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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 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.

  • La musique nous permet de nous entretenir avec l’au-delà

    We all know how much Louis Catorze hates the sound of the guitar.

    However, poor Catorze hates the guitar even when it’s not being played. In fact, he hates it so much that, when Cat Daddy picked it up the other day to move it to one side, the little sod ran for the hills.

    Here he is, waiting anxiously to see whether things will go from bad (Cat Daddy picking up the Discordant Instrument of Doom) to worse (Cat Daddy playing it):

    “Le champ est libre?” Little sod isn’t sure.

    Luckily, this time, they didn’t; they remained just “bad”, and Catorze soon cautiously pitter-pattered back to us. But Cat Daddy practises every day, for at least an hour (usually more). So, sooner or later, “worse” will happen.

    In stark contrast to Catorze, here is his cat-cousin Rodan, sneaking into the practice session of his human brother, aged eleven. It’s not a resounding yes to the cello, but it’s certainly an “I’m interested” …

    “What’s this?”

    Maybe Cat Daddy should switch to string rather than percussion? Or even singing, which seemed to work for this lady and her cat (click in and scroll down for the video)?

  • L’espace, c’est le luxe absolu

    I’m glad to report that there have been no more mice since my last-but-one post. However, Louis Catorze did wake me at 5am one morning to proudly deliver me a piece of flaked almond. I know.

    Anyway, in other news, remember my blissful morning ritual of sipping green tea whilst Catorze sleeps on my lap? Well, those days are now gone, at least for the next few months, thanks to a certain someone’s Summer Mode being well and truly activated.

    These days, when I wake up in the morning, the little sod is nowhere to be found. Last weekend he was out all day, coming in at 9pm to scream and scream at us – no reason, just for fun – and then race back out again.

    I suspect that the main draw for Catorze is the fact that our outdoor cushions have been deployed. Why settle le rump royal on hard wood or rattan when you can cradle it in/on something soft?

    Here he is, in his new favourite places. I don’t suppose he will be budging until October at the absolute earliest:

    Living the life of a king.
    A greyer day than the one above, but still a nice time to enjoy le jardin.

  • There’s a dog in mi Château, what am I gonna do?

    Louis Catorze welcomed a friend during the bank holiday weekend. Well, when I say “welcomed”, I don’t really mean that. In fact, “friend” may be something of a stretch, too.

    Oh. Mon. Dieu.

    If you are a long-term follower of Le Blog, you will know that relations between Catorze and Oscar the dog next door were, erm, somewhat mixed*. Catorze seemed genuinely curious about his canine neighbour and came in peace, whereas Oscar just wanted to kill him. And, the more Catorze refused to take no for an answer, the more murderous Oscar became. You get the idea.

    *Non-Brits: if your British friends ever describe any experience as “mixed”, it means it was only narrowly short of an apocalypse.

    Disco the dog, however, is a different case entirely: he’s younger, friendlier and more patient than his big brother Oscar. And, most importantly, the sight of cat doesn’t trigger his Urge To Kill switch. So, after some years of debating about introducing the pair, and after too much booze for most of us at the pub, last weekend we and the Dog Family hit upon the genius idea of finally making it happen.

    These sentinels watched us as we walked home from the pub. If you ever played Spot The Ball in the 1980s, you’ll be able to place where Disco was at the time.

    Dog Daddy, after arriving at Le Château: “To make this work, we all need to just act normal.”

    (He and Cat Daddy then proceeded to drink three bottles of red wine between them, so they nailed that particular objective.)

    In short: apart from one hissing incident (when Disco, in his keenness to say hello, bounced a bit too close to Catorze) and a lot of Catorzian screaming, the two parties behaved themselves. Catorze was offended, cautious maybe, but not particularly fearful. It helped considerably that one of us remained sober enough to veto the stupid suggestions. (“Why don’t we let the dog off the lead?” Erm, no.) Conducting the experiment with all four of us drunk would not have been a good idea.

    The male humans, however, were far less civilised than the animals, with the copious amounts of red wine sending them spiralling into Unrepeatable Expletives and inappropriate conversation. I hope that none of our neighbours were home.

    Anyway, Sa Maj now has his Château back to himself, and he appears to have forgotten all about what happened. Let’s hope he isn’t saving up a massive revenge -puke in some inappropriate place, at some inappropriate time …

  • Des souris et des hommes (Partie 2)

    I have just arrived home after the football.

    In the time it took me to go upstairs, take off my make-up and change my clothes, Louis Catorze managed to produce a mouse from somewhere and place it in the usual trophy cabinet at the bottom of the stairs. When I came back downstairs he was sitting proudly next to his prize, licking his gross little chops.

    The positioning of the mouse was such that there was no way I could have missed it when I arrived home. Yet how he could have found it in those few minutes after my arrival, is beyond me.

    Catorze is fourteen. FOURTEEN. How in the name of Benjamin Button is he managing this kind of caper? Not to mention the fact that he is chubbing up so, if anything, you’d think the extra podge would slow him down a bit.

    Oh, and he’s also been trying to roll off his spot-on onto some manky outdoor surface, because he now has crud stuck to his neck:

    This is not gloss, but unidentified grey dust.
    A bit clearer here. Ugh.

    Anyway, I am far too tired to trudge outside to the park bin – yes, I know it’s only a few metres, but that’s not the point. So I have left the mouse in an Ocado bag on the doorstep outside and sent a message to Cat Daddy, who is still out at the pub, asking him to do the deed when he gets home. I just hope he doesn’t get so drunk that he ends up stumbling home after dark, sticking his foot through the bag and treading squashed mouse all over Le Château.

    Bloody cats. Remind me again why it is that we bother?

    EDIT: Cat Daddy is home, having successfully disposed of the mouse in the park bin where all Catorzian kills are laid to rest. However, as he came in, Catorze dashed out at The Front. So now we have the arduous task of herding him back in before he goes screaming outside That Neighbour’s window.

    A Dorian Gray metaphor: the wisteria withers and dies whilst Catorze remains sprightly and youthful.

  • Les quatorze ans de Catorze

    Thank you to everyone who kindly sent birthday wishes to Louis Catorze. (Those who didn’t shall be sent to the guillotine.)

    The little sod had a magnificent day, consisting of the following activities:

    1. Waking me during 5am parkour/singalong.

    2. Following Cat Daddy around all day, screaming for attention and headbutting aggressively if it wasn’t forthcoming. Cat Daddy had to escape from one end of the garden to the other, only for Catorze to follow him and do more of the same*.

    3. Creepy-staring for food, then sniffing it and walking away as soon as it was served.

    4. A bit more screaming.

    5. Strutting around loving himself.

    6. Puking on the landing (astoundingly, on the floor and not on the carpet).

    7. Sitting on the outdoor cushions, gazing out over his royaume and dreaming up new ways to annoy the merde out of us.

    *I don’t know why Cat Daddy thought anything different would happen; if he wanted to he left alone, all he had to do was unleash the guitar.

    Right now, as the sun sets on his birthday and the mischievous Beltane spirits are out in force, I am trying to corral Catorze in from The Front, but he’s not having it. Every time I open the front door, he runs into the road (!) to escape from me.

    If he lives to fifteen (which is doubtful at this rate; running into the road is hardly conducive to a long life), this is the kind of thing that I have in mind. Thank you to my friend AnnMarie for the idea.

    Cat Daddy: “No.”

    Loving life.

  • Louis, le roi fou: une chanson pour fêter les 14 ans du Roi Soleil

    There lives a certain cat in TW8
    He is small and black, and he looks a total state
    Most people look at him with terror and with fear
    And Ocado drivers all know to stay well clear
    He can scream his guts out like he’s dying
    Even when there’s nothing wrong 
    We can’t shut him up though we keep trying
    So we wrote this song 

    La la little sod
    Struts around as if he’s God
    He is a cat that really is strange
    La la little shit
    Why do we put up with it?
    He’s most bizarre and truly deranged

    He rules his grand Château and is the one true Roi
    Yet he runs away when his daddy plays guitar 
    On dark and stormy nights he goes on hunting sprees
    But he rolls and purrs when a man gives him a squeeze
    For his guests he’s sweet and captivating 
    They think he can do no wrong 
    Once they’ve gone he’s just excruciating
    Screaming all day long 

    La la little sod
    Struts around as if he’s God
    He’s got the whole world under his spell 
    La la little shit
    Why do we put up with it?
    He’s really strange and creepy as hell
    Joyeux quatorze, Louis Catorze.

  • L’armée des ténèbres

    Yesterday we finally met Louis Catorze’s cat-cousins, Rodan and Mothra. And it turns out that one of them is a lot more troublesome than the other.

    Do you think it’s the tabby, or the Chat Noir? Now, take your time to think about this.

    Mothra loves her Cat Uncle.
    Rodan isn’t sure (but changed his mind later).

    Rodan is a complete scoundrel. Here are just a few of his misadventures so far:

    ⁃ Sticking his face in the litter tray

    ⁃ Attacking his Cat Daddy immediately afterwards, trying to shove his litter-dirty face into his papa’s face

    ⁃ Trying to climb into the bathtub

    ⁃ Trying to climb into the fridge (and, on a later occasion, actually succeeding in being shut in; luckily his mamma rescued him from the veg drawer straight away)

    ⁃ Trying to climb into the dishwasher

    ⁃ Vandalising his mamma’s Lego (by knocking over)

    – Vandalising his mamma’s Lego again (by chewing)

    ⁃ Escaping out at The Front (and his Front is far more hazardous than ours)

    ⁃ Stealing sanitary ware, and running off with it

    Three of the above were ON THE SAME MORNING. No doubt, by the time this post goes live, there will be more to add to the list.

    The kittens have also figured out that, if they split up after being caught causing trouble, the pursuing human can’t chase both of them at once.

    Bastard kittens.

    Rodan is only a few months old, so the humans have a good few years of carnage to endure. And although, as the Chat Noir, he will be the originator of all the trouble, I wouldn’t rule out his sister, Mothra, as a co-conspirator. Last week she jumped onto her human brother’s dinner tray, grabbed a piece of bacon and ran off with it.

    TU2C? TUC²? 2(TUC)?

    Kittens are cute, but I think I’m too old and too tired for this kind of caper. I’ll stick to senior cats … yes, even if they’re Louis Catorze.

    “Yup, that definitely looks like a litter tray to me. Let’s do it.”

  • Le miroir de l’âme (Partie 2)

    It’s Beltane Eve in a few days’ time, and this day is known in Celtic folklore for the activity of otherworldly beings. Louis Catorze’s fourteenth birthday is on the same day, and this year he will be turning fourteen.

    I have always known that Catorze is not of this world. Last month I posted a photo of him showing the most bizarre alien eyes, with pupils appearing to be horizontal rather than vertical. However, I have since taken a couple more pictures, close-up this time, and the weirdness goes on.

    This one, with boss-eyed pupils, although very strange-looking, is actually perfectly debunkable. What appears to be the pupil is actually the reflection of my head and, if you zoom in, you can see that the real pupil is actually in the correct place:

    Bit weird.

    However, what in the name of Men in Black is going on here?

    Seriously weird.

    Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: the pupil and the surrounding area of his right eye (our left) seem to have swapped colours, giving him a green pupil and a black outer area.

    What is happening? What is he?

    And, now that he’s in our house, how on earth do we get him out?