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.

  • Un chat inoubliable

    A couple of nights ago, Cat Daddy and I settled down on the sofa to watch the latest series of Unforgotten on Netflix. Usually, when we watch television in the evenings, Louis Catorze is on his papa’s lap. But, this time, we didn’t know where he was.

    Cat Daddy, a few minutes into the first episode: “This isn’t right. He’s always with us in the evenings.”

    Me: “It’s fine. He’s probably arsing around outside somewhere.”

    Him: “This sort of thing isn’t like him.”

    Me: “What do you mean? It’s EXACTLY like him.”

    Him: “Something’s wrong. We need to go and look for him.”

    Cat Daddy, might I add, was a couple of bottles of wine under at the time, and in no fit state to be going up and down stairs looking for Catorze. So, when he said “WE need to go and look for him”, we both knew that he meant just me.

    My strategy was to start searching in the places that I really didn’t want him to be and, would you believe, he was in the first/only place that I looked: on top of a freshly-cleaned duvet (not a duvet COVER, but an ACTUAL DUVET) which is now no longer clean.

    Bastard cat.

    I brought the little sod downstairs and placed him into the lap of his overjoyed papa. After a little Boys’ Club drunken roughhousing and some name-calling of the Unrepeatable Expletive variety, the two of them were friends again and snuggled up together to continue watching Unforgotten.

    Cat Daddy will always try to have people believe that, of the two of us, I am the one who is obsessed with Catorze and who frets about him every waking minute.

    May this post serve as proof that it’s all lies.

    Loving all the needless fuss about him.

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

  • Graviter autour du soleil

    The only thing more embarrassing than having a black cat with bright white ears, is other people knowing that you have a black cat with bright white ears. So, naturellement, the last time that I applied Louis Catorze’s ear sunblock, he escaped out at The Front when I put some recycling out.

    I didn’t even realise until I heard feline screaming and people talking. I was completely torn as to what to do: leaving him out there would ensure maximum street-embarrassment, but then if I called him in, everyone would know he was my cat (and there was no guarantee that he’d come in anyway).

    In the end I opened the door and pretended (!) to put more recycling out, at which point he ran in having only shown himself up in front of a couple of people. Not great, but could have been much worse.

    However, Catorze wasn’t done there. That evening, I had a Zoom call with a group of people whom I hadn’t met before. You know how this is going to play out, don’t you?

    There I was, settled comfortably and listening intently to the person who was leading the call, when he appeared. Astonishingly, he didn’t make a sound and, instead, just walked across the camera field from right to left, then left to right, over and over again, brushing his up-tail against my face as he went.

    Eventually the back and forth became ridiculous, so I had to pluck him off one-handedly (easy to do as he’s so gossamer-light) and place him to one side. That was when he screamed, startling everyone on the call and having one person say, “That sounded like a baby!”

    Nobody commented on the bright white ears. I guess they must have either thought they were naturally like that, or that I painted them for fun.

    Curiously, the little sod did settle down after that, lying on my lap and appearing to concentrate on the voice of the main speaker. It seems to be that, when women are speaking, he shuts up. But, when it’s men (or boys), he runs riot.

    I don’t suppose that comes as a surprise to anyone.

    Here he is, gadding about on his outdoor sofa, with the bright white ears on display. You can even see the smears where he’s tried to roll off the sunblock onto some surface or other:

    Yuck.

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

  • L’avenir appartient aux chats

    A couple of nights ago, Cat Daddy and I sat down to watch the live election debate between our current Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition. Louis Catorze joined us, taking his usual place on his papa’s lap.

    Fifteen minutes in and I’d had enough; all they did was shout over each other (the election candidates, I mean, not Catorze and Cat Daddy). And it seemed I wasn’t alone in finding it quite jarring and stressful because, just as I stood up to go and do something else, Catorze stepped onto the remote control and changed channels.

    Cat Daddy: “OH, FOR ****’S SAKE! LOUIS, YOU ****!”

    Catorze: “Mwah!”

    Fresh from being sworn at by his papa.

    I adjourned from the kitchen to the living room to watch something more relaxing – demonic possessions, serial killers, whatever – whilst Cat Daddy tried to rewind back to the point where he’d left off. Catorze, whose work was done, came to sit with me for a short while, then escaped out at The Front when Cat Daddy put out the recycling.

    The next day, the general consensus regarding the election debate was that neither candidate covered themselves in glory. In other words, Catorze’s thinking was in line with that of the nation.

    Or was the nation in line with Catorze? And is this all part of the World Domination Plan?

    Larry the Downing Street cat is officially sick of all this shit. (Picture from Yahoo News.)

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

  • La nourriture du diable

    Describe your dream chocolate bar

    Cats and chocolate don’t really go together, so Louis Catorze doesn’t have a dream one.

    However, if he WERE a chocolate bar, he would be one of those 99% ones: dark, bitter and only manageable in very small doses.

    I prefer something sweeter.

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

  • Les plus bavardes des perruches

    Although the idea of being awoken by sweet birdsong is romantic, the reality is somewhat different. In the summer months, London’s resident parakeets – yes, we really do have them living wild here – start their infernal racket at 4am. Although they’re strikingly pretty birds, there’s nothing nice about the noise that they make (nor about the time that they start).

    Bastard birds.

    Louis Catorze can compete with any animal in terms of noise and, just because he can, he does. Also, because black cats are born without the chromosome that makes them mind their own business, when the parakeets are shrieking he is compelled to respond. Even if this makes them shriek more. ESPECIALLY if this makes them shriek more.

    Here he is, having just retaliated. Their heads were tilted to look at the source of the scream, but this also gives them a disapproving, judgemental air:

    Oh good grief.

    Just like the sunblock on the ears, we have a whole summer of this ahead of us. Quelle joie.

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

  • La douleur passe, la beauté reste

    Earlier this week, the beautician came over for a waxing and massage appointment. Louis Catorze has had some lively interactions with her in the past and, now that he is used to her, that’s where I thought any nonsense would remain: IN THE PAST.

    Catorze, however, had other ideas.

    He was conspicuously absent during the waxing, so I thought we’d got away with it. Then, when it was time for the massage, we heard him outside the bedroom door. And, before I could object, the beautician had let him in.

    Her: “Hello, Lewis! How are you, baby?”

    Me: “Nooo. Don’t encourage him.”

    Catorze: “Mwaaaaahhhhh!”

    The little sod circled the bed, jumped onto it, jumped down from it and tried to get into the beautician’s bag, all the while screaming himself senseless. He barely even drew breath.

    Me: “I’m so sorry. He’ll get bored and calm down soon.”

    He didn’t.

    Beautician: “Maybe he’s upset because he thinks I’m harming you?”

    I was pretty sure it wasn’t that. In fact, it’s far more likely that he was thinking, “If you’re trying to kill her, you’re doing a shit job. You keep coming back, but she’s still here.”

    After twenty minutes, Catorze went UNDER the bed. This was something of a relief as I thought he was going to find a quiet spot and go to sleep.

    He didn’t. The screaming continued from under bed.

    Now, you’d be forgiven for thinking that feline screaming in your face were the worst it could get – after all, you have to cope with that outraged, bug-eyed face staring right at you. But there is something disconcerting about feline screaming out of sight, with the screamer making no effort to seek you out even though they know where you are. Who screams from UNDER A BED?

    After a couple of minutes Catorze exited bed left, still screaming. My head was hanging over the edge of the bed as I lay on my front, so he decided to place himself right underneath my face and creepy-stare at me.

    This was my view when I opened my eyes:

    I bet they don’t have this kind of caper at Champneys.

    From time to time he would rear up on his hind legs, scream at me and try to slap my face. The beautician was laughing so much that she couldn’t apply pressure properly and, every time she looked at him, she’d burst into giggles again.

    Catorze finally shut up at the twenty-eight minute mark, snuggling up against me and purring. The massage was half an hour, so my anticipated thirty minutes of relaxation turned out to be, erm, two.

    We still have no idea why he was so awful that day, but it turned out that, during the massage, Cat Daddy was outside on his static bike. So, with both humans occupied, La Personne Royale was unattended. Clearly this is a far-from-optimal state of affairs, and Sa Maj made his displeasure known in the most dramatic way possible.

    I’d like to think that he’ll grow out of this. But he won’t, will he?

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

  • Les aventures de Sigrid

    What better way to spend a half term break than accidentally meeting celebrity cats?

    Cat Daddy and I met up with some friends, who also happen to be fellow Chat Noir hostages, and, after lunch, we went for a short walk along the river as it was a lovely day. And we just happened to bump into this absolute beauty, sitting calmly among the crowds with her Cat Daddy:

    She looked, and felt, like a soft, fluffy cloud.

    I asked what her name was, and her Cat Daddy said “Sigrid”. At first I thought he’d said “Cigarette”, and I thought that was a strange name for a cat. But it was a good enough cat name for Albert Camus. And, since my cat is called Sa Majesté Louis Catorze, Le Roi Soleil, plus my parents gave me a difficult name which absolutely nobody can pronounce, I can’t really afford to throw stones when it comes to weird names.

    Cat Daddy has personalised Sigrid bike wheels.

    Sigrid is a Norwegian Forest Cat and she is deaf. When we Googled her later, we discovered that she is famous for accompanying her Cat Daddy, Travis, on cycling adventures. She hisses at dogs as she passes them. It’s the most brilliant thing ever.

    I wish I could take Catorze on cycling adventures. Regretfully it will never happen, since I don’t like cycling and I don’t trust Catorze to behave himself; he would be screaming all the way, then making off with the first random man that he saw. I can’t even take him on a ten-minute walk to the vet, although that’s less of an “adventure” and more of a Herculean labour.

    If you’re on Instagram and you’d like to follow Sigrid and Travis, here they are. And, if your cat is an adventurer, please tell me all about it!

    That’s enough adventure for one day.

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

  • Profiter du soleil

    What are you good at?

    Not applying cat sunblock, that’s for sure.

    This is the face – or, rather, the rear end – of someone who has just fought like an absolute demon to try and prevent me from applying his sunblock on his ears:

    Top-notch Catorzian ignoring.

    My friend, who is a dog person: “Does he NEED sunblock? I mean, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to sit out in the hot sun and bake himself to death, would he?”

    Me: “…”

    Him: “Oh, right.”

    I have to have the tube of sunblock next to me, ready for the stealth pounce. But the problem is that, on account of Louis Catorze having two ears, and on account of a surprise ambush only really being a surprise one time, one ear is absolutely impossible to do. Once he has twigged what’s happening, he kind of folds his ears downwards to stop me from putting sunblock on the very part that really, really needs it.

    This particular session was a real gladiatorial fight to the death, with sunblock smeared on me, on his head and body, on the sofa … in fact, everywhere but the one place where it was meant to go. After trying to roll it off onto every available surface, the little sod decided to sit facing the other way and sulk.

    We have a whole summer of this to look forward to. Luckily we will be away for two weeks of it, but dare we ask the chat-sitteur to do this in our absence? We would quite like to keep her friendship, merci s’il vous plaît …

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

  • Le pouvoir de la lune

    When I opened the door the other night to put out some recycling, Louis Catorze slalomed between my ankles and shot out.

    I know: standard Catorze.

    However, I had forgotten that it was a full moon that night. So, when Cat Daddy and I, on separate occasions, tried to corral him back in, there was no sign of him.

    Eventually it was time for bed, so my only options were to go and search for him (not great but the lesser evil), or to just wait up indefinitely (what the absolute NO). I called, and there was no answer. He’s usually quite good at answering when he hears his name, and at mwahhing a little “Merci” when he’s let back in again after a stint at The Front. But this time: silence.

    When I went outside, I found him sitting on the window sill. The little sod had heard me perfectly well, but was just choosing to ignore me.

    Furthermore, when I called his name again, he went full Regan MacNeil on me, letting out the most evil growl I have ever heard. I then saw that the moon was in full view, and that Catorze was in the best possible spot to soak up its beams.

    HOLY HECK: HE WAS FEEDING FROM IT.

    The little sod pitter-pattered in, somewhat resentfully, like a demonic child who had been told to leave a ouija board party early. And I didn’t get the little “Merci” chirp this time, although I did get multiple awakenings throughout the night, with him bouncing around and whining.

    It’s half term next week. Merci à Dieu – or not, since I’ll be stuck with Catorze for a whole week. Luckily Cat Daddy is now home, so I’m hoping that Boys’ Club will create a diversion from mischief-making.

    Nothing to see here. Just a normal kitty enjoying a normal evening.

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

  • Les rayons du soleil

    Louis Catorze’s ears are starting to go bald again.

    This happened a few years ago, for no reason whatsoever, and the vet was unable to provide any answers. Then the fur grew back again, so we didn’t bother pursuing it any further (not that we would have known what to do, had we wished to treat it).

    Now the bald, piggy ears are back. They’re not fully bald, but a good 40% of the fur is gone.

    Since they don’t seem to be bothering him, we don’t think it’s worth a vet visit just for that. But, now that the summer is approaching, it’s probably time to revisit the sunblock on the ears.

    Now, please hear me out. It’s a thing. It’s more of a white cat thing, but a thing nonetheless. Because feline ears are so delicate, and because white fur provides so little protection from the sun, sunblock for cats was invented. And, of course, having no fur at all provides even less protection than having white fur so, for a cat who gads about outdoors all summer, we need to take action.

    This is one of the many photos that prompted my decision to deploy the sunblock. Yes, he is, indeed, sleeping mostly in the shade, with THE ONE BODY PART THAT WE WANT TO PROTECT exposed to the sun:

    ‘Sake.

    And here he is again, fully sunblocked. Predictably, the application process was pretty grim for both of us, from beginning to end:

    Without the block you’d see daylight through these wispy ears.

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

  • La souffrance ne se repose jamais

    Cat Daddy is away in New York at the moment, so it’s just me and Louis Catorze at Le Château.

    Cat Daddy spotted this chap living in, erm, a marijuana bar.

    Usually, when Cat Daddy is out, Catorze ramps up the bad behaviour, only to morph back into a placid, impeccably-behaved kitty when his papa returns. Predictably, he is doing exactly that now, except this time I know that he won’t be calming down anytime soon. This bullshit is going to go on for DAYS. I just know it.

    Undesirable behaviours include, although are by no means limited to, the following:

    ⁃ Screaming

    ⁃ Parkour around the house at all hours

    ⁃ Thrashing around in the vicinity of the drinks trolley, knocking bottles over (so loudly and violently that I thought there was an intruder in the house)

    He has also worked out that doing the above after dark adds to the scare impact.

    Cat Daddy’s return cannot come soon enough. Meanwhile, where did I put the black salt and the holy water?

    When sunlight touches a vampire, this is what happens.

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

  • Le cristal royal (Partie 3)

    I have managed to record Louis Catorze drinking from the tall tumbler version of the Versailles wine glass. (Yes, I bought him TWO birthday glasses, so that he would have one if the other were in the wash.)

    The angle is weird and it’s not the clearest footage because I had to film it from far away, with my arm up in the air and awkwardly bent; had the little sod seen me filming, he would have stopped drinking and run towards me, chirping and trilling.

    I sent the video to Cat-Disliking Friend to see if he, as a science teacher, might be able to give his professional explanation and some sort of Archimedean theory about why Catorze manages to spill so much water, even though I don’t fill the glass right up to the brim.

    CDF’s response was as follows: “He doesn’t seem to shove THAT much of his face into the water, does he? I think he’s just a crap drinker.”

    And here endeth the analytical science experiment.

    The next stage – if, indeed, I dare to take things that far – will be to buy Catorze a coaster for his water glass. Cat Daddy is already absolutely livid about the glasses, the antique cutlery and the fancy cat bowls, but maybe a coaster will be the thing to lighten the mood?

    Enjoying his day, whilst we all run around after him.

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

  • Le chemin du Citron

    List your top 5 favourite fruits.

    Will one fruit do?

    We had a visitor to Le Château the other day, as you can see below. And, before you ask what on earth this has to do with fruit, our guest’s name is Lemon. I’m not joking.

    When life gives you lemons …

    Lemon may look like a fine specimen of velvety plumptiousness in these photos but, in actual fact, the poor boy has seen better days; he has the remains of an old wound on his face, and an even worse, more recent wound on his shoulder. Louis Catorze gave him the traditional Catorzian welcome (hissing and swearing) and Lemon, rather than retaliating, backed away, looking confused and sad.

    “C’est MON Château! Dégage!”

    I pinged his photo out onto our local neighbourhood forum and, within a matter of hours, I was able to find out his name and where he lived. It turned out that he wasn’t lost, but had just wandered too far on account of his, erm, fruits still being on the vine. One of our neighbours has alerted Lemon’s owner to his injuries and told them – again – to harvest those fruits.

    In the nicest possible way, I hope we don’t see him again; the thought of him crossing the Zone Libre amidst foxes, aggressive crows and all manner of other horrors, isn’t very nice.

    Neuter your cats, people. There’s absolutely no reason not to.

  • Vivre la vie d’un roi

    What’s one small improvement you can make in your life?

    Louis Catorze thinks his life is perfectly delightful as it is, merci for asking. He thinks it’s the rest of us who need to improve OUR pathetic lives, and that we should do so as follows:

    1. Give the cat whatever they want.

    2. See Point 1.

    The fang can be useful to help orientate your Chat Noir.