galore. Thank you for brightening the Cat Internet for all of us. We miss you. 

    Louis Catorze would have loved to be Doug’s cat.

    I don’t know for how much longer Doug’s blog will be available, but enjoy it here whilst you can. 

    Doug’s obituary is here.

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

  • Los ganadores

    What’s a promise you made that you’ve actually kept?

    Well, he hasn’t kept it yet – in fact, he keeps trying to wriggle out of it – but perhaps posting it here will shame him into being a man of his word. 

    Allow me to explain: 

    Despite Cat Daddy’s efforts to sabotage Louis Catorze’s World Cup sweepstake (by, erm, allocating him a team who weren’t even participating), Spain emerged as the victors. And Spain happened to be one of Catorze’s teams. 

    Cat Daddy, when I told him the happy news: “Oh. Didn’t we take Spain away from him and replace it with Italy?”

    Me: “What? No. Google Gemini was the one who allocated him both Spain and Italy. I suggested giving him France instead of Italy, to make it fair, but you vetoed it.”

    Cat Daddy: “So HE wins?”

    Me: “HE WINS.”

    Cat Daddy: “[Unrepeatable Expletives.]”

    Cat Daddy then tried to renege on his agreement to award Catorze his prize (sleeping in Cat Daddy’s bed for a whole night, something not usually allowed), but eventually he grudgingly relented. However, he simply left the bedroom door open in the expectation that the little sod would see it open and go in to claim his winnings. He didn’t. 

    Cat Daddy, the next morning: “Well, that was his once chance. If he didn’t take it, that’s his problem. I’m shutting the door from now on.”

    Me: “But he’s a vampire. Vampires don’t come in unless they’re invited.”

    [Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.]

    Perhaps, if we all collectively keep up the pressure, Cat Daddy will award Catorze his rightful prize, as agreed. He wouldn’t break a promise to an elderly cat who probably won’t even be around for the next World Cup … would he? 

    Who wouldn’t want to snuggle up to this? Ahem …

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

  • Une petite flamme de folie 

    Thanks a lot, Kate and Audrey, for wishing “antics” and “stirring-up” upon us. Because of you, that is exactly what’s happening. 

    Louis Catorze has been UNHINGED since we returned home, thundering around the house so loudly, and sounding so like an excitable adult human, that he woke Cat Daddy one morning. He also came in from his outdoor sleeping spot as soon as his Creepy Kitty Sixth Sense™ smelled a Zoom call and raised absolute hell, screaming and trying to jump onto the kitchen worktop where the laptop sat. 

    Poor Cat Daddy sent me an SOS via WhatsApp, and I had to bring in the offender and detain him until the call was over. 

    The only stunt Catorze HASN’T pulled is to sit outside the patio doors, gazing forlornly in, in the hope that some sucker might get up and open the door for him. He tried this on the chat-sitteur and it actually worked for a while, until she reported back to us. We were then able to tell her that he was just taking the piss and give her strict instructions not to comply … unless she wished to condemn herself, and possibly us, to a lifetime of having to get up to open a door for a cat WHO HAS A FUNCTIONING CAT FLAP AND KNOWS PERFECTLY WELL HOW TO USE IT. 

    The fact that he’s not tried it on us shows that he can, and does, alter his behaviour for his audience. What a manipulative little shit. And I am stuck at home with him for the rest of the summer holidays, so I have another month of this, without the blessèd respite that is teaching teenagers.

    Here he is, screaming at me because I was eating fruit. He doesn’t like fruit, but that’s not the point: 

    Saint Jésus et tous les apôtres.

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

  • On écrit pour goûter la vie deux fois, dans l’instant et rétrospectivement

    What app eats up most of your screen time, and do you even feel bad about it?

    I actually checked in my settings to be able to answer this question, and was surprised to discover that my most commonly-used app is actually, erm, the Notes app on my iPhone. 

    I know. Notes is so boring that I wasn’t really sure, at first, whether or not it was even a proper app. Being a frequent user of Notes is like saying you like to indulge in the Clock function for setting alarms, or the Calendar function to log appointments. 

    Even Catorze finds Notes as dull as dust.

    Sorry if you were expecting something a bit more exciting. That said, I can’t be bothered to feel bad about it. Notes is way too inoffensive and banal to elicit bad feelings. It’s not as if it’s TikTok, Roblox (no, it’s not Road Blocks – who knew?) or some such shite. 

    I use Notes mainly for drafting blog posts, because I find it a lot easier to write there than on WordPress or Jetpack. When I first started blogging, my brother-in-law – a cricket journalist – advised me to always have thirty or so ideas in my back pocket in case of a creativity dearth; however, it seems I needn’t have bothered because there is always something going on with Louis Catorze. 

    Sometimes there quite literally aren’t enough days in the week to post all the stupid shit that he’s done – unless, of course, I moved to daily or twice-daily blog posts about him. And, trust me, nobody wants that. 

    So, as long as Catorze pitter-patters this earth, the Notes app will continue to be battered by my fingertips, multiple times a day, recording his misadventures for the world to see. It ain’t glamorous. But then life as a Catorzian housekeeper slave prisoner was never about me. 

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