Cat Daddy: “The red carpet in the living room looks awful. I can’t believe it’s worn down so quickly.”
Me: “Erm, it didn’t wear down.”
Him: “What do you mean?”
Me: “…”
Him: “What happened to it, then, if it didn’t wear down?”
Me: “…”
Him: “Oh my God. Please don’t tell me it was HIM?”
Me: “…”
Him: “[Unrepeatable Expletives of the Worst Kind]”
Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: he leaves the Yuletide tree and the leather furnishings well alone, but Louis Catorze will attack carpet with every ounce of his evil little being. Carpeted surfaces are his bête noire – or, rather, he is theirs – so it’s just as well we don’t have many in Le Château. But what an almighty mess he’s made of the few that we do have.
So I’m snipping out the unsightly white stringy bits – they ruin every photo taken in this room – and hoping for the best. No doubt as soon as they are gone, Catorze will scratch up new ones, and when they’re cut out he will scratch up other new ones, and so on, until we cave pathetically and buy a new carpet.
Meanwhile, the little sod has no opinion one way or the other. Indifference is what he does, and he does it so well.
“Get a new carpet. Don’t get a new carpet. Whatever. Couldn’t give a merde.”
Cat Daddy and I have returned our rented Yule tree, having ticked the box stating that we’d like to rent the same one again next year. (I don’t know how on earth they would organise this as it sounds like a massive headache but, apparently, this is a thing.) I have grown rather fond of it, despite the fact that it’s wonky, misshapen and a bit on the small side.
Cat Daddy: “Does that remind you of anyone?” (He meant Louis Catorze, by the way.)
Our January fitness plans are now under way. How did I manage to fatten up over the festive season when I didn’t even drink? I blame my sister and her husband for their irresistible food, and I am firmly back to my strict routine of step and weights workouts in an effort to remedy this sad situation.
Meanwhile, Catorze has taken his creepy staring to another level. (I know. We didn’t think there were any further levels to attain, either, yet he has managed to carve out another one from somewhere.) The little sod has started to sabotage my workouts, initially by sitting by my head when I am doing my sit-ups and creepy-staring into my face. And, if this doesn’t work, he sits on my step and refuses to budge.
When I change from one set of weights to another, he circles my feet, screaming at the top of his tiny little lungs. It’s like being at one of those awful boot camp exercise places, with a small drill sergeant alternating between barking orders and gawping at you in a combination of resignation and contempt.
Here is Catorze, between screams but well and truly in the zone in terms of creepy staring:
Louis Catorze and I have been enjoying some lap time during the holidays. However, as always, when Cat Daddy sits down with us, the little sod climbs off my lap and onto his. There was a time when he used to wait a minute or two before departing, just to be polite, but now he can’t be bothered and is off instantly. And the only things that stop him from doing it are as follows:
1. Getting my phone out to record it.
2. Saying to a visiting friend, “Watch what he does when Cat Daddy sits down!”
Cat Daddy isn’t especially keen on the constant lap-swoop, as he is harangued on a daily basis by Catorze and could do with a break from him. I don’t like it, either; I will be back at school tomorrow and it’s not very nice to think that, during my precious holiday time, my horrid cat would still choose his daddy over me.
So, whilst I have been trying to make my lap as inviting as possible with a fluffy blanket, Cat Daddy has been trying to put Catorze off and make his as UNINVITING as possible by sitting with his knees pointing at jagged, inhospitable angles, in the hope that it will make Catorze choose me.
Here are the results of our experiment:
Bastard cat.Bastard cat.Bastard cat.Bastard cat.
On each of these occasions, my flat, fluffy-blanketed lap was available. It was declined.
I think we can safely conclude that, even if Cat Daddy wrapped his lap in poison-tipped razor wire, Catorze would still choose him over me. We can also conclude that Catorze is an insensitive, ill-mannered little sod, although we didn’t really need to conduct an experiment to determine that.
Bonne Année! Hope you had a wonderful New Year’s Eve.
The dawn of 2021 saw us messing about with Louis Catorze’s food, hand-sifting the golden pellets from the brown ones like sweat shop workers. We are starting 2022 in a similar way but, this time, instead of sifting, we are pouring boiling water over minuscule portions of the little sod’s Orijen. No doubt we will start next year doing something equally stupid with his food, and the year after that, and so on, forever more.
Catorze is a grazer rather than someone with set mealtimes, so he likes to be able to revisit his bowl multiple times throughout the day. Obviously this works perfectly well if dry food is your thing. But if you insist on boiling water poured over your food and will only eat it if it’s freshly-served and piping hot, the whole grazing thing doesn’t really work. Unless you have a set of serving wenches at hand to dish up a new portion every time you stare creepily at them.
Sa Maj has never liked wet food. In fact, his dislike of it was such that it was even mentioned on his notes from the rescue. I was quite keen for him to have it, as I thought it would be a good way of getting enough water into him, but I failed in my efforts to make him eat it. That, however, was seven and a half years ago. Could it be that the little sod’s tastes have changed and that, after a lifetime of refusing wet food, he now wants it?
We hadn’t planned on changing his food anytime soon; we have plenty of Orijen, despite it still being out of stock at Petscorner, plus after all the Yuletide festivities we aren’t quite in the frame of mind to manage a(nother) Grand Changement right now. But it’s hovering ominously in the background like a Dickensian ghost, and I have an awful feeling that we might have to try it out sometime. Not yet, though. He has to have his dental surgery first, plus we need to mentally prepare ourselves and order in plenty of alcohol and Valium.
Wishing you a marvellous 2022, with lots of love from all of us at Le Château.
Something is going wrong with WordPress: not only are notifications not coming through, but I have been liking comments made by followers and the likes haven’t saved. Please be assured that we hugely appreciate it every time someone comments, even if it’s only to say “Your cat’s not normal.” (We already know this, obviously, but it makes us feel supported to have some affirmation.)
As Cat Daddy and I plan for New Year’s Eve and chat about what we want from 2022, we have come to the realisation that we just want Louis Catorze to be a bit less of a miserable shite towards other cats (especially Blue the Smoke Bengal). After spending all these years feeling relieved that there isn’t a nasty neighbourhood bully cat who picks on Catorze, we are dismayed that, in fact, the little sod is it.
He is the perfect host when it comes to humans, welcoming strangers happily and sitting right in the middle of them all so that he can absorb attention from all angles. Our last set of visitors were dog people and even they commented on how he was “unlike any other cat they’d ever met before” (and they actually meant it in a good way).
Catorze’s patience for other cats, however, is waning, although he hasn’t always been this way. The lady who found him as a stray told me that he got on well with her cats. And, over the years, when we have seen him interact with other cats, he has almost always been friendly. But after Cat Daddy witnessed him attack a passing cat not that long ago, emerging from the dust cloud spitting out lumps of its fur like a Wild West outlaw, we can see that things are changing. Or, as Cat Daddy puts it, “He’s turning into a cantankerous old ****.”
We don’t like the fact that our boy is becoming a trouble-making bruiser, not only because it’s an unpleasant way to be but because, one of these days, someone is going to fight back. Catorze has been fortunate that his opponents – all bigger than him without exception, including three foxes – have chosen to run away, but his luck is going to run out sooner or later.
Come on, Sa Maj. This isn’t how we raised you. Please resolve to be nice in 2022.
Cat Daddy and I are back from our trip to the south coast. We had a marvellous time despite the fact that not a drop of alcohol passed my lips due to the antibiotics, and it was lovely to catch up with family and old friends.
Barney and Bandit (below) were the surprise hit of our few days away. We are cat people, they are DOGS and never the twain shall meet, and so on, but, after the initial barkathon calmed down, they were affectionate, playful and, most importantly, DID NOT SLOBBER ON US. They loved the treats that we brought them, although I donned a plastic glove in order to dish them out because I didn’t want to touch the gross chicken feet. (I know, I know: if I’m happy to touch chicken breasts when cooking, I should be equally happy to touch chicken feet. But I’m not. Make of that what you will.)
Barney and Bandit, with their favourite toys.
Upon our return we found Le Château sparklingly clean and in perfect order, and a cat who greeted us with utter insouciance. To be honest we stopped expecting burning embers, wailing sirens and circling ravens a long time ago, because we know by now that Louis Catorze behaves utterly flawlessly for others. This is great, because it means we are never short of people who want to look after him despite his antics on Le Blog, but it’s also irritating as hell because it makes us look stupid when we complain about his behaviour.
Not only was he the perfect angel for our chat-sitteur, with the pair of them cosying up to watch films together, but he also posed for the best pictures with her. This one below was taken on Boxing Day, but wouldn’t it have made a great Official 2021 Winter Solstice Portrait? I’m pretty sure he’s saying, “Merci for looking after moi”.
You can’t beat a bit of creepy French horror. And the film was quite good too.
Cat Daddy and I were lucky enough to make it to Christmas-by-the-sea, but hasn’t quite turned out quite as planned. I fell ill the day my last post went live, and I’m on monster antibiotics which are knocking me dead. (Mum, if you’re reading this, don’t worry; everything is under control.) So no drinks for me this festive period, and the drowsiness from the antibiotics means that I am even duller company than usual.
Although it’s been stressful, at least I don’t have Covid (again). And I would far rather be doing the pre-Christmas doctor and pharmacy relay for myself than for Louis Catorze.
The little sod is in fine form and having the time of his life with his chat-sitteur. He has been all over her ever since she arrived, following her around like a puppy, and there have been no rodents and no nocturnal misbehaviour. Apart from headbutting her laptop whilst she worked, and one minor incident when he jumped into a parcel that she was about to send and stomped around on the tissue paper, he has behaved impeccably.
Here he is (using stills from a video, since actual videos don’t seem to post properly here), excitedly opening his present from Disco the dog with the help of his chat-sitteur. No doubt he is saving up his psycho for when we get back.
Last week Louis Catorze’s vet practice had to close suddenly due to staff shortages as a result of self-isolating, and they won’t be open again until the New Year. Thank goodness we organised the little sod’s medication and vaccinations beforehand, and thank goodness he is doing well at the moment, otherwise we would be well and truly dans la merde.
Catorze, Cat Daddy and I are double-, triple- and quadruple-jabbed respectively, as follows:
– Catorze: annual booster (eventually) and steroid
– Cat Daddy: double-Covid vaccine and booster (Original Trailblazing Pfizer for all)
– Me: double-Covid vaccine (Blood Clots ‘n’ Death AstraZeneca), booster (Cool ‘n’ Trendy Moderna) and flu jab
Now all we have to do is stay out of mischief until we head to the south coast for Christmas-by-the-sea. Surely not even I could be unlucky enough to test positive at Christmas AGAIN?
During our couple of days away, a friend will be coming to live with Catorze. Now, you might be forgiven for thinking that, perhaps, we haven’t told her the full truth about him. But she knows everything – yes, even about feeding him one teaspoon of boiling-watered Orijen 98 times a day – and, inexplicably, she wants to come anyway. There was once a time when we would have been very nervous about leaving anyone alone with Catorze. However, we have come to realise that, in actual fact, he behaves perfectly well for others. Apart from, erm, the rat he brought to one chat-sitteur, and the time he screamed at another through the skylight, leaving her turning the house upside-down trying to find the source of the sound.
Anyway, having let our gifts pile up in the dining room over a number of weeks, we are now sorting through it all so that I can wrap things properly. And, at one point, I really did hear Cat Daddy utter the words “No, don’t put the scented candles there! They might contaminate the chicken feet!” To Catorze, gift-wrapping is hugely exciting because it means COMMOTION and BOXES, two of his favourite things in the world.
Here he is, taking a brief break before the next round of pitter-pattering, screaming and attacking the packing tape:
The best thing about the school holidays is turning off the weekday alarm. Regretfully, Louis Catorze has not adjusted his. He still bounces around on top of me from 5am onwards, whining, wanting attention/food/a friendly chat/whatever. And, if I ignore him, he pushes things off the bedside table, one by one.
In much better news, after the second weirdest year ever (with the first, of course, being 2020), we are all looking forward to the shift in energy that the winter solstice will bring.
Catorze is making his list and checking it twice. However, he’s not bothering to find out who’s naughty or nice because it’s abundantly clear. I’m pretty sure you already know, too. That said, since he was a very good boy for not one but TWO photo shoots for Puppy Mamma (details of the second one will follow another time), we have bought him a couple of new toys and a bottle of catnip spray this year.
Thanks to making new animal-loving human friends and reconnecting with old ones, we have some new additions to Catorze’s Yuletide list this year:
1. Cat-Cousin King Ghidorah
2. Cat-Auntie Zelva
3. Cocoa the babysit cat
4. Chanel, Cocoa’s little sister
5. Blue the Smoke Bengal
6. Theo aka Donnie
7. Nala the dog
8. Gizzy the [insert name of species]
9. Disco the dog
10. Barney the dog, whose humans we will be visiting over the festive period (although, at this rate, it looks as if we’ll be meeting in their garden wearing masks)
11. Bandit the dog, Barney’s brother
Cat Daddy has no idea that we buy for so many pets and I don’t suppose he will be overjoyed but, by the time he finds out, I will already have bought everything (and given most of it to the recipients). Worryingly, when one delivery arrived and I said “Oh, that’ll be my chickens’ feet”, he didn’t seem that surprised.
(Yes, I do mean actual chickens’ actual feet. Apparently they are Barney and Bandit’s favourite.)
As well as giving small gifts to his animal friends, Catorze will be giving his usual winter solstice donations to Lilly’s Legacy (PayPal: lillyslegacy@hotmail.com) and All Cats Rescue. Despite being a selfish little sod at times, deep down he wants to help his less fortunate comrades. Especially at this time of year.
I have bought some dry shampoo powder for Louis Catorze, since his bath in our neighbours’ building dust had such a lovely effect on his fur. So, just like the proper French aristocracy back in the day, the little sod will be strutting around his Château with powdered hair.
Because Catorze is so sensitive, I decided against a ready-made product with a long list of ingredients and, instead, I’ve chosen a pure colloidal oatmeal powder. I have no idea what “colloidal” means but it sounds medicinal enough without being TOO medicinal, if you get what I mean. (Cat Daddy: “Not really.”)
The only thing is: how do I apply it? When he went to our neighbours’ house and came back caked in dust, I imagine he rolled it in of his own accord rather than having the builders rub it into him – although the latter would have been funnier – so I am more inclined to scatter it on the floor and wait. Yet all internet advice about dry-shampooing cats suggests putting poor kitty in the bath (!) and assaulting him with handfuls of powder, which would be absolutely hellish for all concerned.
So the pack of colloidal oatmeal is just sitting in the cupboard until I decide how to use it. Any suggestions would be gratefully welcomed.
Our Yule tree has arrived, and I couldn’t be happier. There is something about decorating a festive tree that’s wonderful for the soul.
This year we decided to try out a tree rental service (the kind of thing that we had hoped to do last year, but it all went wrong). It’s exactly as it sounds: they lend you a tree in a pot, and you return it at the end of the festive season. I arranged the delivery some weeks ago, making sure that I added it to my Google calendar as an event AND added Cat Daddy as an invitee. However, when I reminded him to wait in that day, not only did he respond with surprise as if I had never mentioned it before, but he moaned and griped as if it were the worst thing in the world.
Cat Daddy: “So I’ve got to wait in ALL DAY? It’s like being a prisoner!”
Is it ACTUALLY, though? Prisons don’t have the cheering company of a screaming vampire cat, for a start. (Although, if they did, people would try harder to stay out of them.)
Anyway, because the tree can only be indoors for 3.5 weeks, it has been waiting outside since its arrival and we have only just brought it in. Tree rental is not the cheapest option, but it means the tree won’t end up discarded on the roadside on 5th January. It also means that, unlike cut trees which some people put in a bowl of water, naughty cats can’t drink the toxic sappy water.
Usually Louis Catorze gets his own tree alongside our main one (I’m not joking; look here if you don’t believe me) but the one we gave him last year, which has been living in the garden in a pot, hasn’t survived well. Rather than buying or renting a second one for him, we decided to make our main one his. And we can do so without worry because, astoundingly, Louis Catorze has never trashed a festive tree in all his life (although he did chew one of the tags which we are supposed to attach to the tree before returning it).
Well, come on. We surely deserve to have SOMETHING go right when it comes to him?
Cat Daddy and I placed an order for our festive cheese board this week.
When making our selection, I was dangerously close to choosing some Comté because Louis Catorze likes it, but then I slapped myself around the chops and told myself not to be so stupid. I then recalled the wearisome time when we were still pilling Catorze, and I had to start making his Trojan Horses from Comté because he had begun to tire of Reflets de France tuna rillettes.
I often berate parents who raise fussy eater kids and yet there I was, waiting for the Comté to come to room temperature so that I could pill my cat. If you have never used Comté for this purpose – and, let’s face it, who has? – it’s not easy. Its waxy texture makes it quite hard to mould and, rather like damp sand, the more you work it, the more crumbly it becomes. Something like Brie would have much easier, but of course the little sod won’t eat that.
Eventually I took the Trojan Horse up to our bed, where Catorze was sleeping, and I presented it to him. After a couple of licks the whole thing disintegrated completely, sending bits of cheese rolling into the folds of the duvet, so I had to Greco him.
Me, to Cat Daddy, immediately after the event: “I’ve just had to pick bits of Comté out of the duvet.”
Him, without looking up from his phone: “No wonder you can’t sleep at night if you’re eating cheese in bed.”
Me: “What? Nooo. It wasn’t for me, it was for his pill. I just had to Greco him because he wouldn’t eat it.”
[Catorze enters the room and goes straight to his daddy to snitch.]
Cat Daddy, actually looking up from his phone to cuddle his boy: “Aww. I know, Louis. I don’t like Comté much, either.”
[Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.]
A week or so later, after further refusals, my Trojan Horse was finally eaten very happily when I bought a new slab of Comté. I then realised that the little sod had been refusing the earlier ones because I had used Marks and Spencer Comté and not the organic aged stuff from the deli.
Anyway, our order is pictured below, penned in the hand of the delightful Dom from the deli (alliteration entirely accidental), and we will be collecting it on the 23rd. I already know that Catorze won’t eat any of these, but tant pis pour lui.
Yes, that does say 750g (seven hundred and fifty grams) of Gouda with cumin. Please don’t judge us.“Où est mon Comté?”
After coming back from Louis Catorze’s vet appointment on Tuesday, Cat Daddy and I debated how and when to Gabapentin him.
Cat Daddy: “You could do it in the morning.”
Me: “But that’s when he and I have our morning cuddles. Plus it means my day starts with a stress.”
Him: “How about when you come home?”
Me: “…”
Him: “…”
Me: “Can’t you do it?”
Him: “But then he’ll hate me. He needs to have one of us that he can trust.”
[Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.]
Anyway, I drew the short straw and I’m the bad guy. It’s not fun. But if I do it in the morning, because the little sod has the Post-Steroid Hungries, it seems I’m forgiven quite quickly.
In other news 9,083 sleeping spots aren’t enough, and you simply have to look for one more. Preferably one that isn’t anywhere near as nice as the others.
This is one of those times.
For reasons that we cannot fathom – and, quite frankly, nor do we want to – Catorze decided that, today, he wanted to sleep on the Marks and Spencer bag containing my nieces’ and nephews’ presents.
Cats: why? And, please, don’t bother saying “Because cat”. That excuse just doesn’t wash anymore.
I am the worst person in the world. Not only did I forget to Broadline Louis Catorze this month but, when I finally remembered and went to his cupboard to take out a vial, I discovered that we were all out. Never in all my cats have I let this happen; I am usually meticulously organised when it comes to their health matters.
Luckily I realised my mistake on the day of Catorze’s steroid shot, so I was able to email the vet and ask them to order in some Broadline and, in the meantime, to give him an emergency dose of whatever flea and worm medication they happened to have lying around. I know that lots of us let the treatments lapse, and some don’t do them at all, but this is Catorze: we all know very well that, if I don’t do it this month, given that he goes rummaging around in all manner of undesirable places, we will be spending the festive period dealing with the maman of all flea infestations, fixable only by setting fire to our soft furnishings, and worms crawling out of his arse end and mating with each other to make more worms.
When it was time to leave for the appointment, despite having clung like a limpet to Cat Daddy all day long, Catorze had disappeared. We eventually found him hiding underneath a sheet that was drying in the dining room and, after the most undignified and unwieldy struggle hauling him out, with the little sod screaming his lungs out, we were able to stuff him into his transportation pod.
One steroid shot, one flea and worm treatment and one Gabapentin (for his possible* continuing toothache) later, we were £138 down. I took Cat Daddy’s credit card into the surgery with me and he was most displeased when I had to run back out again to ask him for his PIN, because the bill came to over £100 and therefore I couldn’t do a contactless payment. There were Unrepeatable Expletives on the way home, but Sa Maj was utterly mute so at least I only had to listen to one of them.
*It’s “possible” toothache because he wouldn’t let the vet look in his mouth, so she was unable to confirm it for sure. We now have to Gabapentin him and, if he eats more normally as a result, then most likely he did have toothache.
The minute we arrived home, Catorze pretended to forgive me and to come for lap cuddles, but in reality he just wanted to roll the flea treatment all over a scarf that I’m knitting.
And there is still the matter of the removal of his final troublesome tooth, which the vet suggested having in the New Year. I don’t suppose there is a “good” time for planning ruinously-expensive feline dental surgery. But January sure as heck isn’t it.
louiscatorze.com 