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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.

  • 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 Catorze 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

  • L’admiration rend l’admirateur stupide

    What do others do that sparks your admiration?

    I don’t know if “admiration” is the right word. In fact, I even know what the right word ought to be. Is there a single word for “Gotta hand it to them for trying that stupid shit and getting away with it”? 

    I’m talking about cats, of course. Yes, all of them. Including yours. 

    Although their behaviour disgusts me at times, I can’t help but give them some sort of credit for being complete bastards, yet having the whole world coo at them and think that they’re cute. 

    Louis Catorze is the KING of all this. And he knows it. 

    There’s not much I can say to that.

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

  • Blue Monday*

    Bastard cats. If it’s not yours being a massive shite, it’s someone else’s. There’s absolutely no respite from it. 

    Blue the Smoke Bengal went missing the other day. He went out in the morning and then didn’t come home, which is unusual for him. His mamma was, understandably, very concerned, especially as calling, shaking his food, and having us and Family Next Door search our sheds all failed to yield any results. 

    I even asked Louis Catorze to go out and tell his friend to hurry home. Naturellement he didn’t understand me, presumably because I said it in English and not French. And, even if he had understood, he’d have done nothing about it. In fact, he’d probably have gone to Blue and said, “Bien joué, mon pote! Quelle blague!” 

    Eventually I posted a message, on behalf of Blue’s mamma, on our street’s WhatsApp group, asking neighbours to look out for him (although I refrained from saying, “If you have cats, please ask them to pass the message along”). Blue then reappeared immediately, covered in crud and so filthy that his mamma had to scrub him down with a damp towel. Nobody knows where he went, nor will we ever find out. 

    Time elapsed between me posting on the group to announce him missing, and me having to post again to say he was home: three minutes. THREE MINUTES. 

    And about the same amount of time elapsed between Blue returning and his mamma having to teach an online class, so there was no time for her to decompress beforehand. 

    I know of others who have also had their missing cats return within minutes of posting the online SOS, and I swear the little sods do it on purpose to make us look neurotic and to have everyone think we’re too lazy to search properly. 

    In this case it wasn’t even my cat. 

    I guess it’s no bad thing that we have an almost-guaranteed method of getting them back when they disappear. It’s just a shame that we have to look like utter fools in the process.

    *Yes, this incident actually did take place on a Monday.

    Naughty Blue.

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

  • La fin d’une mauvaise année 

    What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?

    To be honest, 2025 has been a bit of a shit circus for me and Cat Daddy, and we can’t wait to kick its sorry arse out of the door and welcome in 2026. 

    Although my surgeries were a year ago, the consequences of taking the triple-whammy of antibiotics afterwards have been far-reaching; I still don’t feel normal, nor do I think I ever will be. 

    (At the time, we just take antibiotics because we’re told to do so, and because we’re scared that we will catch sepsis and die if we refuse. Perhaps if they told us the truth, i.e. “These are just a precautionary measure, but they will mess you up for months and months to come”, we would be a little more cautious.) 

    Cat Daddy’s health is also taking a dramatic downturn, with debilitating back and knee pain. He’s been suffering ever since mid-October and doesn’t seem to be improving much. 

    Louis Catorze, however, at the ripe old age of fifteen and a half (about seventy-eight in cat years) couldn’t be better. That is the most important thing. In fact, it’s all you need to know. 

    He’s all right, Jacques.

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

  • Le club des petits-déjeuners

    After showing zero concern for human food for all these years, Louis Catorze has decided that he’s now interested.

    He doesn’t usually eat any of the food (apart from that one fateful time which had huge repercussions for months afterwards); he just licks it and walks away. However, this makes it more annoying because then the food is ruined and nobody benefits from it.

    Every morning, I prepare my old-lady breakfast of stewed apple and ricotta and bring it into the living room. Before eating it, I wrap myself in a blanket and tuck the edges right underneath my body, a bit like when you wrap a beef wellington tightly in pastry. Once I’m sealed in, I’m there for the next half hour. 

    Catorze often comes to sit with me, but I have to be very careful in case he lunges for my breakfast. One morning he was especially maniacal and excitable, so it was quite the feat to do the wellingtoning with one hand and fend him off with the other. I was quite proud of myself for managing to achieve both but, in the midst of it all, I forgot to secure the spoon. 

    BASTARD CAT LICKED THE SPOON. 

    I was the left in a quandary: do I use a cat-spitty spoon, or do I un-wellington myself and dislodge Catorze to go and fetch another one? 

    In the end I did neither. I ate the apple and ricotta with my fingers, like a savage. And I had to sort of drink the last bits. Not my proudest moment but the Law of the Wellington decrees that, once wellingtoned, one does not move unless the house is on fire. Plus I was TUC, compounding the issue and making any kind of movement even more impossible. 

    We all know that the little bastards rule our lives, but to drive us to eat our almost-liquid breakfast with our fingers is quite something. Please, someone, send help now. 

    Absolute bastard cat.

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