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Je crie, donc je suis

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Sa Majesté Louis Catorze, Le Roi Soleil, supreme ruler of Le Château, sworn enemy of canine foe and scourge of Ocado delivery drivers.

  • Le monde devant soi 

    Apart from the snow – which was only the lightest dusting, and it didn’t last – my one wish for 2026 was for Louis Catorze to stop escaping out at The Front every night. I wanted it so much that even lit a candle and whispered my wish to the spirits of the Wolf Moon at the start of the month. 

    No Official Winter Portrait, but perhaps Catorze’s pulsating fur cracks could become the latest one of those ASMR videos?

    The spirits listened, and they did as I asked. Catorze no longer escapes out at The Front every night. 

    He has started doing it in the morning instead. (Note: they did as I ASKED, not as I wanted.)

    Did someone say “bad moon rising”?

    Sometimes, when you complain about something, the universe delivers you a curveball which is worse, making you wonder if, perhaps, that first thing wasn’t so bad after all. When Catorze escaped at The Front at night, whilst massively annoying and inconvenient, at least I could hand the baton to Cat Daddy* if I tired of waiting up for the little sod. 

    *With varying levels of success, depending on alcohol consumed.

    However, when he does it in the morning, there’s more traffic, and the street is busier which means more people are available to be offended by the gut-churning screaming. There’s a good hour and a half between me leaving for work and Cat Daddy rising from his pit, which means Catorze is completely unsupervised. And, of course, it’s daylight, which means there is little-to-no chance of convincingly using the “It must have been some other black cat” lie excuse defence.

    The only solution to this is having to be extra vigilant when I open the front door in the mornings. I already find mornings a stressful rush, so having to add something else that my to-do list isn’t particularly welcome. But then, as I have said many times in the past, my convenience is irrelevant. It’s all about the Dark Master. 

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

  • Laissez les bons temps rouler

    What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?

    At fifteen and a half, Louis Catorze has already lived a much longer life than anyone ever expected of him. However, it’s unlikely that he has any thoughts on it. In fact, I highly doubt that he even knows (or cares) what “living a long life” is. 

    Catorze’s journey through his senior years is no different from the way in which he pitter-pattered through his younger years: food, water, freedom to roam, the best medical care (perhaps administered a little more frequently than before, but that’s our problem, not his) and abundant love from everyone that he meets.

    If only we humans could be afforded the same as we age. 

    We’ve already found a retirement home for him. We are it.

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

  • Où est la neige?

    What is the only thing worse than not getting a snow bomb as promised? Everyone else getting a snow bomb apart from you, that’s what. 

    My mum and sisters each had a light scattering of snow, enough to make their surroundings look pretty and for the kids to make snow angels, but there hasn’t been so much as a speck here in West London. The most wintry sight I have seen so far is my damp hair freezing on a walk through Chiswick, although I don’t suppose that counts.

    So Louis Catorze’s Official Winter Portrait continues to elude us. 

    The second snowfall which was forecast for Wednesday now predicts “light sleet”, which is nowhere near as good. Absolutely nobody wants sleet. Plus I will be back at work, so I won’t be around to photograph the little sod outdoors in the daylight. I am hoping that Cat Daddy might oblige, although I am gearing up for the unbridled flow of Unrepeatable Expletives that will spill from his lips when I ask.

    On the lookout for snow. (It’s not coming.)

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

  • Le jeu est le principe de tous les arts

    What is the greatest gift someone could give you?

    Having a rest before the next lot of madness.

    A bit of peace, just once in a while, would be nice. But there’s no chance of that in this house.

    I swear that that black cat who gatecrashed Stonehenge on the winter solstice ripped a gaping hole in the space-time continuum because, ever since then, Louis Catorze has been manic. And there was a full moon last night, which has undoubtedly made things worse.

    Until a few days ago, Catorze’s nonsense had consisted mainly of him arsing around with his toys and a bit of galloping around the house. Now, however, his MO is to knock things off the coffee table, act surprised that they’ve fallen and then jump down to attack them before they attack him first. 

    The items that he has knocked down include the following: 

    • Lip balm pots
    • Soft toys (for humans, not ones designed as cat playthings)
    • Pens
    • Paracetamol blister packs
    • Sweets
    • Coasters   
    • Somewhat less pleasingly, my very expensive glasses (twice)

    Oh, and he also jumped into the Christmas decorations bag and thrashed around so violently that he tore the bag.

    Family Next Door gave Catorze, for Christmas, a knitted cravate with a bell attached, which he refuses to wear but absolutely loves as a toy.  And, somehow, even long after playing with it, he remains in a hyped-up, psychotic mood for some time, jumping onto high surfaces and generally annoying the shit out of us.

    Cat Daddy: “Look at him. We need to keep him away from catnip if it’s going to make him like this.” Erm, he hasn’t had any catnip. This is sober Catorze. Let that sink in.

    Does this mean that 2026 will be a healthy year for him?

    Cat Daddy, without looking up from his phone: “It bloody well ought to be, with the money we spend on him.”

    A piece of ribbon! And air! What fun playthings!

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

  • La bombe de neige 

    Happy New Year to you all, and I hope that you spent New Year’s Eve doing exactly what you wanted to do. We did: I went to bed early like an old lady, and Cat Daddy and Louis Catorze stayed up late for a special, extended Boys’ Club. After not minding fireworks, then disliking them, Catorze has changed his mind again and decided that, actually, they’re not so bad. Which is just as well as there were a lot of them, both at The Front and The Back.

    Ever since late December, everyone* has been saying that we UK residents will be getting a snow bomb. I don’t even really know what a snow bomb is, but it sounds absolutely brilliant. 

    *Mainly the trashy media outlets.

    Now, I know that snow causes absolute chaos if you have something important to do, or if you need to travel to work. However, if you don’t have anything important to do, or if work is within reasonable walking distance, it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

    I don’t know whether or not Catorze likes the snow, because he hasn’t spent a great deal of time in it. However, since I have only managed to take two Catorzian snow photos – one of him, and one of his paw prints – in all the years that I’ve lived with him, and I think it’s about time that we had more. 

    Snow beast.

    If you have been following Le Blog for any length of time, you will know that Catorze has a natural talent for producing the worst photographs imaginable (he does it on purpose), plus he’s not particularly compliant when we want him to do something. We are also dependent on the snow bomb being a real thing and not just some made-up shite, plus we need enough of it to fall in TW8 to make a presentable backdrop for a Catorzian photo shoot.

    There are so many variables to consider here, but will the good spirits of 2026 make them work for us? 

    *EDIT: obviously, when a snow bomb is on its way, sensible animals take refuge somewhere warm. Catorze, however, has just escaped out at The Front. It’s 11pm and I want to go to bed, but I am now doomed to a wakeful vigil until the little sod decides to come in. 

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

  • Pour retrouver sa jeunesse, il suffit d’en répéter les folies

    This dark time of year is traditionally associated with rest and quiet introspection. However, for Louis Catorze, it’s time to play.

    No cat should have a head shape like this.

    Unfortunately, Cat Daddy and I don’t want to play, New Year or not, especially since one of us has just had the flu and the other is still dealing with a long-standing knee/hip/lower back injury which doesn’t seem to be improving. We were hoping for the rest and quiet introspection. However, it’s never been about us or what we want, has it? It’s all about Catorze. 

    Catorze has been letting us know that he wants to play by jumping onto the shutters to eyeball passing dogs, thundering around the house with surprisingly heavy feet, trying to climb into the shredder (what could POSSIBLY go wrong there?) and so on. Sometimes we hear wood clattering against wood in the next room and, when we investigate, we find that he’s pulled out one of his string-on-a-stick toys from its storage place and is arsing around with it. 

    Silly sod’s play has ruined our leather sofa. When Cat Daddy saw this, the Unrepeatable Expletives flowed like champagne at a Tory Party conference.

    Oh and, whilst we were away for our family’s Christmas gathering, we had ANOTHER chat-sitteur comment on how loud Catorze is. We should probably put up a sign saying, “No, nothing is wrong with him. That’s just his normal voice.” 

    We always thought that someone somewhere had a portrait of Catorze in their attic. But perhaps his MO is draining his humans’ health and energy, leaving us to rot away slowly whilst he remains freakishly youthful? I’m furious with myself for not spotting this before (not that I could have done anything about it). 

    Bonne année à tous, and thank you for another year of supporting Catorze. May you glide effortlessly through 2026 like an ageless vampire, never requiring Lemsip or Deep Heat. 

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

  • Les jours de Twixmas

    Whilst it wasn’t the worst Christmas in living memory, it wasn’t the best, either. I still have the dregs of the flu that has been plaguing me for a week, and on Christmas morning Cat Daddy started to feel under the weather, too. Cooking Christmas dinner felt like all twelve labours of Hercules at once, but we did it. 

    Louis Catorze, on the other hand, is on top of the world, merci for asking. When he was first diagnosed with hyperthyroidism, we were determined to stick rigidly to his strict diet. But, seeing how well he’s doing, we are more relaxed about it. We would probably feel differently if he were younger and had his whole life ahead of him. However, since he’s already exceeded our expectations in terms of longevity – in fact, it’s now starting to creep us out – we don’t mind too much if he has the odd treat. 

    So, despite originally saying no when I suggested giving Catorze a turkey treat, on Boxing Day, Cat Daddy gave him a huge plateful of turkey and gravy. Catorze couldn’t believe his luck. 

    The little sod also had great fun bouncing around with a piece of gold ribbon and, when he had finished, he made himself a little nest with some leftover bubble wrap: 

    Satan’s little helper.

    We humans may be crumbling into dust, but at least we are able to provide the feline contingent with warmth, abundant food, entertainment and love. Le Roi Guillaume le Conquérant would be so proud that the feudal system is alive and well in west London in 2025. 

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

  • Il y a de la place dans l’auberge

    As some wise person once said, “At Christmas time, to your enemy, give forgiveness; to your opponent, tolerance; and to cats, whatever the heck they want.” (At least I think it was something like that.)

    At this time of year we are taught to help others in need, especially those who turn up at our homes seeking shelter. That includes impinging Chats Noirs, right? 

    This beauty appeared at a family member’s house a little while ago:

    “Room for one more?”

    Given the timing of her visits, it’s likely that she has a home but no cat flap, hence being booted out whilst her family go to work, then being let in again when they return. The neighbourhood adventuring was probably quite fun in the summer, but it loses appeal considerably on a cold and miserable December day. 

    The kids have nicknamed her, erm, “Catty”, and have come to look forward to her visits. They never feed her, despite her best efforts to pretend to be starving, but they really enjoy her company. And the feeling seems to be mutual, with Catty purring and rolling with delight when he sees her secondary humans. 

    The adults in the family are enquiring around their street to find out where Catty’s permanent residence might be. In the meantime, free cat cuddles never did anyone any harm. 

    Wandering around as if she owns the place.

    Joyeuse Fête à tout le monde. Last Christmas I was in A&E so I already know that this one will be better.

    Festive purrs from Louis Catorze.

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

  • Le dieu de l’âge de pierre

    Every year, thousands of people gather at Stonehenge in Wiltshire for sunrise on the shortest day of the year. 

    This year, a very special guest joined them: 

    Picture from X.com.

    Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs, one of the revellers brought their cat with them. Or maybe it just randomly turned up. Both options are hilarious, although the latter would be funnier. 

    Naturellement, everyone forgot about the sunrise and the ancient mysticism, choosing, instead, to cuddle and photograph the cat. And he (I would bet my house on it being a male) lapped up every second. In fact, he probably thought that all the people were gathered there just for him. 

    The good people at Gloucestershire* Live  have hailed this as “a great omen for 2026”. Erm, have they ever met a black cat? Or do I have the only evil one in the whole world? 

    “What a year this is going to be!” Right.

    *Americans: it’s pronounced “GLOSS-ter-sherr”. 

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

  • Le portrait ressemble au modèle 

    I managed to capture an uncharacteristically wistful Louis Catorze for his Official Yuletide* Portrait, which is very appropriate as the winter solstice is a time for calm reflection. It’s not often that we experience this feeling here at La Château, so we will gladly accept it despite it being highly misleading:

    Appearing to be deep in thought. Trust me, he isn’t.

    *I had originally called it his Official Winter Solstice Portrait but, when it became doubtful as to whether he would deliver on time, I changed it to Official Yuletide Portrait. “Yuletide” feels like a whole season, which absolves me/Catorze of the responsibility of being on time.

    We will monitor the portrait closely, and let you know if it ages and deteriorates.

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

  • Une soirée de belle mémoires

    Louis Catorze helpfully points out the next window to be opened on the advent calendar.

    Writing about our departed pets on the winter solstice wasn’t something I’d planned to do regularly. However, last year a friend contacted me to ask if I’d be doing it again, having done it the previous year, because she would like me to feature her cat. So now, it seems, it has become a permanent feature, and I think it’s a rather nice one. 

    Thank you to my friend Carole for the idea. 

    Last year only two pets were mentioned, and three the previous year. This year it’s quite a lot more: 

    Mischievous Chris.
    Handsome Jimi.
    Lovable Nelly. (Not a cat but still worthy of a place here.)
    Delightful Jasper.
    Adorable Tipsy.
    Stunning Delilah.
    Gorgeous Finnegan.
    Regal Amber.
    Cheeky Pumpkin.
    Elegant Crackers.

    Seeing this gallery has made me feel more grateful than ever to still have Louis Catorze; I don’t know how he is still managing to gad about the planet, making the amount of noise that he does (!), at fifteen and a half, yet here we are. And, although he’s a massive pain in the arse, we can’t imagine life without him. 

    We hope you have a lovely solstice, either cuddling your furry overlords/ladies or fondly remembering those who are no longer with us. 

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

  • Le cadre est la plus belle chose dans une image 

    What skills or lessons have you learned recently?

    My very clever and creative sister has made some decorations for the Christmas tree in her local church. The brief was “chorister” and I’m sure you will agree that she’s nailed it:

    “Hallelujah!”

    She has always been good at crafting. However, displaying her work for photography is a skill that has taken a new turn recently; in fact, the reason I’m posting this picture here is not for the decorations, lovely as they are, but for the velvety black cushion on which they rest. 

    Yes, the cushion is alive. Yes, it’s Rodan. And, no, this wouldn’t work with Louis Catorze, not even once I’d picked all the manky bits off him first.

    I guess some cats are just born ready for the festive season. Others, not so much. 

    Rodan is feeling festive.
    Mothra is feeling festive.
    Louis Catorze is not feeling festive.

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

  • Mon beau sapin, roi des forêts

    We have just taken delivery of our tree.

    When we received it last year, the delivery gentleman turned out to be a Cat Man, much to Louis Catorze’s delight. This time it was a different gentleman but he was just as much a Cat Man as the previous one. 

    Delivery Gentleman: “Whereabouts would you like the tree?”

    Me: “Just here, please.”

    Catorze: “Mwah!”

    DG: “Hello Puss!” [Strokes Catorze.]

    Me: “He loves vistors. Especially men.”

    Catorze: “MWAH!”

    DG: “Aww, well I appreciate the love, Puss!” [More cuddles for Catorze, who is absolutely beside himself.]

    Whilst I was decorating the tree, Catorze sat beside me, screaming and screaming. However, this made me work more quickly, and I think I managed to successfully do the job in the fastest time ever. 

    Now that the tree is decorated, we face the Herculean task of trying to persuade Catorze to pose with it for his Official Yuletide Portrait. This year he managed to produce one of his best Official Hallowe’en Portraits to date, so could this be a fortuitous year for portrait sittings? Or has he peaked in his capacity as subject matter? 

    The following attempts appear to indicate the latter: 

    No.
    No.

    We still have a few days until the winter solstice and, at a push, we could stretch it out to Christmas if we haven’t achieved our desired goal by the solstice. Let’s hope that the good spirits of the season will be on our side. 

    *EDIT: after all these years of never arsing around with the tree decorations, I found evidence of decoration arsery when I came downstairs the next morning. I hope this isn’t going to become a thing.

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

  • Le véritable esprit de Noël réside dans votre carte de crédit

    Louis Catorze has just been for his Yuletide steroid jab. 

    The little sod was starting to scratch and his fur was thinning around the eyes, so we knew that it was almost time. He would probably have lasted another week or two before things turned desperate. However, we wanted to avoid the festive frenzy when every animal in the country will require veterinary treatment, having waited all year for the least convenient time. 

    Naturellement, with half an hour to go, we couldn’t find Catorze. Searching for him isn’t exactly fun at the best of times but, right now, my knees and shoulder are bad, and Cat Daddy’s knees and lower back are REALLY bad, so the last thing we wanted to do was scrabble around trying to extract a cat from a horrendously inaccessible sleeping spot. Yet there we were, shunting boxes and suitcases around under the bed until one of them successfully dislodged Catorze from where he had settled, right in the centre and out of reach. 

    Cat Daddy: “It’s like being a grouse beater.” Nah. I bet they have more fun.

    The drive there was the usual screamathon, which faded momentarily, only to resume with extra vigour once we had entered the Gates of Hell and Catorze realised where we were. 

    The good news is that Catorze is exactly the same weight as he was on his last visit, and he didn’t even flinch when the needle went into him. Cat Daddy was so shocked that he started singing, “Louis Catorze, he’s on his way home”, to the tune of Sloop John B, IN FRONT OF THE VET. 

    As we paid the bill, the receptionist expressed sympathy that “the poor little love” had to endure so many vet visits. She then revealed that she had ten (!) cats, of which just one needed regular treatment. “I bring him in quite a lot, but nowhere near the level of …” [nodding towards Catorze, who started screaming again]. 

    Me: “…”

    Cat Daddy: “…”

    Anyway, Catorze is now itch-free and can look forward to a comfortable festive season. And Cat Daddy and I have £90 less to spend on Christmas dinner. I was about to say, “Catorze couldn’t have planned it better” but he would probably view that as a dare, and we really don’t want that. 

    KramPuss the Yuletide demon was more relaxed on the way home.

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