louiscatorze.com

La menthe au citron vert

19/03/2016

In an effort to solve LimeGate, my latest “thing” is to pick Louis Catorze up and thrust him into people’s faces so that they can try to identify the source of the scent. Whether they want to or not.

Here are some of the reactions so far:

Friend 1: “Ooh, yes! Lovely and citrusy!”
Friend 2: “He smells very clean and fresh. Do you bathe him?” [I reminded her of his tendency to fight like a grizzly bear when cleaned or examined. She retracted her question.]
My mum: “I’ve got a cold, so I can’t smell anything.”
Cat Daddy, without looking up from his laptop: “Go away. I’m trying to work.”

Conclusion: inconclusive.

The single helpful piece of advice came from a friend who discovered that there is a lime mint plant; now, although I had heard of chocolate mint and apple mint, lime mint is a new one to me. And the thought of Louis Catorze writhing about in this plant is considerably easier on my nerves than the prospect of a cross person subjecting him to what is basically an acid attack (kind of).

All I need to do now is find out which neighbour owns such a plant. And work out whether a photo of Catorze, plus the words “Do you have a lime mint plant? And has this cat been trashing it? If so, please call us so that we may apologise personally and replace your squashed plant”, would all fit onto an A4 poster without looking too cramped.
Le Roi a quitté le bâtiment

15/03/2016

Someone was complètement épuisé on Monday night after a night out on the tiles. And when I say a night out, I mean literally the whole night out: the little sod slipped out unnoticed at The Front as Cat Daddy was putting some rubbish out on Sunday evening, and was stuck there until Monday morning.

I was alerted to Louis Catorze’s plight by pathetic, far-off, trapped-sounding wailing at 6:15 on Monday morning, just after my alarm went off. After searching the whole house, including in cupboards and boxes, I eventually found him outside the front door; he pitter-pattered in, freezing cold but up-tailed, then scurried upstairs and flopped onto the bed, where he stayed for some time.

“I wondered why he was still asleep when I got up for work,” Cat Daddy said later. “That’ll teach him. At least he’s too thick to have been scared.”

Cat Daddy wondered if we were to blame for this incident because our supervised Front sessions had given Catorze a taste for forbidden territory. However, I think they have helped him to understand where home is, and that we should be thankful both for that and for the fact that he stayed put instead of gadding about through TW8 and getting into scrapes. Louis Catorze had 8 undisturbed hours to explore his rich and varied neighbourhood – including a park, a couple of schools and the banks of the river Thames – to his heart’s content, yet the chances are he chose to spend the whole time with his arse parked on our doormat, howling like a freak. (Sorry, neighbours.)

Luckily, because he’s thick, I know that he will have forgotten it all by tomorrow. Let’s hope this makes him a little more wary of The Front, as opposed to kick-starting his curiosity …
D’où vient ce citron vert?

11/03/2016

Louis Catorze still smells of lime, and has done so ever since the day I first noticed it.

Whilst the smell has faded, re-intensified and faded again over time, it has never really gone away … suggesting that Le Roi keeps returning to the source. On some days it has been so strong that I haven’t bothered with the scented candles and have just let him pitter-patter about the house, with the sweet scent of lime wafting through the air.

I don’t mind this at all as I find it very pleasant, but it must be really annoying for the mysterious citrus parfumier. (My gut instinct still tells me that it’s a vexed neighbour who is trying, and failing, to keep the little sod away with lime-scented spray.)

Someone I know suggested attaching a mini camera to Louis Catorze, but those things are quite cumbersome even for normal-sized cats; with a CatCam around his neck I think our teeny-tiny boy would struggle even to lift his head, let alone rampage through TW8 angering neighbours. I also thought about plastering trees and lamp posts with “Has this cat been annoying you? If so, please call us so that we can apologise personally” posters, but Cat Daddy said he’d move out if I did.

Even Siri is at a loss (see photos).

So it seems we have no choice but to live with the lime, and to be grateful for the fact that Louis Catorze could be coming home covered in much, much worse; lime isn’t so bad, given the alternatives (i.e. blood, chemicals or anything brown).
Je suis légèrement moins drogué

07/03/2016

Just a quick update on Louis Catorze’s most recent vet visit and steroid shot. (If nothing else Le Blog helps me to keep track of the dates of these things.)

We decided to take him today as we had noticed the skin around his inner eyes thickening, which is usually the danger sign that things are about to turn to merde again. Once again he yowled and whinged throughout the whole procedure, but we are happy to report that his ears have improved, so he doesn’t need the ear drops anymore. And, because we had taken him in before the itching had fully set in, the vet was able to give the little sod a reduced dose of the steroid shot.

We wondered whether the lower dose would mean less psycho behaviour. But we weren’t left wondering for long: the minute we got back, Louis Catorze dashed straight out to annoy Oscar the dog. Oh dear.
La fête des mères

06/03/2016

Today is Mothering Sunday in the UK. I’m not one of those people who refers to my cat as my child, but nevertheless I made the most of starting my day with a long, peaceful lie-in and delightful, soft cuddles from Louis Catorze, who lay happily across my stomach like a living belt and waited patiently until I decided to get up.

Mothers of human children, on the other hand, will have had a harsh awakening at 6am with little feet stomping on their faces, and then been force-fed dry Cornflakes in bed, all the while pretending to enjoy it.

This is one of the many reasons why I love cats.
Felina non grata

05/03/2016

Does your cat have friends outside of your own household? And should I be concerned that Louis Catorze has none whatsoever?

When we lived at Le Palais he had heaps of buddies popping over. Some cats were positively welcomed (such as the delightful Cookie, aka The Chubby Siamese or Chubs, pictured here), others were merely tolerated, yet nobody was rejected outright, leading me to the conclusion that Louis Catorze is one of those cats who gets on well with other cats. This sounds like it ought to be inevitable but, trust me, there are some cats who don’t like any other cats at all. Our first cat, Nimbus, didn’t even like her own biological mother or siblings, and she used to hide round corners and jump out at them (in an “I want to kill you” type of way, not for fun).

But, since we moved to Le Château, and, despite us seeing a few cats during our visits when the renovation work was going on, Catorze has had something of a manque d’amitié. Obviously we’re glad that no unwelcome intruders are giving him hassle (apart from his mysterious adversary at Le Fight Club), but it’s peculiar to think that, in a street full of cats*, nobody seems to want to be Catorze’s copain. Luckily, because he’s thick, he doesn’t know this.

*Our neighbours include:
– Pensioner Pickles, a remarkably well-preserved calico cat in her 20s, who hates all other cats (including Louis Catorze)
– Titus the Biggest Cat in the World, an orange Maine Coon the size of an ox
– Catus Interruptus, a grey tabby who rudely barges between people trying to talk in the street and demands attention
– Rocky the Racist Ginge, who only gets along with all-black and tuxedo cats and who beats the crap out of other-coloured ones (including Titus)

Interestingly, when trying to explain to others what Louis Catorze’s skin condition looks like, Cat Daddy has always – completely unintentionally – pronounced it as “pariah-sis” instead of psoriasis. C’est une coïncidence?
Je m’occupe de Maman

29/02/2016

Can cats feel love? If they could speak, I doubt very much that they would be able to agree on what love is – after all, humans don’t. But Louis Catorze, who is usually a confirmed non-giver of shits, shocked me senseless this weekend by showing a sweet side of him that I have never seen before. (Cat Daddy says he sees it all the time, when they have Boys’ Club together after I’ve gone to bed. Good for him/them.)

Yesterday morning I slipped and fell on the stairs. (Mum, if you’re reading this, don’t worry: I AM FINE.) To my utter astonishment, the first person on the scene was Louis Catorze, who came hurtling through the cat flap upon hearing my scream and hovered around me, sniffing and nuzzling. He then pitter-pattered upstairs to his daddy, and my first thought was, “Typical: even in my hour of need, he’d rather be with his favourite human.”

But it turned out that the little sausage had actually gone to get help. Cat Daddy had been awakened by my yelp but later told me that Louis Catorze had been bouncing around the bed, seeming agitated. This photo shows nothing more than an incidental yawn, but I like to think Louis Catorze is screaming, “Papaaaaaa! Au secooooooours!”

“How weird that he heard you from outside, and that he came to fetch me,” Cat Daddy said.

And not only that but, having successfully alerted his daddy, he also pitter-pattered back downstairs and hung around to see how I was.

So, whilst I don’t know whether cats can feel love, it seems that even thick ones are capable of thinking, “You may only be my second favourite human, but I still want you to be ok.”
J’adore rouler

26/02/2016

As you know, after what happened to our darling Luther, we are very nervous about Louis Catorze being allowed out at The Front. However, recently he’s ramped up his efforts to escape in a big way: previously he used to bolt the minute anyone opened the door, but now he actually tries to trick us by casually and disinterestedly lounging when we open the door, waiting until our guard drops and THEN bolting. So clearly he’s not so thick.

Recently we’ve started to allow him very limited, supervised Front sessions on days when the traffic is quiet. My reasons for doing so are because I fear that the silly sod will accidentally end up stuck out there one day, and will be too stupid to know where his home is. Cat Daddy, on the other hand, is more concerned about the cultural enrichment of his boy; in fact, I have a video of him holding Louis Catorze up to the front window and saying, “There’s a whole world out there, Louis. I wish you’d take more of an interest in your surroundings!” (I can’t post the video here because Cat Daddy becomes exasperated with his boy’s inertia and says a rude word at the end.)

Unfortunately, the supervised access to The Front hasn’t really enhanced Catorze’s quality of life so far, because he doesn’t take the time to look; all he does is run outside chirping, roll around on the cold concrete (I KNOW) and come in again.

Cat Daddy filmed him recently (a still from that film is attached below), demonstrating that, quite frankly, they are both weirdos. I am just thankful that nobody wandering past saw either of them.
Les puces

24/02/2016

This is my 100th blog post! I’m quite astounded that an ordinary black cat who doesn’t do much has inspired me to write 100 times (and Cat Daddy says he is, too). To mark this auspicious event, what better subject matter than … flea treatment. Quel charme!

“Flea treatment?” said Cat Daddy, looking perplexed. “FLEA TREATMENT? As it’s your 100th post, shouldn’t you write about something … you know … a bit nicer?”

“Such as what?”

“Well, what has Louis done this week? Anything interesting or new?”

Silence, then tumbleweed, then crickets. So flea treatment it is.

If you’ve been following Le Blog since the beginning, you will know about Louis Catorze and tablets. Yes, I know. So you can imagine my joy when some clever person invented Broadline, an anti-worm and anti-flea combo-solution in liquid form that can be dropped onto the back of the neck and that negates the need for worming pills.

Catorze is pretty good with dropper-style flea treatment, due to being so thick that he has no idea it’s happening, even mid-splurge. Occasionally he gives me the look as if to say, “Erm, excuse-moi … did you just …?” but then reverts to, “Nah, never mind.”

The first thing that struck me about the Broadline was the size of the applicator: it’s like a snooker cue. There is zéro chance of hiding it in one hand and discreetly sidling up to Catorze, as I was able to do with the teeny tiny Advocate tube; he’s thick, but he’s not blind (although we did once have to get the vet to confirm, as we were genuinely unsure).

And, whilst the quantity of liquid claimed to be just 0.9ml, it looked like rather a lot. Oh dear.

Application time came and, as expected, Louis Catorze noticed and wasn’t hugely pleased. But he didn’t run and hide: in fact, he came into the living room and snuggled us both afterwards.

Here he is, with that telltale neck smear:

Someone suggested recently that perhaps Louis Catorze was FINALLY coming around to the fact that we do all these things to try to help him. I really hope this is true – although I suspect that he was actually trying to rub the Broadline off onto us.
Papa est déçu

20/02/2016

Last week Cat Daddy ordered a trendy little drinks trolley from a swish furniture website, and, ever since, he has been going on and on about it to anyone who cares (and a few people who don’t).

This morning he had to pop into work for a bit, and he came home with a huge package in his arms. “It’s here!” he cried, unable to contain his joy. “And, would you believe, the delivery driver arrived at work just as I was leaving! How about that for good timing?” He grabbed a pair of sharp scissors, sliced deftly through the sticky tape and pulled the lid open.

Inside the box was not a drinks trolley, but an enormous sack of Acana Pacifica cat biscuits.

Cat Daddy’s face crumpled and dropped. “What?” he faltered. “This?”

“Erm, didn’t you wonder why it was rattling so much when you were carrying it home?” I asked, pretending to wipe my nose with a big tissue to hide my laughter.

“Well, yes,” he replied, “but I thought it was just the polystyrene packaging Wotsits shaking around. I can’t believe I just carried THIS all the way home!” He sank onto the sofa, still in disbelief at the magnitude of this disappointment; never have I seen such utter heartbreak on his face.

And Louis Catorze couldn’t have chosen a better/worse moment to pitter-patter into the kitchen, tail aloft, sniff the sack of food and promptly pitter-patter out again, as if to say, “Merci pour l’effort, Papa, but you needn’t have bothered.”

I wanted to take a picture of the parcel and post it here, but Cat Daddy got all cross when I suggested it and I wasn’t allowed. But, before he was able to chuck the packaging out, I caught Le Roi exploring it:

No doubt when the trolley arrives – date to be confirmed – there will be further photos, this time with Catorze perched elegantly on top. (Cat Daddy got cross when I said that, too.)
Quelle est cette odeur agréable?

17/02/2016

Curious things are afoot once again at Le Château: last week, Louis Catorze trotted in through the cat flap, tail aloft, smelling from top to toe of lime essential oil, and he’s smelled of it ever since.

We pondered the following possible explanations:

1. He has been rubbing up against some sort of strange plant.
2. Someone who uses lime-scented body lotion or perfume has been snuggling him during the day, whilst we are at work.
3. He’s annoyed the crap out of some poor person, who has sprayed their surroundings with an anti-cat concoction after reading that cats hate citrus.

We like to think it’s option 2. But, knowing Louis Catorze, it’s far more likely to be option 3. We can understand someone being exasperated with him to the point of desperate measures; we know that feeling very well. And, judging by the lime dearth in the supermarket, it seems that Catorze is displeasing either all of the people some of the time, or some of the people all of the time:

Not that any of this bothers him in the slightest; he’s kite-high on his steroid shot so, to be quite honest, we could dunk him in anything right now and he wouldn’t notice or care. And it’s made cuddling him in bed so much more pleasant.

A friend of mine asked me how I felt about someone else snuggling Louis Catorze when we’re not around. I guess some people may not feel at ease with this, but, as long as he’s happy and he’s not being given any food, I don’t mind. I even thought about Sellotaping his Atopica and syringe to his body, with a polite note asking the unknown snuggler, while they’re about it, if they’d kindly oblige. Deux oiseaux, and all that.

The same friend also asked how I felt about the idea of someone spraying citrus all over the place to keep Catorze out. Cat Daddy chimed in, “If he’s even HALF as annoying to them as he is to us, I’ll hand them the spray myself.” Right.

I don’t suppose Le Mystère du Citron Vert will ever be solved – Roi mysteries never are, #becauseRoi – but, for now, I shall take heart in the fact that he’s never smelled better. Lime with a hint of flowers certainly beats his usual aroma of overripe-Brie-meets-dead-sheep.
Où est mon argent?

13/02/2016

I have a week off work, and I was so looking forward to sleeping late and drinking tea in bed with my 2 boys. Sadly, Catorze had other plans.

This morning we were woken at 8:00 by yelling (not for any real purpose, just for fun), then again 30 minutes later by the postman banging on the door to deliver a package that wouldn’t fit through the letterbox. When I went back upstairs to bed, Cat Daddy rolled over and murmured sleepily, “What was in the package? Don’t tell me it was more shit for that bloody cat?”

I did as he asked and refrained from telling him.

The “shit for that bloody cat” turned out to be anti-flea treatment and a further supply of Atopica, accompanied by an invoice for £103. We’re quite used to seeing enormous Catorze-related bills, so I wasn’t too concerned by this initially. But, when I transferred the £103 from our savings account into my current account to pay the invoice, I realised that le royal sick fund had definitely seen healthier days.

During the reign of Luther – who was once described by the vet as “a picture of health” – the fund flourished and grew to in excess of £800, because Luther never needed veterinary treatment apart from his routine booster jabs. His little brother, on the other hand, halved the fund within 18 months, and now it contains under £300. When I told Cat Daddy how much was left, he called Louis Catorze a rude, unrepeatable name and grumpily agreed that we would need to double up the monthly standing orders going from our current accounts into the sick fund.

I realise that this must sound like a request for money, but rest assured that it really isn’t. So please don’t donate to us or collect money on our behalf*, firstly because we knew what we were getting into when we took Catorze on, but also because he is one of the lucky ones whose slaves can just about manage. I have already mentioned elsewhere on this blog that cats cost money, but it’s worth repeating – and, whilst I would never discourage anyone from taking on a special needs cat, anyone considering it needs to hear the harsh truth about the cost.

The good news is that, if you take on a cat with known medical issues, the rescue centre will almost always offer discounted or free aftercare treatment; for instance, we get reduced-price Atopica if we buy it from Louis Catorze’s ex-rescue (yes, the eye-watering sum of £103 INCLUDED our discount!). If you’re struggling with a new diagnosis for a sick kitty, it’s always worth approaching rescues and animal charities and asking about cost-price medication, even if your cat came from elsewhere.

*Lilly’s Legacy, on the other hand, is a rescue group that helps stray and missing cats and is in desperate need of funding. If you would like to make a donation to cats who are genuinely in need, their PayPal account address is lillyslegacy@hotmail.com
Le Roi nous fait chier

09/02/2016

On dark, cold, moonless nights with howling winds, most people have the sense to remain indoors, especially if they’re not well. I, however, decided last night to leave the toasty-warm cocoon of Le Château and haul a protesting, itchy black cat to the vet for his steroid shot.

The vet is a lovely lady who is sweet to Catorze and talks to him gently in her cat lady voice, and, the last time we saw her, whilst he didn’t exactly behave impeccably, he did allow her to live. We were full of confidence about this visit as Le Roi is generally fine with injections; it’s the meticulous examination of orifices and membranes that he finds objectionable (can’t say I blame him), and that wasn’t on the agenda for the evening.

Luckily we’d got him there at about the right time, just as his condition was starting to turn but before it had reached the grimness of broken skin, weeping wounds and scabs. And that fact was pretty much the only positive.

Louis Catorze decided that, yes, he may well have tolerated les injections before, but that was before. This time he had changed his mind, struggling, kicking and hissing as if demonically possessed, with the three of us barely managing to contain him. The injection finally succeeded on the third or fourth attempt, with Louis Catorze fighting so hard that the needle came out bent at an angle. (I wanted a photo but refrained from asking in case it sounded insensitive.)

We couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. The vet suggested that perhaps Louis Catorze had been taken by surprise by the previous month’s shot, whereas this time he was recalling what had happened before and steeling himself for it. If this is true, it doesn’t bode well for what I had hoped would be dignified trips to the vet in lieu of thrice-weekly Atopica assaults. There is, apparently, the option of giving the injection under the skin as opposed to deep within the muscle (which is the painful bit), but it’s not as effective; if we’re bothering to drag his arse there and jab a needle into him, we may as well do it properly.

Little sod’s short-term memory appeared to work in his favour upon our return home; he trotted out of La Cage, up-tailed, and, ever since, has been happily pitter-pattering in and out of the house, annoying Oscar the dog, having cuddles on the bed and so on. I wish his treatment were as simple as his outlook on life.
Il faut qu’on parle de Louis

07/02/2016

Have you read the book – or, if you’re a low-brow pleb like me, seen the film – “We Need To Talk About Kevin”?

The title character is a boy who, throughout his life, is as sweet as a marron glacé to his father but a total monster to his mother, psychologically tormenting her and haunting her nightmares. The book/film culminates in Kevin murdering several of his classmates.

I am still ill. And Louis Catorze still doesn’t give a shit.

HE IS KEVIN.

“I don’t think this is true,” said Cat Daddy, reading this over my shoulder. “Louis can be monstrous with me at times, too.” Ok. That just makes it worse.

We had my cousin and her husband staying with us this weekend and Louis Catorze was all over them, purring, nuzzling and sleeping on their laps. I must admit I was mildly put out, but I thought, “My turn will come later.”

Nope.

When he came to bed with me last night, I thought that perhaps he had finally sprouted a goutte of feeling for his maman malade. But, the minute I sneezed, he meowed in disdain – yes, he actually VOICED his annoyance – and shuffled further down the bed, away from me.

Normally, when guests leave, they joke about me having to check their bags, such is their temptation to take our delightful little cat with them. This time, however, I was hovering awkwardly around my cousin’s Louis Vuitton and wondering how I could shove the little sod IN.