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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.

  • La chatière

    There has been a cat flap malfunction here at Le Château. Whilst it still permits Louis Catorze to come and go as he pleases, it now makes a buzzing sound as he passes through. I had intended to contact Sureflap to ask them how to stop it, but I’ve had so much to do that I’ve not had a chance. That said, it doesn’t seem to be bothering him in the slightest; in fact, it’s quite funny hearing it and imagining Louis Catorze swiping his security pass and buzzing himself in.

    Hearing it throughout the night doesn’t amuse us quite so much, though. It’s not especially loud – certainly not loud enough to permanently disturb our sleep – but it’s certainly made us aware of how many times Louis Catorze goes in and out whilst we’re asleep. He used to spend the whole night in our bed with us, but recently he’s become more adventurous and he’s started to go gadding about outside between 11pm and 6am. Occasionally he’s on our bed when we wake up but, more often than not, he’s still outside. Then, after I leave for work, he returns to bed, clambers all over Cat Daddy and hollers in his ear, and I receive a flurry of annoyed texts calling Louis Catorze some very rude names and threatening to lock him out all night.

    There was something reassuring about knowing that our boy was with us all night, and I feel distinctly less comfortable at the prospect of him gallivanting around the neighbourhood. But, short of locking him in overnight (which I know he would hate), there’s not much I can do about it. The fact that The Back is very enclosed, far from cars and dogs, comforts me a little. As does the fact that Louis Catorze is too stupid to get into any proper trouble.

    So, unless he comes home shredded to smithereens or otherwise traumatised, I think I shall just leave him to it. I can’t say I see the appeal of the cold autumn outdoes versus a cosy, warm anti-allergy bed with eye-wateringly expensive John Lewis duvet cover, but then I don’t suppose this will be the last time Louis Carorze does stupid shit that nobody can understand.

  • J’adore mes invités

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    This weekend Louis Catorze had another visit from one of his many internet admirers. Cat Daddy rolled his eyes when I told him of this lady’s impending arrival. “Not because I mind people coming,” he said, “but because it must be such a massive anti-climax for them when they see Louis.”

    Excuse-moi?

    “They’re probably too polite to say, ‘We came all the way here for THIS?’” he continued. “And I don’t suppose it’s possible for them to post a message on the forum warning others not to bother coming, without you reading it too. So there’s going to be a perpetual stream of people coming, feeling disappointed and then leaving. Like being trapped in an eternal cycle of samsara without ever reaching nirvana.”

    At this point I had to Google what the heck he was on about, hoping to catch him out by saying, “Actually, samsara is Hindu but nirvana is Buddhist” or some such thing but, annoyingly, he appeared to have got it right.

    I told Cat Daddy that everyone who had visited Louis Catorze thus far had found him nothing but delightful (although this is probably because, when he’s feeling unwell and anti-social, I don’t have people round). “In that case, we should give everyone something to make their pilgrimage worthwhile,” Cat Daddy said. “Like those rosaries and trinkets that they sell at Lourdes. I think it would be hilarious to arm all the cat freaks in London with Louis Catorze stuff.”

    Ok, so … you think people would be disappointed by our cat so, to compensate them, you wish to give them a keepsake of said disappointing cat? A keepsake in the style of a SAINTLY RELIC? There is no logic whatsoever in that, yet I do agree that it would be funny. A little creepy, and the kind of thing that some sort of subversive cult leader would do, but also funny.

    So I shall happily take suggestions from Le Roi’s followers: what sort of merchandise would make you feel adequately recompensed for an “anti-climactic” trip to TW8? Fridge magnets? Key rings? Prayer candles? Do please reply and let us know. And, if you have already visited him, don’t worry: retrospective gifts can be sent to you so that you don’t miss out, even if you have come from overseas.

    Oh my. So one day Louis Catorze is washing his arse and puking on the floor, and the next he’s being deified. No doubt this would seem weird to most but, when it comes to him and his ridiculous life, tout est possible.

  • Je dîne, donc je suis

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    We had an early morning miracle today. Whilst I was pouring Louis Catorze’s biscuits into his plate, he heard the sound from wherever he was and came running. This has never, EVER happened.

    This is a cat who doesn’t like food. By that I don’t mean particular food, human food or whatever: I mean food, full stop. It’s made training him to do things pretty much impossible as we can’t use food as an incentive, and anyone who heard me talking about the infamous Cat Flap Diaries last year will confirm that enticing him through the cat flap with some nice fish just wasn’t feasible.

    When others speak of 5am alarm calls, or being unable to eat certain foods unless they stand on a chair in the middle of the room or lock their cats away, it’s like an alien world to me. My boy lies patiently with us until we get up and, when we do, he tends not to go for his plate first thing. And I can leave any food anywhere, knowing that he won’t go near it. In fact, sometimes I put my dinner on the floor and leave the room, just because I can.

    Over the last month or so I’ve been gradually phasing in Louis Catorze’s posh new food. They suggest around 2 weeks in total to change foods but, because my cat is thick, weird AND dislikes food, the slower the better, so he’s only just got onto 100% new food. And, because of my stealthy and barely perceptible mini-increments, the little sod didn’t notice.

    I wonder whether it’s the food that has brought about this sudden interest in eating, or whether he has simply remembered that he’s a cat? Which begs the question: what did he think he was before?

  • La Saison du Chat Noir

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    The Season of the Black Cat (not officially a “season” but just something I’ve made up) is well under way; temperatures are slowly dropping, leaves are turning crimson and gold, and black cats are gadding about with irrepressible energy, driving their humans insane. Do they know something is up and that the countdown to their special day – or TWO special days, if you count National Black Cat Appreciation Day for UK kitties on 27th October – has started? Louis Catorze, despite not being the brightest étoile, certainly seems to have picked up on a new wave of energy. Or maybe he’s just being a shit.

    This weekend saw the return of Halloweekend, an annual tradition during which my sister and I get together to watch scary films, do Halloween craft things, eat seasonal food and generally make the most of this glorious season. This year was the first Halloweekend at Le Château, so she was excited about coming over and being able to snuggle a real-life black vampire kitty. And, luckily, my dear boy did not disappoint.

    After initially keeping his distance due to the double whammy of being medicated AND de-flead – he may be thick, but he knows he is never usually ambushed twice so it took him somewhat by surprise – he pitter-pattered around us as we made pumpkin spice almond milk lattes, nuzzled my sister as she sat cutting out autumn leaves and eventually settled on the sofa with us in the evening. My sister remarked on how his war wound made it easier to pick out his features in a darkened room. “You can orientate yourself by his fight scar,” she said. “Before, you couldn’t tell which end was which.”

    We have a packed October ahead of us at Le Château with birthdays, visits from more of Le Roi’s loyal subjects and all sorts of other exciting events, and we are so looking forward to it. If only there were a way to freeze time and make these moments last forever.

  • Jouez avec moi!

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    My boy is looking unbelievably good, with his fight wound (not pictured here as this photo is pre-fight) now looking less like the Eye of Sauron and more like an Indian bindi, and he’s got his little black cat mojo back: he’s affectionate, chirpy and full of beans. Sadly he’s also annoying the crap out of us with the noisy play fuelled by his new-found energy, which starts cranking up just as we’re going to bed and peaks between 3am and 4am. Cat Daddy is so ticked off with him that he’s threatening to shut him out of the bedroom, but he’d only yowl to get in and/or find some bubble wrap from somewhere to make enough noise from elsewhere in the house.

    He has always been one to take or leave play but, ever since the lovely toys gifted by our guests from Switzerland, he’s been relentless. He’s somehow learned to request play by flopping next to his toys and making pathetic noises, and he does this several times a day, irrespective of how many times he’s already previously had play. It’s never enough. He has a 3-storey house to pitter-patter about in, scores of gardens at The Back and virtually unlimited play sessions, yet it doesn’t seem to wear him out. Nothing does. Just as our day slowly winds to a close, his seems to start with a huge power surge.

    If anyone is reading this and has any suggestions for synchronising our body clocks, please let me know. Or, alternatively, please come and take Le Roi away at 11pm and drop him off again at 7am. Whatever suits you.

  • Qui est l’adversaire mystérieux?

    Because I’ve been working late all week, and because Cat Daddy has been away for a couple of days, last night was our first chance to sit down together and talk about the vet visit. Whilst I’m glad that Louis Catorze didn’t make a spectacle of himself this time, I am mildly irritated that he behaved impeccably with his papa and yet is such a horror when I take him to the vet.

    Cat Daddy took him to a new local practice that we hadn’t visited before, and the vet was absolutely lovely to Louis Catorze, cuddling him and telling him what a brave boy he was. He sat beautifully through the shaving and cleaning of his wound, the weigh-in (he’s now 3.65 kg) the thermometer and the antibiotic injection, and was in such good spirits after getting home that he snuggled Cat Daddy all afternoon. Not even the faintest sniff of a sulk.

    Today, apart from the indignity of a bald spot in the middle of his forehead like the eye of a glaring cyclops, he’s perfectly fine. No sign as yet of his sparring partner, nor any clues as to whom it might be. All the most obvious suspects live too far down the street and I just don’t see them bothering to come here (and hell would freeze over before Louis Catorze moved his arse to get to them), so I think we’re in for a long wait before we solve that mystery.

    (No photo as Le Roi refused to be photographed today.)

  • Je lutte, donc je suis

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    Happy autumn equinox to all pagans and pagan-sympathisers! This is usually one of my favourite days of the year because it means that the whole of the glorious season of autumn, and the countdown to Halloween – the ultimate celebration of the black cat – are ahead of me and still to be enjoyed. However, on this occasion I’m a bit ticked off because a certain little sod has an infected wound and has had to go to the vet.

    Cat Daddy was working from home today and noticed that Louis Catorze wouldn’t stop licking and scratching the top of his head. Then, when he sent me a photo (too disgusting to feature here, hence why I’ve used a pretty autumnal flower instead), I knew he would need an antibiotic shot, so off to the vet they went. To his shock, Cat Daddy was told that the shape and position of the wound made it very likely to be a fight injury.

    I almost fell over when he broke the news to me. Fighting is just so … well … VULGAIRE. I thought I’d raised my boy better than this. What’s more concerning is that, although our neighbours have reported seeing Louis Catorze in their garden “having a stand-off with a very pretty tabby”, we’ve only ever seen one other cat in our garden on one occasion during our first couple of weeks at Le Château, and not a single cat since. With whom is he fighting? Where? And how on earth can I do anything about it if I don’t see it?

    Luckily Louis Catorze remains utterly unbothered both by the vet visit and the wound (and, presumably, the fight) but I’m going to have to keep an eye on him. Clearly my theory about him being too stupid to get into trouble is wildly inaccurate.

  • Faites vos dévotions à moi!

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    It’s been another eventful weekend at Le Château. First of all, the onset of autumn has meant a glut of daddy long legs(es?), so Louis Catorze has been busy catching and eating them. Despite being a bit dim in most areas of life, he is surprisingly adept as an insect- and arachnid-hunter and has even been known to leap from laps, shoot across the room in semi-darkness and gulp down some hapless creature that was minding its own business on the opposite wall. And, just as wildlife photographers don’t interfere when a Thomson’s gazelle meets its end at the hands of a predator in the Serengeti, I stay out of it and let nature take its course.

    Louis Catorze also had a visit from another of his loyal subjects, who had read about him online and wanted to experience the warmth of the Sun King first-hand. These visits are starting to become a regular thing, which is most delightful for all of us at Le Château, and they have even been likened to pilgrimages, with reverent followers coming from near and far to bestow blessings in the form of cuddles and toys.

    Cat Daddy snorted with laughter at the idea of our boy becoming a sort of latter-day Notre Dame/Seigneur de Lourdes, and said, “He’s a scraggy, black runt! What POSSIBLE benefit could anyone reap from coming to see him?” Well, the fact is they continue to come; we have 2 more visits lined up next month, and I daresay there will be more after that. If people can be so inspired by an unremarkable-looking, special needs black cat, I see that as a major coup in the battle against black cat prejudice which currently sees them as the least popular and last-picked of all cats.

    Health-wise, Louis Catorze is continuing to remain allergy-free, although both Cat Daddy and I sense that this run of good fortune is soon to end. That’s just the way it goes with our boy, with good and bad episodes coming and going in cycles, but I’m always on the lookout for the next thing that could help him. A very kind friend and Roi-enthusiast recently recommended rooibos and chamomile as possible soothers of irritated skin and, with Cat Daddy and I both being tea lovers, we have heaps of both in our kitchen. So, whenever it may be that things start to go bad again, we’re ready with a new weapon of choice.

  • L’eau potable

    I’ve finally plucked up the courage to look in the gross bucket from which Louis Catorze was drinking, and it’s full almost to the brim with … soil and gravel. Yuck.

    Cat Daddy was most unhelpful when I informed him.

    Me: “I’ve looked in the bucket, and guess what?”
    Him, not looking up from his laptop: “What bucket?”
    Me: “The one Louis has been drinking from.”
    Him: “Right.”
    Me: “Well, don’t you want to know what’s in it?”
    Him: “Ok. What’s in it?”
    Me: “Soil and gravel.”
    Him: “That’s good, isn’t it?”
    Me: “Is it?”
    Him: “Well, the water will be nice and clean, won’t it, after filtering through it?”

    Sigh. It was clearly pointless trying to prise him away from the football results to explain that the water would only be filtered if it came out of the BOTTOM of the bucket, and Louis Catorze had been drinking from water that had collected at the TOP. So I just gave up.

    A quick straw poll among my cat-freak friends revealed 2 things:

    1. A gravelly bucket is by no means the worst place to drink from
    2. I have zero control about what the little sod does when I’m not around, so fretting about it is pointless

    So I’m just going to leave Louis Catorze to it, although I have squeezed a few drops of his bioenergetics remedy into the bucket for at least a faint semblance of goodness. Ha.

  • Le Roi a soif: vive Le Roi!

    I’ve been concerned about Louis Catorze’s water intake lately. Cat Daddy broke the royal pint glass a little while ago so we’ve had to replace it with a wine glass, but we’re not convinced that our boy is using it enough. I agonised for ages about why this could be: could it be the size/height? Or perhaps the glass was in the wrong position? (Most cats aren’t dumb enough to allow themselves to disintegrate into dry dust rather than take a sip from a moderately unsatisfactory glass, but this is Le Roi we’re talking about.)

    I changed the wine glass to one of those hi-ball tumbler things: no. I tried a smaller wine glass: also no. I even tried Cat Daddy’s special Hoegaarden beer glass, which didn’t make me very popular, yet Louis Catorze was still pretty blasé about it; sometimes he’d drink a few sips, but a lot of the time he’d just sniff it and walk away.

    I was beside myself with worry and having nightmare visions of his organs shutting down one by one through dehydration. Then, this morning, I saw this:

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    Ugh. I don’t even know what’s in this bucket – and I’m too afraid to look – but I know that we didn’t bring it to Le Château. This means it was here before we moved in, and has probably been here for years.

    WHY?

    (Why would he do this, I mean. Not why has the bucket been here for years.)

  • Je suis en bonne santé!

    Louis Catorze has been high on the attention from his visitors since the weekend, racing about, constantly demanding attention and generally being a pain in the arse. However, yesterday he was brought rapidly back down to earth with a trip to the vet, for the vaccinations that he was unable to have the last time.

    I wasn’t able to take him so he went with Cat Daddy instead. After the previous shockers that we’ve had, I had expected something like the apocalypse, only worse … but I’m happy to report that all went well. Apart from a minor waiting room débâcle in which he roused his other feline comrades into some sort of mass sing-song/protest session, the whole experience was without incident.

    The vaccinations took place smoothly, his temperature and weight were fine (he’s put on another 150g and now tips the scales at a portly 3.6kg), and overall the vet was delighted at his improvement. In fact, she told Cat Daddy, “Is this really Louis? As in, skin problem Louis? I can’t believe how much better he looks!” Better yet, there was no Post-Vet Sulk upon getting home; in fact, he was all over Cat Daddy, who was working from home yesterday, and annoyed the crap out of him all afternoon. Here he is having a rest from it all:

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    How lovely to have some good news for a change. We couldn’t be more thrilled.

  • Le Roi de la jungle

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    Le Roi was thoroughly spoiled at the weekend by his visitors from Switzerland and is still basking from the glow of the wonderful time that he had. There were gifts, there were cuddles, there were endless photographs, and somehow, through the toys he was given, he seems to have rediscovered his joie de vivre. He is truly a pleasure to be around at the moment (apart from at 4am this morning, when I wanted to strangle him).

    He seems to be spending more time in the garden here than he ever did at Le Palais. I’m not sure whether it’s liking the feel of the extra soil under his little feet, or the fact that he has encountered zero other cats so he feels like the true Roi du Château, but he is often out there, just sitting in the flowerbed and watching butterflies and bugs go by.

    The prospect of making our garden more Catorze-compliant looks as if it’s going to be more troublesome than we’d originally anticipated, because the list of plants that are toxic to cats is IMMENSE (thank you to Suzanne for providing the list):

    http://icatcare.org/advice/poisonous-plants

    If you have a cat and you also have some of these plants, don’t panic: apparently they only really pose a problem if your cat is stupid enough to roll in them or chew them. Unfortunately, ours is.

    The most easily identifiable was the hydrangea (the pink one to the right of the photo), to which, naturellement, Louis Catorze is irresistibly drawn; he has even been known to shelter under it during storms. (Most cats would just come indoors, but ours is a bit different.) Luckily that was easy to remedy as the plant is in a pot, so it was moved to The Front where Louis Catorze isn’t allowed to go. We have quite a few euphorbia dotted around, which will go as soon as my mum is able to come over and dig them up for her own garden.

    We had intended to have beautiful amethyst wisteria cascading down the walls of the house at both The Front and The Back but, having seen that it’s on the list, those plans are shot to pieces and we will now only be able to have it at The Front. Wisteria is Cat Daddy’s favourite plant in the world, so he was most displeased by this, and he spent yesterday afternoon gazing mournfully at garden websites and muttering stuff under his breath. (I couldn’t hear what he was muttering, but it seems he was channelling the spirit of the Egyptian cat goddess, Bastet – I think I heard her name a few times.)

    We don’t really know enough about plants to know whether we have anything else that’s on the list, so I guess that will be a super-long-term work in progress, especially as new things spring up as the seasons change and we have no idea what’s going to appear over the next year or so. If you are a gardener and you think you can spot any offenders in my photo, please let me know.

  • Bienvenue à mon château!

    I mentioned in the “About Le Roi et moi” section of this blog that he is more popular than we are, and I wasn’t kidding: this weekend a visitor from Switzerland is coming all the way to Le Château just to see him. This fabulous lady, despite living in another country, has been charmed by my boy’s ridiculous antics and is one of his greatest and most valued supporters; “an audience with the Sun King” is what was requested, although what she will actually get is anyone’s guess.

    “The Sun King?” Cat Daddy said, incredulous. “SUN KING? Your poor friend is going to be so disappointed. He’s just a scraggy, thick, black runt who does nothing.” THAT’S THE IRONY OF IT. It would be far too predictable to expect the Sun King to be a big, strong, imposing Maine Coon; the appeal of Le Roi lies in the juxtaposition of the royal title with his unassuming and understated appearance. And has anyone noticed that not only are mob bosses and underworld kingpins always unassuming and understated, but they have the big, strong, imposing guys working for THEM?

    Anyway, Le Roi awaits his guest with delight (see below for his delighted face). A bientôt!

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  • La cuisine canadienne

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    Louis Catorze’s fancy new food has arrived, and I have successfully destroyed the receipt so that Cat Daddy will never know how much it cost. When I was ordering it I made the mistake of reading the description to Cat Daddy, and he was so aghast that he spat tea all over his laptop. “Imported from Canada?” he spluttered. “IMPORTED? FROM CANADA? He’s a cat!” Then I reminded him that he was the one who instructed the builders to put an extra pillar in the kitchen just so that Louis Catorze could have a feeding station, and he shut up.

    There are many types of cat food on the market, and deciding which are good and which aren’t is down to personal choice, but there are 2 ingredients that I really feel cats could do without:

    1. Grains. They don’t do anything for cats – nor for humans, come to think of it.
    2. Sugar. Just NO. Quite frankly, I would rather give Louis Catorze heroin than sugar.

    My boy has the added problem of needing to avoid rabbit, flax, fennel and egg, which appear in a surprising number of foods. So, whilst it may seem absurd that we’re on a constant mission to reduce the miles travelled by our own food when our cat’s food has been flown from across the world, trying to find one without the troublemaking ingredients really wasn’t that easy. Acana Pacifica was virtually the only one.

    When getting your cat to eat a new food, apparently the trick is to mix it in gradually with the old one; not only is kitty less liable to get an upset stomach, but this also means that the little sod is less likely to refuse it after all the pains you have taken to find it. So I did exactly this with Louis Catorze – 10% new food to 90% old food to start with – and I was met with the “And what the hell is THIS shit?” look.

    Oh dear. What are the chances of a cat who doesn’t like food, eventually getting hungry enough to eat food he has previously refused?