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.

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

    I have no proof of this because I wasn’t quick enough with my phone when it happened. Yet, since you know all the ridiculous things that Louis Catorze does, I can say this utterly fearlessly and without worry about being disbelieved or scorned.

    Cat Daddy started playing the guitar in the next room, and Catorze – who was on my lap – RETCHED. 

    I suspect that the little sod had not long since wolfed down a bowl of food too quickly. But it’s funnier to think his hatred of the Discordant Instrument of Doom is such that it triggers his gag reflex.

    Even if I tried a thousand more times, I would probably never be able to capture this on video. And, if I were to try, Cat Daddy might suggest helping me out by playing the guitar more often (trust me, nobody wants that). So here, below, is an old photo of Catorze, with a very similar head and mouth position to the one that I saw on that fateful, hilarious day.

    You’ll just have to imagine the sound: the standard cat puke warning signal as lead vocal, with a backing track of Eric Clapton.

    To be honest, Wonderful Tonight makes me want to puke, too.

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

  • Le baîllement-bavardage

    You have probably seen a cat yawn-meow, even though you are unlikely to have filmed it. But how about a yawn-chatter? 

    Yes, that’s right, a yawn-chatter. It’s when a cat’s bird-chatter utterance morphs into a yawn. 

    No? Well, I may be able to help you out there.

    When I was searching my phone for something else entirely (I can’t even remember what that was anymore), I found this video of Louis Catorze at it. Merely witnessing this is quite something. Catching it on camera is like seeing a UFO shower, the Loch Ness Monster and the aurora borealis, all at the same time. 

    This was filmed in October last year, and I am still perplexed at how I just FORGOT that I had evidence of such a wonder: 

    Sorry … what?

    You’re welcome.

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

  • Une livraison très spéciale 

    The Yodel delivery driver just dropped off a box of Orijen. He also dropped off Louis Catorze, who was out at The Front causing havoc. We had absolutely no idea that he’d escaped.

    Cat Daddy, who had answered the door: “The driver said Louis was screaming outside.”

    Me: “He didn’t actually say the word “screaming”, did he?”

    Apparently he did. 

    So now we can add Yodel to the list of people that we’re too ashamed to face ever again. 

    Because we didn’t know about the screaming chaos, we weren’t able to film it (although the Yodel driver probably did). However, here is an old video showing exactly how it must have looked and sounded: 

    No, I won’t sign for this parcel.

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

  • Plus c’est la même chose  

    The pitiful wailing in the video below was actually AFTER Louis Catorze had had a few minutes to calm down. When we first stuffed him into his transportation pod, his guttural screams were absolutely infernal, the kind that usually require an exorcist.

    How to make a three-mile journey feel like a trek across the world.

    Can you guess where we were going? 

    Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: it was steroid shot time, so we were off to Catorze’s least favourite place in the world. 

    The little sod is the same weight as he was the last time. The vet asked us about his eating, drinking and toileting and, usually, we aren’t really able to comment much on the last one as Catorze always goes to the bathroom outside (we hope). However, this time Cat Daddy was able to confirm his boy’s substantial poos as he actually witnessed one just before our appointment, right on our rhubarb patch. (“Eurgh, I can actually see it coming out!” Well, nobody’s forcing you to look.)

    Guests: if Cat Daddy offers you any home-grown rhubarb, say no.

    As ever, it was stony silence in the car all the way home; Catorze only ever screams on the way there, never coming back. And he spent the rest of the afternoon whining at Cat Daddy and clawing his arm when he wasn’t quick enough in dishing out the cuddles. 

    I’m somewhat heartened by the fact that Catorze hasn’t lost any more weight, so at least his downward spiral seems to have come to a halt. Let’s hope that the spring will see him chubbing up. 

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

  • Ce qui est mouillé ne craint pas la pluie

    What advice would you give to your teenage self?

    Since Louis Catorze is a teenager right now (in human years, anyway), his advice to himself remains current, and is: “Keep them guessing.” The little sod adheres rigidly to this motto, every single day; Cat Daddy and I are perpetually left wondering what the hell.

    (That last sentence is complete, by the way. Not “… what the hell something something”. Just “… what the hell”.)

    After eating his evening meal – well, one of his many evening meals, since the greedy guzzler just can’t seem to stop scoffing lately – Catorze went into the dining room to gad about. This is quite normal, and we are used to hearing paper rustling and things being knocked around as he parkours. However, on this occasion, the little sod emerged WET. 

    There is absolutely no accessible liquid in that room, apart from my massive jars of kombucha which are far too heavy for a 2.83kg cat to upend. Those jars are still intact and exactly as I left them, and everything else is in sealed bottles. So where did the liquid come from? And – shudder – WHAT IF IT’S NOT WATER?

    Cat Daddy’s theory is that perhaps Catorze “purred all over himself”. He has a tendency to dribble whilst purring – Catorze, I mean, not Cat Daddy – and the idea of him having so much fun trashing the dining room that he purred throughout, whilst completely absurd, is not entirely impossible.

    I still haven’t been brave enough to investigate the nature and location of the spillage/leakage. That said, it wouldn’t surprise me not to find a single trace, leaving me forever wondering exactly what happened in that room to my silly cat who is old enough to know better. 

    Weirdo.

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

  • Au printemps de quoi rêveras-tu? 

    When British people say, “The weather is getting warmer”, what they probably mean is that it’s 0.01°C less cold than it was yesterday. This time, however, Louis Catorze can feel it. And the little sod has been outside for hours. 

    Catorze absolutely LOVES being outside, and his favourite spot is his plinth underneath the outdoor table. It gives him a better vantage point than just being on the ground, plus he’s cushioned and protected from the rain. And, in the event of other animals rocking up and things going awry, he’s close enough to the house to be able to dart back quickly. 

    (Catorze would be more inclined to stay and fight than retreat, much to Cat Daddy’s joy and my disappointment. Still, the retreat option is there, should he choose it. Which he won’t.)

    I can’t take a picture of him on his plinth because, when he hears me approaching, he runs to greet me, chirping and trilling. But here’s a picture of him taken last summer, making the most of his happy place: 

    Loving life (whilst meowing at me to get lost).

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

  • Et Dieu créa l’homme  

    Who are your favourite people to be around?

    Louis Catorze loves men. Family members, friends, tradesmen, random passers-by in the street, whoever. He’s not fussy; any man will do.

    We have no idea how a cat can know what a man is and what a woman is, but he does. And, whenever we have company, he heads for the male guests like a heat-seeking missile. Even when in Le Cône and off his nut on Gabapentin, he was able to drag himself off a female friend’s lap and onto that of her husband.

    Here is just a small selection of the men that Catorze has loved: 

    • Cat Daddy (of course) 
    • Dog Daddy 
    • Cocoa the babysit cat’s daddy 
    • Cocoa the babysit cat’s human brother 
    • Daddy Next Door
    • That Neighbour 
    • The pub landlord*
    • The pub landlord’s son*
    • Matt and Dave, the removal men
    • Basil the locksmith 
    • Chris the heating engineer 
    • Leo, who delivered our Christmas tree
    • Our friend, who let himself in with a key that we’d left outside for him**
    • Multiple Ocado delivery drivers (but Krzysztof driving the Lemon Van was his favourite)
    • The bloke who fixed the dishwasher 

    *They came here, by the way. Catorze didn’t go to the pub, although we’re sure that he’d have an absolute blast if he were to do so.

    **This event proved that, in the event of a burglary, Catorze would either be worse than useless (cuddling the burglars) or a very effective deterrent indeed (annoying the merde out of them enough to make them abort their mission).

    Ladies: if you fancy meeting Catorze but want his full attention, come alone. Seriously, if you bring a man with you, he’ll bid you a friendly bonjour upon arrival, then spend the rest of the visit all over your male companion. 

    Gentlemen: just come on over. How can you resist this inviting little face?

    “Où sont les hommes?”
    Royal Mail don’t mention miscreant cats on their website, so that must mean we’re all good, non?

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

  • La couverture lestée

    One of my lovely friends sent me a weighted blanket as a recovery present. (The one and only good thing about recovering from surgery is that people send you some really good stuff.)

    If you’ve never heard of one of these before, it’s exactly as it sounds: a blanket that’s heavier than it looks, due to lots of little weights – in this case, glass beads – that have been sewn into it. It’s supposed to aid recovery and good sleep, although if you live with a cat who has a penchant for 3am parkour – a couple of nights ago, he knocked the red lamp off the bedside table in the middle of the night – then that probably negates all the benefits. 

    The blanket was for ME. Yet we all knew that this would happen, didn’t we? 

    Just make yourself comf- … oh right.

    Yes, Louis Catorze absolutely loves it, merci for asking.

    He already has multiple sleeping spots. But you already know this, don’t you? And so does he. 

    Attacking someone through the weighted blanket is also great fun.

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

  • Plus sucré que le miel

    What’s your favourite sweet?

    Remember cats and jigsaw puzzles? Remember cats and Lego? Well, look at what we have here: a little Roi having a nap on a paper bag. Nothing to see here, right? 

    So multiple beds are not enough?
    Ok. I’ll take that as a “no”.

    Except that in that paper bag is Cat Daddy’s stash of chocolate honeycomb bites from the worthy, plastic-free bulk foods store. A more addictive version of a Crunchie bar, if you will. 

    Cat Daddy: “[Unrepeatable Expletives of the Worst Kind.]”

    Just to clarify, Louis Catorze has AMPLE places to sleep. At the time of taking this photo, his igloo, my lap, my massive, body-length, post-op pillow AND our ruinously-expensive Harris Tweed cushions, all of which are favourite Catorzian sleeping spots, were available. 

    The bag of chocolate honeycomb bites has now been rescued, its squashed contents eaten, and Catorze is behaving perfectly normally – well, as normal as can be, by his standards.  

    How long will this last? Probably until his papa gets a brand new bag.  

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

  • On peut connaître la vertu d’un chat en observant ses défauts 

    Last week I went for an acupuncture session, to help me recover from the after-effects of my surgeries. Through complete coincidence, it turns out that the acupuncturist lives in our street. This kind of thing happens a lot in our town. 

    After my treatment, the acupuncturist messaged me to remind me to keep warm afterwards. I replied, saying, “I have the best hot water bottle: a little black cat.”

    Why am I so stupid? Louis Catorze has form for causing trouble in our street, so why would I say this to someone living in the same street? It’s certainly killed stone-dead any opportunity to be able to say, “It must have been some other black cat” in the future.

    It’s too late to take it back, isn’t it? My best hope – in fact, my ONLY HOPE – is that Catorze just behaves from now on.

    Here are a few of his past neighbourhood idiocies – or, rather, the past idiocies that we know about: 

    Merde.

    Saint Jésus.

    Quel horreur. 

    Yikes.

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

  • Quand je n’ai pas de bleu, je mets du rouge 

    Every night, Louis Catorze comes to join me for a session with the red lamp. We both lie in bed together, watching its colours dance across the walls and ceiling, before falling asleep. 

    I can’t prove this, but somehow I feel that the magical powers of the red lamp help me to fall asleep more quickly. And I swear that it makes a difference to Catorze, too. It may well just be a placebo but, if it’s a placebo that makes him appear to calm the heck down, I’ll take it. 

    When Cat Daddy comes to bed, an hour or two after me, he creeps in silently and turns off the red lamp. The next day, he usually tells me that Catorze was still asleep beside me at lights-out time. 

    The lamp somehow makes Catorze’s fur look blacker, so I’m thinking about a red backdrop for his next photo session. The red living room carpet, despite being shredded and ruined by Catorzian claws, would be perfect. Or perhaps the sight of the little sod lounging in a pool of his enemies’ blood would be more appropriate?

    Creepy little sod.
    Kittenish, but still creepy.
    The red carpet, before he scratched it to smithereens.

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

  • Il y a la vie dans le vieux chat encore 

    Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?

    No. None whatsoever. 

    Every time I start to think Louis Catorze is too old for one of his usual pastimes – catching mice, ambushing Ocado delivery drivers, picking fights with the local wildlife, that kind of thing – he proves me wrong. In fact, bragging about the fact that he’s finally calming down and giving me some peace virtually guarantees that he will pull some stupid stunt immediately afterwards, just to spite me.

    Racing around trashing the house is another thing that I thought would be a thing of the past. Yet here he is, soon to be fifteen years old, still at it. Whatever “it”’ might be:  

    He’d better tidy up after himself.

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

  • Quand le rêve est trop long, le réveil est brutal 

    My 6:45am alarm didn’t go off on Wednesday. Luckily I was realised that something was amiss when I heard my phone buzzing with text notifications, which are only set to come after 7am.

    When I checked through my schedule to find out what had gone wrong, I saw that my alarm was set for three of my four working days, and Wednesday morning simply said, “No alarm”. I have no idea how I managed to do that. Nor do I know how I was able to get up on previous Wednesdays if there was no alarm. 

    When I realised I was late and rushed downstairs, I found Louis Catorze on the top step, in loaf pose, just sitting there, getting in my way and making me even later (only by a couple of seconds but it’s the principle).

    The little sod always wakes me, without fail, between 6am and 6:45am, whether or not there is an alarm. On days when I really need my sleep because I have something important planned, he wakes me from 3am onwards, at fifteen-minute intervals. However, on that fateful Wednesday, he didn’t. 

    WHY? It’s as if he were deliberately trying to sabotage me.

    Oh, right.

    Bastard cat.

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

  • Je crache sur ton chat 

    And in today’s episode of Unidentified Crud Found On My Cat, we have … well, what exactly DO we have? Nobody knows. Nor does anyone really want to get close enough to find out. 

    Louis Catorze came in from outside looking like this:

    Good grief.

    We think the offending substance could be any one of the following: 

    1. Slug/snail juice.
    2. Bird shit.
    3. “Maybe someone finally had enough and spat on him” (Cat Daddy’s suggestion).

    All are contenders but, somehow, the idea of Catorze annoying someone so much that they resorted to spitting on him, although both repulsive and weird, is also understandable. We’ve never done it, of course. Mainly because we didn’t think of it. 

    I ought to be used to Unidentified Crud Found On My Cat, since Catorze’s big brother Luther would come indoors covered in all sorts, including bright green powder (below) and a film of translucent jelly that pulsed and moved. 

    We never found out what this was.

    However, I still couldn’t quite bring myself to clean the Catorzian mess, especially as Catorze would have fought me every step of the way. So Cat Daddy was the hero on this occasion and spared me the headache. (And, of course, the little sod didn’t fight his papa. He didn’t so much as squeak.)

    Mesdames et Messieurs, IT IS STILL WINTER. What is Catorze going to be like in the warmer months, when he’s spending more time outdoors and there is more Unidentified Crud to be discovered?

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