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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.

  • Le printemps capricieux

    This handsome chap was my mum’s gardening buddy at the weekend. No, he is not her cat.

    Astronomical spring arrived at the end of last week, and the Spring Zing really is a thing because Louis Catorze has been absolutely insufferable. 

    The little sod has been sleeping in a freezer bag (I KNOW) by day, then doing frenzied parkour, with vocal accompaniment, all over my bed at night. I’m starting to wonder whether the bag is secretly one of those infra-red regenerating saunas, powering him up for his nightly shenanigans. If so, I wish I knew how to inactivate it, but it seems to run from the same inexhaustible power supply as his Cloak of Invisibility.

    The freezer bag, with a bin liner nest to cushion la personne royale.

    The rest of our family cats have also discovered their own individual ways of marking the new season (although none are quite as weird as sleeping in a freezer bag).

    Otis and Roux love being outside, even in the depths of winter, so they couldn’t be more delighted that spring is here, granting them an extension to their usual nightly curfew. Otis likes relaxing in the gentle rays of spring sunshine, whilst his troublemaking sister watches him from afar, wondering whether to attack him now or later.

    She chose later.

    Zelva, erm, hasn’t even noticed that it’s spring. You’ll find her indoors, lounging on a bed or sofa: 

    Comfy, Zelva?

    Mothra also hasn’t noticed that it’s spring, due to still being in solitary, and has mostly been wriggling out of her Cône. So she’ll be remaining in supervised solitary until she can learn to behave or until the vet says Le Cône can come off, whichever comes first.  

    Still Côned, unless she can successfully escape from it (again).

    Rodan may or may not be aware that it’s spring but his focus has been on trying to fraternise with his sister, rather than on what’s going on outdoors. When not breaking the rules, he has been getting acquainted with his new favourite place:

    I’d subscribe to this channel.

    I hope that your furry overlords are all enjoying the new season. I’d love to hear about what they’ve been doing. 

    Matilda, who lives on the other side of the park, is getting her spring on.

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

  • Un saut périlleux dans l’avenir

    What is one word that describes you?

    Louis Catorze has been fine since that Sunday night when he did a somersault, landed on his head and almost knocked himself out. 

    So the one word that best describes him, right now, is lucky. Although Cat Daddy says that he can think of a few others.

    Catorze was glued to my side all through that night and the early hours of the next morning, which is something that hasn’t happened in a while. And, because I thought this was some sort of final adieu, I had a restless night’s sleep, constantly making sure that he was still breathing and that he wasn’t showing any signs of a fractured skull (not that I have the slightest idea what signs of a fractured skull looks like). But, the next day, Catorze was back to “normal” and up to his usual tricks of, erm, sleeping in a freezer bag, and drinking from our old wok which Cat Daddy put outside as a bird bath. 

    He dragged this across the hallway and sat in it.
    Another outdoor bar.

    I think we can assume that the little sod will be all right, so we will be able to look forward to many more of his nonsensical tomfoolery. One of those things makes us very happy indeed. 

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

  • Miel à la bouche, dard à la queue (Partie 5) 

    Mothra is sans Cône. Sadly this is not because the vet instructed it; it’s because she wriggled out. Yes, that’s despite the super-sturdy, and supposedly indomitable, MegaCône. Oh dear.

    Erm …?

    Because Rodan won’t stop going for his sister’s tail, the humans have had to increase Mothra’s time in solitary. 

    Obviously both cats are highly displeased by this. And the two of them have taken to sitting on opposite sides of the closed door, meowing at each other and (probably although we can’t prove it) communicating via prison sign language through the gap under the door. The only thing that stops this behaviour is my sister taking out her phone to video it.

    The cats’ human sister, aged five: “Maybe we also need to shut HIM [Rodan] in a room!”

    This is actually not the worst idea in the world. And it explains why they separate gang members in those massive maximum security penitentiaries in America.

    Luckily the house is big enough to house Rodan in B Wing and Mothra in C Wing. And, regretfully, it may well come to that. 

    Actual footage of Rodan and Mothra being escorted to their respective solitary cells. (Picture from Yahoo Movies.)

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

  • La couverture lestée (Partie 3)

    Louis Catorze has, somehow, worked through his phase of attacking the weighted blanket every time I unfold it. I don’t know how or why, but I’m glad that this has happened. 

    The blanket feels lovely when I’m cocooned in it but, on account of it being weighted (hence the name), unfolding it and putting it on is quite hard work. I find it quite challenging as a normal-sized human, so there’s no way that a 2.92kg cat should be able to manage it, right? 

    RIGHT? 

    This blanket had previously been folded up into a neat rectangle. I cannot fathom how teeny tiny Catorze managed to unfold it and spread it out across the sofa, yet that is what he did. 

    Look at the smug little sod. If you zoom in on his eyes, you’ll see that he’s not actually sleeping but just pretending:

    Cat Daddy calls this fake sleep “that creepy alligator thing”.

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

  • Miel à la bouche, dard à la queue (Partie 4)

    Mothra is continuing to recover well from her tail amputation. She’s eating and drinking fine, clambering on furniture, and she’s even managing to tuck her little stumpy tail around her arse when she sits down: 

    Awww.

    The greater challenge, it seems, has been keeping her segregated from her brother. The vet has given strict instructions that Rodan is not to sniff or lick her tail, as any infection of the surgery site could be disastrous. However, Rodan doesn’t want to heed the instructions and has taken to darting into Mothra’s isolation cell as soon as the door is opened, and going straight for his sister’s tail. 

    Luckily, so far, it’s been quite easy for the prison warden human to scoop him up and eject him. But he’s been persistent. And, as we all know, trying to stop a persistent Chat Noir is like trying to stop an oncoming train. 

    Didn’t some wise person once make a statement about never having more than one cat? Who might that have been, I wonder? 

    Mothra snuggles her fourth favourite human.

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

  • Avec les loups il faut hurler ou faire semblant de hurler 

    Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

    Louis Catorze was definitely a baying wolf in his last life. 

    After the last Catorzian screaming video that I posted, a few people – including those who know him well – were concerned about his raspy throat. My sister even said, “What’s the noise at the end of the meow, like someone cutting something on a chopping board?”

    Unfortunately for us, this is part of Catorze’s normal voice.

    In case you missed it the last time. You’re welcome.

    His meows are dual-toned, with the initial “Mwah” followed by an “-ich”. That’s the way they have always been, with the urgency and volume usually being directly proportional to the length of time we’ve been away. I say “usually” because Catorze has been known, of course, to scream his guts out just because one of us has arrived home from work or the shops. And, equally, when we came home from a three-week holiday, he raised his head, looked at me with utter contempt and went back to sleep again. 

    So both the “Mwah-ich” and the volume are perfectly normal. Maybe not in the Cat Universe as a whole, but certainly in this house. And we never imagined that the screaming could deteriorate over time, yet here we are. So much for a quiet life with our senior geriatric cat. 

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

  • La blessure est l’endroit où la lumière entre en vous

    Louis Catorze has just walloped his head badly on the tiled floor. 

    The little sod was playing with his pink butterfly on a string when it happened. Bizarrely, he wasn’t leaping for the toy. That actually might have made a bit of logical sense but, as you are probably aware by now, logical sense isn’t something that we do here at Le Château. 

    Catorze had actually caught the toy between his front paws and was standing with both back feet firmly on the ground. Then, for reasons that I will never understand, he decided to do a somersault, landing on his head. 

    The clunk was so loud that it even stopped Cat Daddy in his tracks, diverting his attention from the Derby della Madonnina for a good minute or so. Catorze himself looked quite shellshocked but then scratched his ear, shook himself down and pitter-pattered outside. 

    Me: “Oh God. What if he’s gone outside to find a quiet place to die?”

    Cat Daddy: “He’s probably just embarrassed.”

    Me: “Don’t be silly. Cats don’t know or care what embarrassment is.”

    Him: “It’s that toy. It’s probably got him stoned as hell. I bet he didn’t even know what he was doing, like those rock stars who OD on coke and stuff.”

    Erm, the toy didn’t have any catnip in it, but good try. 

    I have a really busy few weeks at work, so it’s absolutely the worst time to be checking Catorze every few minutes to make sure he hasn’t died from a bleed on the brain. And, in the event that I have to take him to the vet, would they even believe that my geriatric cat aged almost sixteen just randomly decided to do a somersault, for no reason?

    UPDATE: Catorze pitter-pattered back indoors again and has seemed normal (by his own pitifully low standards) ever since.

    The Sun King is fine.

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

  • Je suis bien dans ma peau, car elle est juste à ma taille

    What is the last thing you learned?

    Cat Daddy and I know that Louis Catorze is tiny. We’ve always known this. But, over the years, the little sod has mind-controlled us into using him as the benchmark for how all cats ought to be. And, recently, it has dawned on us just how much his freakishly small stature has skewed our world view on cat size. 

    We have just visited a dear friend in North Yorkshire, who has six cats. These were our reactions to each of them:

    Harley and Hendrix, the tux and cow-cat: “Rangy, meaty boys!” It turns out that they’re not. Harley is 4.1kg and Hendrix, 5kg, making them Normal Cats. 

    Normal.

    Their sister Snoodle was a little shy and spent much of our visit under cover, so it was quite difficult to see exactly how big she was. But when she dashed out from under one blanket to seek a second hiding place beneath another, we gasped, “She’s quite a meaty girl!” Nope. 5kg makes her also a Normal Cat.

    Nervous but still Normal.

    Ponder, the gigantic tabby: “Oof! What a hefty beast!” At 6.7kg, despite being over double Catorze’s weight, he is still a Normal Cat, albeit at the upper end of the range. 

    Normal.
    Oh my word, my hand looks tiny on him. But still Normal.

    Marigold and Treacle: “Ahh! Normal cats!” Well, yes and no. Both are at the lower end of the weight spectrum, at 3.5kg and 3.1kg respectively but, being older ladies with health issues, this is about right for them. Conclusion: Normal Cats. 

    Marigold: Normal.
    Treacle: Normal.

    So it turns out that Catorze, who was 2.92kg at his last vet visit, is the only one who isn’t a Normal Cat. 

    I know. It’s shocking news. Please sit down and take some time to absorb this.

    This is how we were greeted when we returned from our trip. Not Normal (although Normal for him).

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

  • Tu ne sais pas à quel point tu me rends malade (Partie 3)

    *WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC REFERENCES TO CAT PUKE.*

    What are three objects you couldn’t live without?

    Rubber gloves, antibacterial spray and kitchen towel, it seems.

    Cat Daddy: “Where’s the hallway doormat gone?”

    Me: “I had to put it outside to dry.”

    Him: “That was ages ago. I thought I’d brought it back in?”

    Me: “You did.”

    Him: “So what’s it doing back outside?”

    Me: “…”

    Him: “Oh God. He didn’t … did he?”

    Me: “…”

    Him: “AGAIN?”

    Yes, and this time it was worse: as I came downstairs I could just make out, in the half-light, a convenient sausage-shaped package of puke on the hallway floor. Not great, but at least I would be able to easily clean it off the wooden floorboards, in one sweep.

    Then, when I switched on the light, the full  horror of the situation became apparent. There was a lot more than I thought, and most of it was, once again, on the textured doormat. The convenient sausage-shaped package told only half the story, with the other half being a complete fright-fest of random splatters all over the mat.

    So there I was, back outside with a steaming kettle. Again.

    Cat Daddy then did some spewing of his own, except that his consisted of the customary Unrepeatable Expletives interspersed with, “He’s on his way out, you know. It’s the beginning of the end, and it’s going to cost us a fortune in vet bills.”

    No, it’s not. He’s eaten a bit of grass. But if it makes you feel better to be dramatic about it, fine. 

    Anyway, Catorze appears to be completely fine now. However, as the weather warms up and he starts spending more time outside, I expect there will be more of this. 

    Absolute bastard cat.

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

  • Tu ne sais pas à quel point tu me rends malade (Partie 2)

    Sorry, everyone, for the weird posting yesterday. The system has been glitching like crazy, publishing some material too early and unpublishing other, already-live material. I don’t know what’s going on but I blame Mercury Retrograde.

    In other news, Mesdames et Messieurs, we had yet another puke incident last week. And, whilst there’s never really a good time, could there be a worse time than when I’m tucked up in bed, and when Cat Daddy is awake but drunk? 

    One night, the hork-hork klaxon wrenched me out of my almost-sleep. I called Cat Daddy, who obligingly came to my rescue with the spray and kitchen towel, only to find Louis Catorze sitting innocently on the landing, with no sign of any puke.  

    After a minute or so of searching, we found a small pile and Cat Daddy duly dealt with us using his arsenal of cleaning weaponry. I was able to then go back to sleep, happy in the knowledge that my house was a puke-free zone. 

    I imagine you can see where this story is going, non? 

    The next morning, about 50cm from the original pile (although round a corner, hence why I had missed it the first time), I discovered a much bigger pile of puke. I was late for work so I didn’t have time to clean it up, so I had no option but to message Cat Daddy and ask him to do it when he got up. 

    I would have felt bad enough sending such a message anyway but, when I opened up my WhatsApp to send the message, I discovered that Cat Daddy had sent me a lovely drunk message the night before, saying how much he was looking forward to us going away for the weekend. 

    My reply: “Yeah, same. By the way, there’s another pile of cat puke in the front bedroom. Would you mind cleaning it up, please?”

    It’s just non-stop nonsense here at Le Château. And, somehow, Catorze seems to do all right despite being the one who causes most of it. 

    Just behave yourself.

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

  • Tu ne sais pas à quel point tu me rends malade

    Cat puke: never fun to deal with, but even less fun when you hear the sound but then fail to find the evidence immediately. I’m still haunted by the time I heard Louis Catorze puking in 2018 (or maybe 2016, I don’t remember anymore) yet the puke remains undiscovered, to this day. 

    One peaceful morning, when I was happily sipping my coffee and minding my own business, this horrible history repeated itself. I heard the telltale “hork-hork” klaxon, went to investigate but found neither cat nor puke. 

    After turning over ever last cm² of tile and floorboard on the ground floor of Le Château, I eventually discovered it on the second most undesirable surface in the house: the front doormat, whose textured, honeycomb surface doesn’t lend itself well to being cleaned with a spray and kitchen towel. 

    I guess at least it wasn’t carpet (again). But why in the name of sweet baby Jesus can’t the little sods do it on the floor? 

    After the spray and kitchen towel failed dismally, I was forced to take the mat outside for a heavier-duty clean with boiling water, then I left it there to dry. 

    Cat Daddy, later: “Why is the doormat outside?”

    Me: “Because SOMEBODY puked on it.”

    Cat Daddy: “What an absolute ****ing ****. I bet he walked up and down for ages, deciding where to do it.”  

    Yes. That sounds like the sort of thing Catorze would do. 

    Here he is, utterly unrepentant. And I bet he would do it again tomorrow, if he could. 

    Bastard cat.

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

  • Miel à la bouche, dard à la queue (Partie 3) 

    Mothra is home! The little sod made it through her surgery, and she was a little lethargic but otherwise fine.

    She and her brother Rodan are segregated for now, for the good of Mothra’s recovery. And, according to my source, “Neither one is happy about this”. This is sad but we can’t trust either of them not to stealth-groom the surgery wound, fight, plan a prison break, or whatever other activities they can think of which are unbecoming of those recovering from an operation. So they’re only allowed together under supervision, and Mothra is kept in protective custody overnight. 

    Here she is, sporting her new faux-Manx look:

    Pictured on the day she arrived home, having a drink in her favourite cardboard box.

    And here is Rodan, highly displeased at not being able to go into the front room to say hello to his sister: 

    Not today, Rodan. Tomorrow’s not looking good, either.

    Hopefully it won’t be too long before Mothra will be allowed back into the Gen Pop full-time. Thanks again to everyone who has wished her well. 

    They’ve had to deploy Le MegaCône, because she was able to slip out of the watermelon one.

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

  • Miel à la bouche, dard à la queue (Partie 2) 

    What is the biggest challenge you will face in the next six months?

    I posted at the weekend about Louis Catorze’s cat-cousin Mothra, who had injured her tail in a scrap with a mystery cat. (The vet confirmed this from teeth marks in the wound – definitely another cat, not a fox or a dog or anything like that.)

    The jury is still out as to whether Mothra’s brother Rodan did it in an over-zealous play-fight, but we can’t prove this.

    Rodan says he’s innocent. Do we believe him?

    Although things initially seemed positive when Mothra came home from the vet, because there was some movement in her tail, it has since transpired that the vertebral damage is too great. This means, unfortunately, that Mothra will have to lose her tail. 

    So her biggest challenge in the next six months will be adapting to life as a tailless cat.

    Mothra is due to have the procedure later this morning, and I will update you in the next few days regarding how she’s doing. Thank you so much to those of you who have already sent her good wishes. 

    Le Cône also doubles as a convenient pillow.

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

  • La vigilance est le chemin au royaume immortel 

    I know that I must be getting old, because I love going to bed. We are conditioned to fear the dark and the creatures that lurk within its depths but, as soon as the eerie blue twilight period descends upon us, I start to feel cosy and cocooned. (Plus I know that the creature of darkness who resides within my house is far worse than anything that could possibly be lurking outside.)

    It’s also comforting to know that, as night falls, there is a security guard on duty outside our house: 

    5:36pm and all is well.

    No, this isn’t Louis Catorze, although I’m sure that, when temperatures start to rise, we won’t be able to tear him away from the outdoors. This is Blue the Smoke Bengal. 

    Blue doesn’t live here. Nor does he live in the property where he is stationed (that’s Family Next Door’s place). However we’re not about to refuse a free night watchman, so it’s fine by us. 

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