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.

  • 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

  • Si on le construit, ils viendront  

    Remember cats and jigsaw puzzles?

    If there had to be one cat to take the concept even further, of course it would be Louis Catorze’s cat-cousin Rodan. Imagine a naughtier version of Catorze, with youth on his side and the benefit of a sidekick (his sister Mothra) to egg him on.

    Yes, exactly. 

    Here is Rodan, relaxing on his human siblings’ Lego: 

    ???
    ??????????

    No, we can’t understand why anyone would want to do this. Yet never, in the history of catdom, has that ever stopped them from doing silly things. 

    Can anyone explain this? [Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.] 

    Anyone? 

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

  • La peur des hauteurs

    What’s the thing you’re most scared to do? What would it take to get you to do it?

    I thought, at his age, that Louis Catorze would be too scared to try death-defying acrobatics, on account of his creaky old bones. Yet here we are.

    I didn’t have to dare him, bribe him or even put up a sign saying, “No death-defying acrobatics”.

    I have no words. 

    What.
    The.
    Hell?

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

  • Se plaindre de son sort

    What do you complain about the most?

    Louis Catorze has the whiniest, most irritating voice on this earth. The problem with this is that, when he uses his voice – and he uses it A LOT – we have no idea whether he’s complaining or not. 

    Our visitors, upon hearing his screams, often take pity on him immediately, saying, “Aww, poor Louis! What’s the matter?” Erm, nothing. That’s just his normal voice. 

    I could post multiple examples of his work, but this video from some years ago was probably the most embarrassing (being out in public) and the loudest. And, no, nothing was wrong:

    Saint Jésus.

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

  • Le sommeil est la meilleure des méditations

    Louis Catorze gave us a massive scare a few nights ago. 

    I walked into the living room, where he was sound asleep, and he didn’t stir in the way that cats do when someone makes a noise during their nap. I called his name, even poked him in the body, all to no avail. I could see that the little sod was breathing, but he was utterly motionless. 

    I lifted his head up in my hand, and it lay in my palm like a weight. When I let him go, he flopped down, as if he were unconscious. 

    Oh. Mon. Dieu. 

    I called Cat Daddy, who was also quite alarmed when I demonstrated the heavy head thing again. Then, when Catorze heard his papa’s voice, somehow he snapped back from whatever parallel universe he was in, stirred gently and let out a breathy, fairylike squeak. 

    What just happened? And why on earth didn’t I video it, so that I would have something to show the vet if things turned to merde later? Perhaps it’s possible for cats to sleep so deeply that they’re unaware of any shouting and prodding going on, but this is nothing that I’ve ever seen before. 

    After the incident, Catorze was absolutely fine and acted as if nothing had happened. And, a day later, he was galloping around the house as if the devil were at his tail*, screaming absolute bloody murder. Nothing was wrong, and he didn’t want anything. This was just for fun. 

    *Not a wholly accurate comparison since the devil would probably run away from him, not vice versa, mais tant pis.

    Please let me know if you have ever experienced this in a cat. (The deep sleep, I mean, not the racing around, screaming.)


    “I love to lounge upon cushions, and think with raptures of my adorers.” (Balzac)

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

  • Hurle, sers, mange, répète (Partie 3)

    Remember when Louis Catorze wouldn’t eat a piece of fish unless it was mushed up into an insipid paste? Curiously, this seems to be a selective affliction only affecting cat food. If said piece of fish happens to be hot-smoked salmon skin, for instance, he’s fine. 

    I know. Imagine that!

    We caught him out the other day when we were slicing up some hot-smoked salmon, and Catorze decided to bully us into sharing. Cat Daddy couldn’t be bothered to cut up the skin into tiny pieces, so he just dumped a couple of large strips into Catorze’s bowl. 

    The little sod dragged one out, sort of flipped it in the air and swallowed it whole, just like the T-Rex in the first Jurassic Park who snapped up the horrible lawyer who was sitting on the toilet. (Younger followers: ask your parents.)

    So, to summarise: 

    Cat food: must be mushed up. No, that’s still too chunky. Maybe pass it through a sieve as the final stage, the way Marcus Wareing does for a chicken liver parfait?

    Hot-smoked salmon skin: gulped down in one, irrespective of the size. 

    In fact, were it not for the cost, not to mention our fear of the little sod choking to death, we might be quite tempted to give him progressively larger pieces of hot-smoked salmon skin just to see how far he would take it. Would be swallow a piece the size of a hand? An A4 sheet of paper? His own body from ear to tail? 

    Fun fact: the biggest salmon ever caught was 97lbs. Catorze is around 6.2lbs.

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