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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.

  • Les phénomènes de petite hantise

    Cat Daddy and I escaped to the south coast on Saturday, leaving Louis Catorze in the care of Family Next Door, and I am writing this in the car on the way home. 

    We had hoped for a bit of a break from feline bullshittery. We didn’t get one. 

    The horror unfolded in our bedroom on Saturday night as follows, rather like the seven stages of poltergeist infestation: 

    1. The repeated, random ringing of a rogue cat collar bell whilst we slept.
    2. Unearthly feline screaming.
    3. The sound of a second feline voice, in stereo, indicating that another entity was present. 
    4. Objects in the room being moved by the two entities. 
    5. Footsteps walking up my body. 
    6. An incubus-like weight* settling on my chest, crushing my lungs.
    7. The disembodied voice of a child (aged six), investigating the proceedings in the darkness.

    *The offending party is only 4.5kg, but anything is an incubus-like weight compared to gossamer-light Catorze.

    The intervening niece informed me that the cats only ever screamed like that when they had brought in a gift, so I offered to help her look for it. However, when we went downstairs, she stepped into a pile of cat puke and was rendered immobile until I was able to find cleaning materials for her carpet and her foot.

    To add further insult to already-existing insult, her older sister then told us that the cats had been shut in all night, on account of their habit of bringing in undead wildlife and releasing it in the house. So there was no gift, and we had all got out of bed for nothing. 

    Here is Otis, the little sod who started it all: 

    Don’t trust that face.

    His sister, Roux, wasn’t available for comment or for photograph, no doubt because she had gone out hunting in protest at the overnight house arrest. 

    Since they’re all in this together, what’s the betting that Catorze will have behaved impeccably for his chat-sitteurs despite the last remaining dregs of the full moon yet to fade away, only to morph back into the psychotic beast that he is, the minute he hears our keys in the door?

    Cats: if they weren’t fluffy and cute, nobody would be stupid enough to put up with their shite.

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

  • La véritable horreur

    What book are you reading right now?

    One of my friends gave me the this Classic Tales of Horror anthology for my birthday.

    An absolute cracker of a read – or, rather, a cracking multitude of mini-reads.

    Every non-work morning – because some of the stories are too long to read in the short time I have before going to work, and I couldn’t cope with the suspense of not finishing one straight away – I read one story, whilst sipping my matcha latte, with Louis Catorze on my lap. 

    Catorze loves this book, too, mainly because it’s fun to nuzzle the corners of the hard cover (I allow him this) and to try to chew the ribbon bookmark (I don’t allow him this, but it doesn’t keep him from trying). However, I also think part of the appeal is trying to assert himself over it and remind it of exactly who is the creepiest of them all. Not even a conglomeration of the best classic horror literature in the world (Bram Stoker, Washington Irving and even a few of Catorze’s own countrymen such as Honoré de Balzac and Guy de Maupassant) could be creepier than Catorze. 

    Here he is, choosing his moment of ambush during exactly the right story:

    He wouldn’t … would he?
    He would. And he did.

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

  • Le sevrage brutal

    Louis Catorze’s new favourite place is atop the trellis which would have held our honeysuckle plant, had it decided to actually grow properly. 

    Bizarrely, Blue the Smoke Bengal has also recently decided that it’s his new favourite place. However, rather than surveying his kingdom, which is what Catorze does when he sits here, Blue is probably surveying us to see if we’ve returned his stash of catnip to its rightful place. 

    Unfortunately we haven’t. 

    So the poor boy is doomed to sit here, going cold turkey, forever. We can’t even give him a cheer-up cuddle because he runs away if we approach, despite being super-affectionate when he sees us at his own house. 

    Sorry, Blue. You’ll have to find a new supplier. 

    You’ve got to admire his optimism.

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

  • Les tiques et les puces

    Fair play to the good people of Felpreva, who replied very promptly to my email about Louis Catorze’s discoloured fur. These are the points that they made: 

    Following application of any topical spot-on treatment, there is sometimes a powdery white residual left behind; although this is normally brushed away or wiped away with a damp cloth once the application site is completely dry (usually >72hrs). I presume you have tried wiping this mark away previously with no success.

    Erm, no, I haven’t tried. Catorze absolutely won’t tolerate any kind of messing in his neck area, so there is absolutely no point.

    Cosmetic effects such as a temporary spiking of the hair at the application site are commonly observed, however we would not expect to see a colour change (unless temporary changes due to the residue, as mentioned above).

     So the likelihood is that it’s just a temporary external thing, rather than permanent damage? Ok. I can live with that. 

    The only other explanation we could possibly consider may be a ‘contact colour transfer’ – where your cat may have rubbed/brushed/slept against something white whilst the site of application was still wet and the liquid has subsequently reacted with the inorganic material causing transference of colour to your cat’s fur. 

    Ah. Bingo. Catorze is the king of trying to roll his spot-on onto whatever absorbent surface he can find, just to spite us. 

    Anyway, the white discolouration seems to be fading now, thank goodness. And, even when it was at its worst, it didn’t seem to be bothering Catorze. So I don’t need to worry about the little sod being bleached bit by bit until I finally end up with a Chat Blanc. 

    As you were, Mesdames et Messieurs. 

    Bastard (still-black) cat.

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

  • Ni manger, ni vivre (Partie 16)

    SAINT JÉSUS ET TOUS SES ANGES: Louis Catorze has just chugged down my matcha latte. And I don’t mean he licked a bit; I mean he had a good, long drink, like a parched desert horse who hadn’t seen water for a week. 

    I heard the slurping noises but, because it was dark and I was engrossed in a film, I thought he was just having a wash. By the time I realised what was happening, two minutes had passed. He didn’t consume much overall but, for a cat of 3kg, it was probably the equivalent of doing a line of coke.

    Having alternated between drinking lots of water and chasing imaginary (at least I hope they’re imaginary) prey, the little sod now seems normal. But I daren’t leave him alone in case he has a seizure and dies of caffeine poisoning.

    I also daren’t leave any drink alone, ever again. Whatever next? Strong coffee? Absinthe shots? You’ve already seen what he’s like without those things. Imagine him WITH them? 

    Actually, no, don’t imagine him with them.

    Cat Daddy, without looking up from his phone: “You do realise that cats aren’t meant to have caffeine?” Thanks for that. 

    Anyway, after a manic morning of screaming, attacking my feet and trying to chew through my phone charger whilst it was still plugged in, Catorze had a good old sleep and was then ready for more. More of what, exactly, we don’t know. More caffeine or more mischief? Yes and yes. 

    *EDIT: later that evening, the little shit wrestled me with all his might for my cupcake. When I gave him a piece a quarter the size of my little fingernail, to teach him a lesson, he ate the lot. Yes, including the icing. Oh God. 

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

  • Rester jeune en dépit des années, et même des cheveux blancs 

    I’m not complaining about the fact that I only have to give Louis Catorze his spot-on once every three months. Really, I’m not. But what a shame it seems to be bleaching/staining (we’re not sure which) his once-black fur.

    We fully expect the texture of the fur to change temporarily after application. We even expect the treated area to expand a thousandfold as the little sod tries to roll it off onto whatever absorbent surface he can. But this is very strange indeed:

    What? Why?

    I have written to the manufacturer to ask if this is normal. I’ve not told the vet yet, because they’ll only ask me to bring Catorze in – and, now that the local branch has closed for redevelopment, the thought of dragging his screaming arse all the way to Hounslow for a non-emergency really doesn’t appeal. His boosters are due in a couple of weeks, so perhaps we will mention it then. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the fur were to mysteriously turn black during the car journey there, only to revert back to white when we return home. 

    If anyone else has a Chat Noir/Foncé who has experienced the same thing with a spot-on treatment, I would love to hear from you. 

    Surveying his royaume, and not understanding all this fuss about his neck fur.

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

  • Possède la nuit comme le 5 novembre 

    Louis Catorze has survived Diwaliween / Bonfire Night / Firework Week / whatever you call a fireworky time when it’s meant to be short but ends up going on for ages.

    That’ll do for this year, merci s’il vous plaît.

    There have been further firework disturbances in and around TW8 since the night of the 31st but, since they were the tolerable bangy kind and not the ear-offending crackly kind, Catorze either slept through them or went out to investigate. This is good. 

    Le Château has also survived (so far) without a brick through the window, after Cat Daddy shouted at the lady who was using the crackly fireworks in the park. This is also good.

    Feeling rather less fortunate, however, is a friend from work who is Dog Daddy to Freda the Dachshund. He was kept awake throughout the night because, every time Freda heard fireworks, she felt compelled to announce the joyous news to the household. Every. Single. Time. 

    He showed me a video of one of the many incidents. 

    Me, whilst watching the video: “Is she scared or just offended? I can’t tell.”

    Him: “Neither. She’s loving it!”

    Me: “What?”

    Him: “Look at her tail!”

    It was true; Freda’s tail was going like the clappers. (Non-Brits: ask your British friends. That said, I’m British and I wouldn’t know how to explain what it meant.) 

    I was about to brag to my friend that my cat is a good boy who sleeps through fireworks and leaves me in peace. But then I remembered that Catorze wakes me up at random intervals throughout the night anyway, whether there are fireworks or not. Most of the time, we have no idea why. He just does it. 

    Here is Freda, informing her family for the 905th time that there are fireworks: 

    “You’ll never guess what I’ve just seen? Go on, have a guess!”

    (They already know, after the 904 previous times. She doesn’t care.)

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

  • Ticks and Fleas (The Ballad of Felpreva)

    Tumble out of bed and I stumble to the kitchen
    Time to stop my feline from itching
    I yawn and stretch and give Catorze a squeeze 
    Open the box and pull out the vial 
    Try to apply but miss by a mile
    Why’ve chumps like me got to bust those ticks and fleas?

    Busting ticks and fleas, what a way to spend a morning
    It should be a breeze, but it sends my heart rate soaring
    Someone help me please, try again but I keep missing
    It's enough to have him hollering and hissing

    Ticks and fleas, don’t want an infestation
    Everyone agrees it’s a nightmare situation
    There’s no guarantee that Catorze will let this happen
    I swear sometimes he hates me with a passion

    He lets me try just to watch me blunder
    Why do I bother, I often wonder 
    There’s ointment everywhere but on the cat
    If I succeed, then I’ve just gotta hope
    He won’t rub it off all over my clothes
    ‘Cause that stain will outlast the apocalypse, and that’s a fact 

    Busting ticks and fleas, what a way to spend a morning
    I’m now on my knees scrubbing down the wooden flooring
    Won’t you help me please, this cat’s stronger than a lion
    It's enough to have me throwing up and crying

    Ticks and fleas, yeah, he’s got us where he wants us
    There is no reprieve when he bullies and he taunts us 
    It’s a thankless task, I’m so tempted to say “Screw it”
    Maybe next time round Cat Daddy ought to do it 

    [Repeat last chorus until you successfully treat your cat or until s/he commands the forces of darkness against you, whichever happens first.]

    An old photo of a “successful” attempt.

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

  • 24 heures plus tard  

    What an eventful night we’ve all had.

    Cat Daddy and I made three kids cry, another drop his sweets in shock, and a third group scream so loudly that they scared Louis Catorze. Naturellement we broke character when we saw that our scares had been rather too successful, and we did the British thing of apologising profusely and giving them extra sweets to make up for it. 

    Until then, Catorze had been enjoying being carried to the door and shown off to the trick-or-treaters. But seven or eight kids all screaming in unison was beyond the pale, and the poor little sod fled. 

    Regretfully, after all these years of not minding fireworks, Catorze has inexplicably decided that, actually, he doesn’t like them after all. He wasn’t bothered about the bangy ones, but Cat Daddy reported that he was very agitated at the crackly ones that were set off in the park, twenty metres from Le Château. However, Catorze did calm down after Cat Daddy stepped outside and politely asked* the firework-users to go away**. And, when we were watching Bram Stoker’s Dracula, he put his paws on Cat Daddy’s chest and did a little growl, just at the moment when Dracula cuddles the wolf in the cinema.

    *He wasn’t that polite.

    **Not the actual words used.

    Bonfire Night is on a Tuesday, but no doubt there will be fireworks all weekend (and probably a brick through our window, too). Let’s hope Catorze won’t require the terrifyingly long list of Firework Hygiene measures that the animal charities recommend. 

    A bit of light reading to relax.

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

  • Une mauvaise photo qui rappelle vos traits 

    Despite looking forward to this day all year, I’m not really ready for it this time around and I’ve done the square root of nothing in terms of planning. Regretfully, this includes Louis Catorze’s Official Hallowe’en Portrait. 

    As you know, Catorze will never be that supermodel Chat Noir who looks amazing in Hallowe’en-themed photoshoots. He won’t pose properly, and I’m pretty sure he does it on purpose. So, in the limited time that I had (which, I appreciate, is my own fault) and with the uncooperative subject matter that I had (which isn’t), this is the best that I could do: 

    Catorze is the one in the background.

    There was also this, but I couldn’t get the fangs to pop. Which is a shame, as Catorze’s fangs are his trademark:

    Mid-scream, of course. What else?

    Luckily Catorze’s comrade, Jasper, and Jasper’s brothers Neville, Ollivander and Dobby, were happy to let me share these photos of their perfect Hallowe’en show: 

    “Now repeat after me: “THE POWER OF LE CHAT NOIR COMPELS YOU!””
    “Don’t look now but we’ve just been busted!”
    “Dudes, I said DON’T LOOK!”

    Happy Hallowe’en to you all, and may your furry overlords behave themselves tonight. 

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

  • Ni Manger, Ni Vivre (Partie 15)

    It’s half term. And, whereas most cats wake you up on weekends/holidays at the same time that they would wake you during a working week, mine decided, on the first day of my break, to wake me FORTY-FIVE MINUTES earlier than my usual weekday alarm. What an absolute bastard.

    By the way, this was before daylight savings day. So he doesn’t even have that excuse.

    In somewhat-related news, we all know that Louis Catorze is odd. We’ve known this for some time. 

    The little sod is still being a pest at mealtimes, screaming and clambering all over whilst we eat. However, I’ve noticed that one particular item seems to spark his curiosity more than any other, and is guaranteed to have him drop whatever he is doing and race over, all psycho-eyed and fangy.

    That item is, erm, my fruit-flavoured electrolyte powder. Neither fruit nor electrolytes nor powder make this remotely appealing for any cat but, wherever he is on the planet, he will seek me out when I am opening one of these. 

    One friend suggested that perhaps these sachets look too much like Lick-e-Lix. However, I have never given Catorze Lick-e-Lix IN MY LIFE. It’s possible that he might have had it whilst living at the rescue or with his foster mamma, but I doubt that anyone as thick as he could remember that far back. 

    Another friend suggested that perhaps the little sod might be receiving secret Lick-e-Lix from some local dealer. Now, this is far more likely than the idea of him remembering it from over ten years ago. 

    If you are the neighbour who’s been feeding Lick-e-Lix to a scraggy, starving stray, please note that he is only one of those three things.

    Bastard cat.

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

  • La plante qui libère l’esprit 

    Some of our friends have given us a lovely selection of herbs, including not one but TWO types of catnip. We’ve been keeping the herbs outside to prevent them from a slow, painful death by central heating. However, when I came downstairs yesterday morning, this was the sight that greeted me: 

    Cheeky sod.

    Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: Blue the Smoke Bengal has been getting high on Louis Catorze’s gear. So, technically, this makes Louis Catorze his dealer. 

    According to Blue’s mamma, when Blue goes out for his nightly shenanigans he usually turns left out of their house, but lately he’s been heading right. And now we know why. 

    When I showed Cat Daddy this picture, he said he’d noticed that the catnip plants had been looking rather sparse of leaf, but he’d assumed that I’d been harvesting them and feeding them to Catorze. It’s possible, of course, that Catorze has also been filling his boots, and it would certainly explain certain things, but neither of us have seen him do it. That said, Blue’s mamma hasn’t reported any strange behaviour from Blue, whereas Catorze, the one with the longer history of narcotics and therefore the greater tolerance, has been behaving in a highly disturbing manner, screaming more/worse than usual and even attacking Cat Daddy for his ice cream. (He actually lunged for his face and tried to lick some ice cream OFF HIS LIPS. I have a photo but Cat Daddy won’t allow me to post it.)

    Anyway, the decimated catnip plants have now been placed in a raised area, in the hope that they will recover. And I guess we’ll be left to wonder exactly how many other neighbourhood cats have been siphoning from our stash. 

    Apologies to the cat-owning population of TW8. 

    Just licking a snail on the wall. No sign of drug use here. Ahem.
    Bit of a scream, just for fun.

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

  • Je regardai, et il parut un chat noir 

    The beautician came over a few days ago. As you are aware, Louis Catorze has ruined around 753 of her appointments (this one was the worst), but this doesn’t appear to have put her off from returning. And, before you ask me why I don’t shut him out of the room when the beautician comes, I DO. She’s the one who lets him in because she likes the screaming. 

    SHE LIKES THE SCREAMING. I’ll just give you a moment to absorb that fact.

    This visit was no exception. The beautician was in the middle of telling me about one of her arsey colleagues who is rude to clients, when she stopped and said, “Did you hear that?”

    Me: “What?”

    Catorze, from somewhere in the distance: “Mwaaaahhhh!”

    Me: “Oh no.”

    Beautician, calling out: “Hello, Lewis!”

    Catorze: “Mwah!”

    Beautician: “How are you, baby?”

    Catorze: “Mwah!”

    [Beautician goes to the door to let him in.]

    Me: “Nooo, what are you doing?”

    Catorze, thundering into the room: “MWAHHHHHHH!”

    And that was that; any faint thought that I may have had about a peaceful appointment, faded like frost on a sunny morning. 

    However, the ear-bleeding racket was relatively short-lived because, ten minutes or so into the appointment, we heard the distinctive sound of clip-clopping hooves outside. 

    It’s not often that we have horses in our area, unless people have anticipated trouble and the riot police are on duty. And somehow, despite being thicker than a concrete milkshake, Catorze knew that this wasn’t your typical neighbourhood sound, because he  looked highly alarmed and actually stopped screaming. 

    After a few motionless and silent seconds, the little sod jumped off the bed. I thought he was going underneath it to hide but, in fact, he pitter-pattered downstairs to … do what, exactly? Bid the horses a friendly bonjour? Or scream at them to gerroff his property? We will never know what was going through his tiny mind.

    I told Cat Daddy about the horse incident when he arrived home just after my appointment. “Oh yes,” he said. “I saw them. There was a funeral in the church around the corner, and they had a horse-drawn hearse.”

    Oh. Mon. Dieu. Screaming at FUNERAL HORSES is probably the only stupid thing Catorze hasn’t yet done. Thank God he didn’t escape out at The Front when the beautician arrived.

    Meanwhile – although I don’t like saying “meanwhile” in this context, because it suggests that we are WAITING for Catorze to scream at funeral horses – the AI Bot has been kind enough to fill in the gaps for us: 

    Please may this never, ever happen in real life.
    An actual Catorzian scream.

    Cat Daddy: “Maybe Louis thought it was the Horsemen of the Apocalypse coming for him?”

    Since Catorze controls the Horsemen, I highly doubt that. 

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

  • Ni manger, ni vivre (Partie 14) 

    What food would you say is your speciality?

    All of it. Just give Louis Catorze all the food.

    I dropped my phone into my breakfast the other day, sending yogurt flying in all directions. Because I was too lazy to clean it all up myself, I picked Catorze up and plonked him onto the table, like a living, screaming, self-operating mop. 

    Cat Daddy, absolutely disgusted: “Eurgh. His germs are going to be all over the table!”

    Me: “Obviously I’m going to spray and wipe down the table after he’s finished. I’m not going to leave it all cat-spitty.”

    Him: “And you’re encouraging him to eat human food – AGAIN.”

    Merde. I didn’t think of that. This is exactly the opposite of what we ought to be doing.

    Anyway, Catorze guzzled down the yogurt as fast as he could, as if worried that I might change my mind. And, credit where it’s due: the little sod did a grand job of getting rid of every trace of yogurt. Well, apart from this one: 

    You missed a bit.

    Now, I guess, it’s a waiting game, to see if the food-bullying is worse as a result of the yogurt incident. That said, I’m struggling to think of what could possibly be worse than being headbutted, stamped upon and screamed at when you’re trying to eat your dinner. 

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