When Cat Daddy and I met Shadow the black Labrador, her humans told us that she was an expert at seeking out people who had food and giving them the Full Hepburn, playing the convincing part of a starving dog. Her Dog Grandpa repeatedly vows not to fall for her act, yet always gives in.
I told the Dog Parents that Louis Catorze does something similar, except that his creepy staring is a means of bullying, rather than eliciting pity. When I give in and feed him, it’s not “pandering to him” as Cat Daddy often says; I am genuinely fearful.
Catorze, being much smaller than Shadow, is easier to ignore; in fact, if he is right up close to the sofa and I’m leaning back, sometimes it’s a while before I even notice him. However, he has wised up to this, and has moved his efforts from ground level to eye level to increase the intimidation factor:
Yes, those are my knees in the foreground. Yes, all that fluff and crud on them is from his body.
On that note, I’d better go and feed the little sod.
Into every Cat Mamma’s life a little rain must fall. However, sometimes it’s not a little rain; it’s a lot. A full-on hurricane, in fact. With a hefty dose of pollution thrown in. Oh my, this was a bad one.
When Louis Catorze came indoors a couple of mornings ago and settled on my lap, I was dismayed to see what appeared to be a hair on his leg. It did not match mine or Cat Daddy’s. And, judging from its shape and length, it seemed to come from, erm, a body part other than the head.
Oh. Mon. Dieu.
Naturellement I didn’t dare touch it to find out. Before I could give the situation the careful consideration it deserved without making it worse – for instance, sending the hair floating off or, worse, hoovering it up into my nostrils – the little sod had rolled over onto it. And, when he unrolled, it was gone.
What do you mean, “It must have been there somewhere”? It wasn’t. Believe me, I turned the room over – and turned Catorze over – like CSI, but there was no sign of that hair. And Catorze has previous when it comes to making things disappear just to make my life hard. Look here if you don’t believe me.
Now, if you are one of those rare people who own a normal cat, “gadding about with semi-clothed or naked strangers” would be the least likely of things for your cat to do when they leave the house. However: CATORZE. Clearly when Occam was doing his razoring all those years ago, he had never met a cat like him.
Cat Daddy: “Maybe it wasn’t a hair. Maybe it was something from outside.”
Yes. Flower stamens or leaf fibres or whatever else happens to look like body hair. “IT WAS PLANT MATTER” shall now become the mantra that I repeat over and over, in between sitting on the floor and blowing into a paper bag, until I actually start to believe it.
Please let it be this. (Picture from crocus.co.uk.)Please let it be this. (Picture from hobbycraft.co.uk.)
What are your morning rituals? What does the first hour of your day look like?
Sleeping through sunrise after a long night out on the lash.
Louis Catorze is the first person that I see every morning. He is like one of those Lumie alarm clocks with different pre-recorded sounds, most of which are pretty jarring and awful. But I love waking up to this one:
Quite a departure from the typical Catorzian scream.
The first waking hour of every day is spent just the two of us – unless Catorze is out bothering the local wildlife on an ICB* all-nighter, in which case he’ll roll in whenever like a wayward teenager. I like to pretend that he consciously chooses me and values this precious morning time together but, in actual fact, it only happens because his first choice person, Cat Daddy – who sleeps in the attic due to his thunderous snoring – keeps his bedroom door shut. So my company is only marginally better than no company at all.
*Important Cat Business.
After a few minutes of listening to his soothing purring, I walk downstairs – being sure to take an extra big stride at the bottom, in case I step on a dead rat – and make myself a pot of green tea. During the winter months Catorze snoozes on my lap whilst I drink the tea and read a book but, now that it’s spring, he just pretends to sleep. His eyes are closed but his ears are upright and alert and his tail thumps from side to side, indicating that he’s ready for mischief. And, if it doesn’t come his way, he will go looking for it.
This blissful state only lasts as long as it takes for Cat Daddy to start stirring; the minute Catorze hears his papa up and about, the spell is broken and he’s off to join him. But, despite the fact that I’m used and then cruelly discarded, I don’t take it too personally because I know that I’ll be able to do it all again the next day. I am very lucky to be able to start every day like this.
If you could have something named after you, what would it be?
A cocktail would be very cool, non?
It’s Louis Catorze’s thirteenth birthday at the end of this month and, in preparation for this, I have been toiling away* to create a birthday cocktail worthy of a Sun King. (A cocktail for the humans to drink, I mean, not for Catorze. You’ve seen the trouble he causes when sober, so the last thing he needs is alcohol.)
*Mixing random alcohol together.
One of my favourite cocktails is the French 75, which has a gin and champagne base. I have decided to reproduce it for Catorze’s birthday, since he’s French, and I have stuck to the traditional champagne, although Crémant would be a perfectly acceptable alternative. (Definitely no Prosecco, though; not only is it too flowery to do justice to an evil vampire cat, but it would no longer be a FRENCH 75.) For the spirit element, instead of standard clear gin, we have opted for a cherry gin steeped in Transylvanian oak casks, called Prince of Darkness.
Sun King or Prince of Darkness?
Cat Daddy and I have taste-tested this, and not only does it pack the required punch but its blood-redness makes it look the part. We love it and can see it reappearing in our celebrations throughout the year, including Hallowe’en. The only thing it lacks, however, is a name.
“À la santé du Roi.”
After researching how the French 75 came to be so called, I was troubled to discover this:
“The inspiration for the title was apparently a 75mm Howitzer field gun used by the French and the Americans in World War 1. The gun was known for its accuracy and speed, and the French 75 is said to have such a kick that it felt like being hit by just such a weapon.”
Hmmm. Not very cheery. Whilst I like the idea of the name celebrating the strength of the hit, is there a different name that would perhaps echo the bombardment on the soul that is life at Le Château, minus the getting shot part?
Here are our favourite ideas so far, in order of preference:
1. Vampire Kitty
2. Louis Catorze (quite distinct from the Louis XIV, the gin and Chambord cocktail that honours the human Sun King)
3. Screaming Roi
4. Catorzian Scream
5. [Various Unrepeatable Expletive-based names suggested by Cat Daddy]
If you have any other name suggestions that might work, or if you feel the burning need to buy cocktail ingredients to celebrate a special cat in your life, please let us know.
How do we like our cocktail? Pour 1 x 25ml shot of Prince of Darkness in a champagne flute, then top up with champagne, with an optional half-teaspoon of sugar. Or, if you’re Cat Daddy, hold the gin bottle in one hand and the champagne bottle in the other, and pour both freely into a pint glass until full.
On Good Friday, Cat Daddy and I strayed onto the Dark Side and met up with a DOG. (With the Dog Parents present, obviously. We wouldn’t have the slightest clue what to do with a dog by ourselves.)
This is Shadow, who belongs to one of my old school friends:
Gorgeous girl.
Despite being a member of the opposing faction, Shadow has a remarkable amount in common with Louis Catorze: they’re the same colour, they’re similar ages, and both have dodgy teeth, iffy legs and weird tails. If they ever met in another life, they would probably be friends.
It was a gloriously sunny day when we met in Richmond Park, so everyone else and their dog was there, too. Given the unpredictable mix of different types of dog (and human) plus geese, deer and whatever other animals lurk in the undergrowth invisible to human eyes, I expected utter carnage. However, Shadow was impeccably behaved throughout, sticking close to her Dog Parents even when off the lead, and showing no interest in looking for trouble. There was only one minor disagreement with a couple of chihuahuas, and they were the ones who started it.
Cat Daddy: “It’s always the small ones, isn’t it?”
We are very lucky that Catorze’s misbehaviour tends to take place out of sight, often under cover of darkness, and, if we’re stuck, we can always wheel out the old “It must have been some other black cat” excuse. It’s rather more difficult to deny the transgression if it’s in broad daylight, in public, and you’re standing there holding one end of the lead whilst the crazed animal at the other end is going absolutely ballistic. If you have a psycho dog, rightly or wrongly, people judge you and think you’re a useless, negligent parent. But if you have a psycho cat, everyone seems to accept that there’s not much you can do about it. In fact, if your cat is especially bad, they might even feel a bit sorry for you.
Shadow thoroughly enjoyed her walk and made the most of every sunny moment, as you can see from this picture:
Easter weekend dog goals.
And, as if we needed evidence of how fundamentally different they are, this is how Catorze passed the time on that same day:
Louis Catorze’s tattoo sleeves have fully grown back. So now he looks more like a normal cat, and less like a [insert name of cryptozoological beast undiscovered by science].
However, his evil eye – the mysterious bald patch on his left shoulder – is taking some time to grow back, and its cause remains a mystery. We don’t understand it. The vet doesn’t understand it. Nobody understands it.
???
We have been truly perplexed as to what substance could have such an almost-corrosive effect on his fur. Then one of Catorze’s favourite pilgrims made me realise that there’s only one substance which would affect a vampire in such a way: holy water. And there happens to be a church within walking distance of Le Château.
Oh. Mon. Dieu.
Could Catorze have screamed at the poor, unsuspecting Reverend who, not knowing what on earth he was, panicked and threw holy water at him? And can we trust the little sod to leave the churchgoers alone on this, their sacred Easter weekend?
My niece, aged seven, created the fabulous piece of art below, depicting Catorze as the Easter bunny. The chances of him wearing such a costume in real life are slim-to-zéro, however he may well hop from garden to garden leaving little chocolate treasures …
When Louis Catorze goes on the rampage in the neighbourhood, and we’ve been forced to wheel out the “It must have been some other black cat” excuse, we haven’t actually had a specific one in mind. What we say isn’t exactly a lie as such, nor is it quite the same as directly BLAMING another cat for Catorze’s misdeeds. … is it? It’s more like a simple omission, non?
Anyway, when Cat Daddy went for a walk the other day, he saw this fine gentleman at the wrong end of our street:
Well, hello.
I say “the wrong end” because all the things that good cats would avoid, but which are irresistible to the troublemakers – a busy junction, dogs galore and a pub with marauding drunk men – are there. However much we malign The Front, the real danger is at The Wrong End.
The only time Catorze has shown any interest in The Wrong End was on this excruciating occasion, years ago. Since then, a few people have claimed to see him there, but now it’s clear that it was this other black cat all along. To me, they don’t look remotely alike … but, if others think they do, maybe I should just play a strategic game and go with it?
As it’s now properly spring AND the Easter holidays have started, I have just had a good old clear-out of Louis Catorze’s cupboard. It’s supposed to be bad form to enter the new season still weighed down by needless tat that isn’t serving a purpose – and, knowing Cat Daddy, when he reads this post, he will make some comment about a certain 3kg weight that he wishes we could shed.
Once again, the cat cupboard clear-out was like disposing of the belongings of a deceased drug dealer before auctioning off their flat; there were pills, powders, capsules, syringes and suspicious herbs galore. However, there were also cat treats of which our mutual friend had sampled maybe one or two pieces before deciding that it was a firm NON.
Evil Catorze.
We can’t abide food waste, especially in these unpleasant times. We go to great lengths to avoid throwing away food, including cutting the mouldy bits off food before eating the good bits, reheating leftovers multiple times (which we know you’re not really supposed to do), and so on. We cannot fathom the world of an individual who gets to take one bite and then reject – or, worse, take multiple bites and pretend to like it, wait until we buy 9,004 packs of the thing and THEN reject.
And we pathetic humans are enabling this behaviour.
If you are visiting Le Château, much as we appreciate it when guests bring treats for Catorze, please may we request no more. He loves visitors, so all you have to do to make him happy is turn up. If you are a man, or if you can bring one with you, tant mieux.
You’re going on a cross-country trip. Airplane, train, bus, car, or bike?
Ok, so a vet appointment isn’t, by most people’s reasonable interpretation, a cross-country trip. However, if you have ever had to transport a screaming animal to somewhere it doesn’t want to be transported, you will know that it really feels like one.
At present, it’s a ten-minute walk across the park, and Catorze is so gossamer-light that even I, with my back problems, can manage to carry him in his swish transportation pod (apart from that one time when I couldn’t). The ease of the walk is such that the convenience outweighs the massive embarrassment of his screaming, which rings out through the park like an air raid siren and causes people to stop in their tracks and look over. However, the vet practice will be closing sometime soon, because the building complex in which it’s situated is due to be renovated. Nobody knows when, or if, it will return to the same place once the renovation is complete.
Luckily they have other branches in W4, W5 and TW3, all of which close by. However, they are further away than our current short walk to the TW8 branch. And the W5 one doesn’t have parking, which means that I would have to either carry screaming Catorze on the bus (no) or drive him to work, somehow keep him contained there all morning and then walk him to his appointment during my lunch hour (HELL, no – his path and those of my students should absolutely never cross).
So my means of transport really depends on where will be going the next time the little sod needs a vet; will it be Happening Hounslow (car), Charming Chiswick (car) or Exciting Ealing (still no idea how)?
A black basket case in a black basket case (pictured during a vet appointment a couple of years ago).
We recently had a cat-disliking friend visit us. Now, before you ask how I could invite such a person to Le Château, I don’t care whether or not visitors like cats as long as they pretend whilst they’re here. After all, I have to pretend all the time with people’s kids (and I do a fine job, if I say so myself).
When Cat-Disliking Friend saw Louis Catorze for the first time, he said: “That’s a BEAUTIFUL black cat! He’s like something from a story book!”
Well, that rather depends on the book. Perhaps he had something like this in mind:
Picture from Etsy.com.
Good pretending, though, mon gars. Keep it up.
Cat Daddy: “To be fair, the lighting in this house is pretty dim.”
Watching Catorze interact with Cat-Disliking Friend was interesting. He was curious, creepy-staring and screaming, but he wasn’t all over him as he usually is with men. Cat-Disliking Friend did well with the pretence, stroking the little sod whenever possible, and he even respected the sanctity of being TUC by fetching something from the kitchen whilst I was in this holy state, without me having to ask. But I would describe the Catorzian comportement as “friendly but reserved” (well, by his standards, anyway). Despite being thicker than a concrete milkshake, HE KNEW.
What a shame he couldn’t have behaved like this a few years ago. Cat Daddy and I had offered one of our spare rooms to a refugee girl in her late teens, with a view to her living with us during her university holidays until she had completed her course. However, her agency reported that she was afraid of cats.
Cat Daddy told them that we had a cat, and suggested that they bring her over for tea one day to see how comfortable she felt around Catorze before deciding whether or not to move in. Since she was a girl and not a boy, I imagined that Catorze would behave. I know. I KNOW.
The horrid little sod pounced as soon as she arrived, rolling all over her coat, hollering his guts out, with a mortified Cat Daddy repeatedly trying to shoo him away. As I was making the tea I heard the poor girl scream because Catorze had suddenly jumped onto the arm of the sofa, startling her. It was excruciating. We could have shut him in another room during her visit, but this seemed pointless if the end goal was having her live here for three years.
As our visitor left, Cat Daddy suggested that, perhaps, she might consider spending a trial weekend with us. She said she’d think about it.
We never heard from her again.
Imagine experiencing war, poverty and destitution, yet spending a weekend with Catorze is just beyond the pale. That said, we get it. We live with him mainly as an act of civic duty, so that nobody else will have to.
This is Luther, Louis Catorze’s big brother, who left us in 2014:
The Lutheran method: evoking guilt.
Luther would have been fourteen years old today. He only celebrated two birthdays during his too-brief time with us, but we always remember the date every year and have his favourite food – prawns – to celebrate. His picture popped up recently on that social media “Memories” thing and, according to the accompanying text, I was eating a burger with mustard and melted cheese at the time. This is no surprise, since Luther was the KING of being my best friend when I had food.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Since Catorze hasn’t always been a creepy-starer, and only developed it after a few years of living with us, I can only imagine that he must have learned it from someone. It’s comforting to think he is able to channel his frère aîné, even though Luther managed to look disappointed whereas Catorze just looks scary.
Happy birthday, Luther. Hope you have prawns galore, wherever you are.
Louis Catorze is positively ebullient with springtime joy.
Usually, when I have my morning tea and he lies on my lap, he sleeps. But, on the morning of the equinox, it was as if a switch had flipped and he knew something was in the air; he was upright and alert as he lay, ears twitching, eyes darting back and forth and tail swishing. And he’s been like that ever since.
Catorze’s favourite outdoor place to be is next door’s shed roof. He likes it much better than our shed roof because theirs is just plain wood, whereas ours has plants on it that must be less comfortable for the derrière royale. They have a second mini-shed next to their main one, which he has also claimed as his.
When Disco the dog’s folks still lived there, and they came over one December for our annual “Mince Pies and Apology for Catorze’s Behaviour” evening, we learned that they often observed Catorze up on his viewing platform. However, they pointed out that Catorze wasn’t going there just to relax. Mais non. He was going there to catch birds.
Dog Mamma and Dog Sister recounted how they had seen Catorze swiping at birds. On one occasion it seems he actually managed to catch one, although we never found a body (so we imagine Blue the Smoke Bengal took the rap for that one).
We didn’t give it too much thought back then, since it was the middle of winter. But, now that we are into CST and almost starting BST, and therefore Catorze is likely to spend more time on the shed roof, we are hoping that, in his advancing years, he will tend more towards watching the world go by, like an old man sitting on his veranda. However, the fact that the little sod brought Cat Daddy a headless rat the other day, doesn’t bode well.
Here he is, photographed by Cat Daddy earlier this week … and, worryingly, the body language suggests that he’d spotted something of interest:
Don’t even THINK about it. Whatever “it” might be.
What movies or TV series have you watched more than 5 times?
I can think of one show in particular that I have seen countless times, although I still haven’t figured out whether it’s a film on repeat, a horror-themed Groundhog Day-style soap opera, or something Trumanesque whose participants don’t know that they’re part of a reality show and you’re torn between laughing at them and feeling really sorry for them.
I think its name is “Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” and it stars Louis Catorze, playing the part of a cat who is outraged or alarmed about something. His skills at portraying this, when in actual fact there is nothing whatsoever the matter, are quite extraordinary.
The pilot series aired in 2014 and, nine years on, it is still running. The content is very much the same as it was at the beginning, but it is clear to see that the leading actor has evolved; whereas, originally, there was just screaming – well, I say “just” screaming as if that were unworthy of note, but we all know that his voice is enough to make us tear at our own ears with our fingernails – but further dramatic techniques that he has developed over the years include, although are not limited to, creepy staring, whining and 3am parkour.
“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” is aired multiple times each day and night, whether or not we want to see/hear it. And Catorze gives us the full Day-Lewis every time, repeatedly convincing us pathetic humans that something really is amiss, irrespective of how many times we have been duped in the past. Sometimes this has led to vet visits, only to find out that there’s absolutely jacques merde wrong with him.
This show is worthy of many Academy Awards, aside from Best Actor in a Leading Role: it deserves Best Director, Best Foreign Language Film (subtitles not available) and Best Sound Mixing, to name but a few. If you haven’t seen it, hopefully Catorze’s misadventures in Le Blog will bring the experience alive and help you to feel as if you have. You’re welcome.
