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.
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:
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Cat Daddy is away in New York at the moment, so it’s just me and Louis Catorze at Le Château. And the bullshittery started on the very first day of Cat Daddy’s absence, with Catorze thumping around late at night, sounding just like an adult human, then either being invisible or sitting eerily still when I went to investigate.
Last night I also heard cat fight sounds coming from outside. No, I didn’t go out and look to see if it was him. Yes, I already knew.
Actually Catorze isn’t fat, but he’s certainly plushier than he was,thanks to the winter coat that he developed in, erm, August.Catorze’s chonkier American relative.
Rather more creepily, Catorze’s voice has changed. It’s just different. I can’t explain how, but it is:
Sorry … WHAT?
Is this even Catorze, or has Satan swapped him for some malevolent changeling? And, more importantly, should I try to find out what’s happened to the real Catorze, or just keep the changeling, who will, most likely, be less of a pain in the arse?
I haven’t even bothered to tell Cat Daddy about most of this, because there’s no point. Not only would he disbelieve me but, by the time he came back, Satan would have had enough of Catorze and swapped back. So at least I’m only stuck with this – whatever “this” may be – for a few more days.
Cat Daddy took Louis Catorze for his booster jabs not long ago. The trip there was the usual shit circus, with constant screaming on the journey there and in the waiting room.
The vet was a new one who hadn’t seen Catorze before. When she attempted the injection with Catorze on the table, it didn’t work because the little sod fought and kicked with the strength of ten angry bears. Because he’s small and sickly, people always assume he’s physically weak. But he always surprises them – especially when they’re trying to get him to do something he doesn’t want to do.
So they had to attempt it again, this time with Cat Daddy holding him, and luckily it was fine the second time.
On the plus side, the vet did say that Catorze looked good for fifteen and a half (true), and that he was cute (whatever). And Cat Daddy created a new song for him, to the tune of Sloop John B like last time, as follows:
“Louis went for a jab He felt quite a stab But now he’s ok ‘cos he’s on his way home He’s on his way home He’s on his way home Louis Catorze, he’s on his way home.”
After arriving home Catorze was absolutely manic, racing around in circles from the kitchen through the dining room and into the hallway, all the while howling like a rabid wolf. Cat Daddy was convinced that Catorze was trying to tell us something. I searched our absolute tip of a dining room as best I could and couldn’t see anything, although no doubt I’ll pick up some random object tomorrow and find an oozing, maggoty rat underneath.
Although he wore himself out and ended up snoozing happily on my lap, we have never previously seen this kind of deranged behaviour in him straight after a vet visit.
What happened? Will this be yet another Roi Mystery, never to be solved?
What technology would you be better off without, and why?
Coincidentally, a week or so before WordPress issued this prompt, my students and I were having a very similar discussion in class. The brief was to name an invention that they would erase from history, although there was a catch: they would also have to live without the benefits of anything influenced by this invention.
Kid 1 suggested erasing the wheel, “just to see what happened”. After realising the variety of exotic food that this would exclude, and the fact that we would have to live on “boring British food, like strawberries”, we decided that this wasn’t worth the risk.
Kid 2 suggested the atomic bomb, because “anything that killed that many people for no reason couldn’t be good”. Then Kid 3 pointed out that electricity was indirectly invented as a result of this. Since he’s a highly intelligent Einstein-in-waiting, I didn’t even bother to Google to see if this was correct and just took his word for it.
Kid 4 wanted to erase social media, as a statement about online bullying. Most of the class appeared to be in agreement with this until Kid 1 piped up, “But, without social media, there wouldn’t be any cat videos!”
A chilling silence befell the group.
“But we could still watch them on YouTube?”
“No, YouTube is still social media because people comment and stuff.”
“So how would we share cat videos?”
“We’d have to record them on one of those old video cameras, and then pass the big tape thing around.”
Suddenly, eking out a miserable existence eating boring British berries, in the dark, didn’t seem quite so bad. Foregoing cat videos, on the other hand, would be a step too far.
And here is one of my favourite videos of Louis Catorze, greeting me in the street when I arrived home from work. I always share this with people when they don’t believe me when I describe how loud he is:
No, nothing is wrong. This is just his normal voice.
I bet you’re grateful for social media now, aren’t you?
Do you or your family make any special dishes for the holidays?
*WARNING: DO NOT ALLOW YOUR PETS TO SEE THIS POST.*
When Louis Catorze was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism I was determined to be strict with his diet, allowing zero human food, in order to aid his recovery. However, now that he is chubbing up and doing much better, I have started to feel more relaxed about letting him have the odd treat in tiny amounts.
We don’t prepare celebratory meals for him for special occasions; at most, we give him a few slivers of jambon de Bayonne and of organic aged Comté from the deli. Most of my friends think this is enormously extravagant, and they ask why we don’t just give him supermarket meat and cheese. Erm, because he refuses it. That’s why.
Watching this lady (the one in the video, I mean, not my friend Monique) prepare her cat’s breakfast has made me feel far less guilty about the treats we give to Catorze, yet also desperately negligent and inadequate. Trust me, these two seemingly-disparate emotions really can exist side by side.
I have bought caviar once in my entire life, in about 2001. Oscar has it every day. (Photo from the YouTube video.)
(And, no, we didn’t understand “chargers”, either. Is that American for “plates”? US followers, help us out, please.)
Bear in mind, too, that this video wasn’t even filmed during the festive period; this was just a regular, everyday breakfast. We would LOVE to be a fly on the wall when Oscar eats his Christmas dinner.
Cheer up, Oscar. You’re eating better than most humans in the world. (Photo from the YouTube video.)
In fact, we would love to be Oscar, full stop.
Catorze expectantly awaits his caviar. He might be waiting a long time.
We have had a few freezing cold days in London. There was even a brief flurry of snow on Thursday but this didn’t settle, due to the ground being too wet, much to my students’ disappointment.
Just as the sun is retreating, the cold weather has drawn the mighty Sun King inwards, and the little sod has been spending most of his time on our laps. Yes, this includes the second favourite lap in the household (mine). And I will gladly accept whatever meagre crumbs of affection that he casts my way, even if he is only doing it to stay warm.
Here he is, on my lap, looking uncharacteristically elegant – well, apart from the old man white hairs and the specks of dust:
Smart boy.
Perhaps there is hope, after all, that he could produce a halfway-decent Official Winter Solstice Portrait (Cat Daddy: “It could be the last one he ever does”) in the next few weeks?
louiscatorze.com 