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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 vérité sur les chats et les chiens

    Nala the dog’s Puppy Parents have been talking about getting a feline companion for Nala, as Puppy Daddy always had both dogs and cats whilst growing up. When I asked Puppy Mamma what kind of cat they wanted, she replied, “A small black rescue one, like Louis Catorze.”

    Cat Daddy spat his wine all over Puppy Mamma’s sofa at the thought of anyone getting a cat like ours on purpose. “That could definitely be arranged,” he said. He was 50% joking but, now that he has had time to dwell on the idea, and especially since we’re both so broke after Christmas that we’re seriously considering raiding Catorze’s delightfully buoyant sick fund*, that 50% has risen to around 70%.

    *I’m not joking. The few quid that I had to last me until my January pay day have now dropped to even fewer thanks to some emergency dental treatment on Friday night. Catorze, on the other hand, will never have to worry about such things, although Cat Daddy says that dental treatment to file down his freakish fangs “wouldn’t do him any harm”.

    “Louis loves people,” he said. “We’re doing him a massive disservice, keeping him in a house with one of us going to work most days and the other wanting to go out and do Important Retirement Things. Maybe the reason he screams so much is because he’s unstimulated? Maybe he’d like to go and live with [the Puppy Parents] and to have a permanent canine friend? Plus we’ve had him for seven years. Seven year itch, and all that.”

    Me: “Erm, it’s actually only been five and a half years.”

    [Silence, tumbleweed, crickets]

    Anyway, there is zero evidence whatsoever that Catorze would have a harmonious relationship with a dog, mainly because he tends to be over-keen and the feeling isn’t mutual. He has only met four dogs in his life (that we know of) as follows:

    1. Bert the dog (who would frequently yell at Catorze, only gradually stopping over time when he grew too old to notice him)

    2. Oscar the dog (who hates him and wants to kill him)

    3. Kiki the Elton John dog (ditto) https://louiscatorze.com/2016/11/27/le-samedi-soir-est-bien-pour-se-battre/

    4. The psycho fox from the park, who looks dog-like enough to be considered a dog (ditto, plus he has rallied all his foxy friends into also hating and wanting to kill Le Roi) https://louiscatorze.com/2018/09/30/je-suis-une-legende/

    Sa Maj hasn’t yet met Nala but my powers of perception have spied a pattern emerging here. I don’t know about you but I get the distinct feeling it wouldn’t go especially well.

    But I guess this is all immaterial because, much as she would love Catorze as her pet, Puppy Mamma wouldn’t wrench him away from his home. I wish I could say the same of Cat Daddy, who is sick of the 3am screamathons and has played out Catorze’s house move in his head a zillion times.

    Here is the little sod, asleep in a box of stuff bound for the charity shop and utterly unaware of his papa’s dastardly scheme:

  • Chat Fou 2020

    Happy New Year! And what joy it is to bid adieu to the lopsided unevenness of 2019 and to glide into the delightful roundness that is 2020. Not since 2012 have we had a number which is utterly sublime to look at and even better to say.

    Cat Daddy and I cannot wait to see what this year will bring, and we are looking forward to the following events in particular:

    1. A number of landmark birthdays among our family and friends, ranging from 40 to 80.

    2. Louis Catorze’s 10th birthday in April (and, yes, we know that he neither looks his age nor acts it). Cat Daddy thinks he has vetoed any type of birthday celebration but I have A Plan.

    3. Hallowe’en aka La Fête des Chats Noirs taking place on a Saturday AND on a full moon.

    4. Lots more knitting, including a scarf for myself that Cat Daddy has nicknamed “The Special One” because it’s going to be made of MERINO wool – geddit? (Football fans will understand. Anyone else will wonder what on earth I am talking about.) The scarf doesn’t even exist yet, but I bet Catorze has already planned how he’s going to trash it.

    Don’t worry, we have started stockpiling holy water and Valium for numéro 3 and the chaos that will ensue. Come to think of it, we may also need them for numéro 2 and numéro 4.

    Anyway, thank you so much for supporting Sa Maj and Le Blog, and we wish you a happy and prosperous New Year.

  • Mon cerveau est la clé qui me libère

    We survived Christmas Day with Louis Catorze only escaping out at The Front once. After spending the morning thundering around the house, screaming, he then slept for the rest of the day and gave us some peace.

    Catorze may well be the expert in supernatural teleportation that defies the laws of science and nature, but his Cat-Cousin King Ghidorah is nailing the more terrestrial, Houdini kind of escapology.

    The little sod was under house arrest recently whilst he recovered from an eye infection, so my sister took the TRIPLE precaution of locking the cat flap, taping it up and placing the huge kitchen bin in front of it. The next morning she came downstairs to find the bin tossed aside, the cat flap like this (below) and no sign of King Ghidorah.

    It’s not hard to see how he might have toppled the bin, but we are utterly mystified as to how he unpicked the tape and turned the lock. And, the next day, he managed to move aside Barricade 2.0: a bucket full of bottles of Prosecco and beer that even my sister cannot lift on her own, although her double-taping and extra layer of cardboard defeated him.

    It makes a change for me to get to laugh at another cat’s abysmal behaviour. But, as all cats are connected and controlled by The Mothership, I don’t suppose I’ll have long to wait before it’s Catorze’s turn to raise/lower the bar (depending one’s perception). *EDIT: A few days after I drafted this, I woke to the sound of clawing and caught the little sod using my favourite dress as a scratching pad.*

    Here is King Ghidorah, looking the picture of, erm, innocence:

  • C’tait la veille de Noël

    'Twas the night before Noël, and in Le Château
    A creature was screaming; quite why, we don’t know.
    No stocking was hung by this cat’s human slaves.
    (Saint Nick only visits the ones who behave.)
    The well-behaved pets were all snug in their beds,
    While visions of summertime danced in their heads;
    Cat Daddy with red wine and I, with my gin,
    Had just settled down to watch “Holiday Inn”
    When, out at The Front, there arose such a clatter.
    We sprang from the room to see what was the matter.
    Away through the hallway we flew to the door,
    Our lightning-quick feet barely touching the floor.
    When what to our wondering eyes did appear,
    But an evil, horned demon with devilish sneer
    And the foul, rotting odour of sulphur from hell.
    We knew it was Krampus, the beast of Noël.
    More rapid than eagles his goblins they came,
    And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
    "Now, Beelzebub! now, Lilith! now Azazel and Adrian!
    On, Pazuzu! on, Satan! on, Lucifer and Damian!
    To the top of the porch!” we then heard Krampus shout.
    “Let’s grab that bad kitty, then get the hell out!”
    And then, in a twinkling, they heard small paws plod:
    The soft pitter-patter of one little sod.
    As they drew in their heads and were turning around,
    Sa Maj down the hallway approached with a bound.
    He was jet black in fur, from his toes to his head,
    And he screamed bloody murder, which filled them with dread.
    His razor-sharp fangs were both shining bright white. 
    He looked like a hideous beat of the night.
    Sheer terror filled Krampus and his entourage
    (Despite this loud kitty not being that large)
    And the shrill, piercing screams made the goblins’ ears bleed;
    First they froze still with shock, then retreated at speed.
    And, putting his fingers inside of his ears,
    With a terrified whimper, eyes filling with tears,
    Poor Krampus sprang back, to his team gave a yell,
    And away they all flew just like bats out of hell.
    But we heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight:
    “Even hell hath no demon like that little shite!”

  • La renaissance du soleil

    Louis Catorze’s Cat Granny passed away last month, and Cat Daddy and I have been thinking about her during our traditional winter solstice reminiscing. She was the best mother-in-law imaginable and would always take my side in an argument with Cat Daddy. In fact, she would always take my side even if there had been no argument, and at Christmas she would give me better presents than the ones she gave him. Her words to me when we announced our engagement were: “Well, he’s always been a very nice son to me. I just HOPE he’ll be a nice husband to you.”

    She left us on Remembrance Sunday, which was a very important day to Cat Grandpa, and I can imagine him hurrying her along on that morning and telling her she’d better get to him before 11 o’clock.

    Cat Granny loved cats, although I don’t have any decent pictures of her with Louis Catorze as he preferred hanging out with Cat Grandpa at Boys’ Club. But they had a lovely relationship, and she was one of the few people who didn’t mind stroking him when he had just come in, cold and wet, from a thunderstorm. She would always be there with the cuddles, whilst Cat Daddy and I flinched and shuddered when Catorze came near us with his gross, drenched fur.

    Cat Granny is pictured below with Brook, the enormously fat* cat who lives in her residential home and who is the same cat that ruined her 90th birthday party by catching a bird in front of horrified guests.

    *I must add that the residential home staff do not overfeed him. As anyone with a greedy and determined cat will understand only too well, he goes out and manages to find food – and clearly rather a lot of it – from somewhere.

    Moments after this photo was taken, the delightful scene was ruined because Brook dug his claws hard into poor Cat Granny. Cat Daddy and I had to delicately unpick the big sod and hoist his considerable bulk off her body, which was quite some challenge, demonstrating yet again – not that we really needed reminding – cats’ innate capacity for spoiling things that were perfectly lovely before.

    I hope that Cat Granny and Cat Grandpa, wherever they may be, are surrounded by cats (but maybe better-behaved ones than naughty Brook). And Catorze, Cat Daddy and I wish you all a wonderful winter solstice.

  • Le calendrier de l’avent

    I am usually quite a stickler for tradition when it comes to advent calendars: I don’t like chocolate, Santa, North Pole animals wearing clothes, excess glitter, mini bottles of alcohol (just give me one large bottle) and DEFINITELY not Disney characters (shudder).

    I like plain, normal windows with no weird gimmicks and genuine midwinter symbols with pagan roots, such as mistletoe, holly and deer. I even once went through a phase of buying a special winter solstice advent calendar every year, despite the two notions not really being compatible, but I eventually stopped buying when it dawned on me that it was essentially fewer windows (it stopped at 21) for double or triple the price of a normal advent calendar.

    These windows in my current calendar certainly defy tradition, as cats aren’t usually a Yuletide phenomenon (apart from this scary Icelandic one who eats naughty children: https://www.iizcat.com/post/4373/The-Christmas-Cat-of-Iceland-a-giant-terrifying-cat-that-gobbles-up-children-if-they-039-re-bad). Yet I am sure you will see why I found them very pleasing indeed:

  • Le bruit ne fait pas de bien, et le bien ne fait pas de bruit

    Someone escaped out at The Front when we went to the cheese shop the other day, and this is what greeted us when we got home (see below). You can even make out Cat Daddy’s “Shut up!” 3 seconds in.

    This must be what our neighbours hear and see every single time the little sod breaks out. We feel terrible for them all but for That Neighbour, in particular, and it’s not remotely surprising that the poor man can’t stand the infernal racket and is forced to leave his house and escort the miscreant back home.

    Good folk of TW8, we are truly sorry. Please don’t hate us. (It’s Louis Catorze’s fault. Hate him instead.)

  • Les lumières de Noël

    What a surprise when I returned from work the other day to discover that Cat Daddy had set up a magical winter wonderland here at Le Château. This was especially cheering after our trip to Paris last weekend (yes, the same trip that was postponed in the summer when I injured myself trying to de-flea Louis Catorze: https://louiscatorze.com/2019/08/05/aucun-sejour-a-paris/ ) had to be cancelled because of train strikes in France. It seems that, one way or another, the French are determined not to let us go.

    Anyway, we now have:

    1. Cool white lights at The Front which Cat Daddy has fixed to “epilepsy” setting (possibly to stun Catorze when he tries to escape)

    2. An outdoor tree with warm white lights at The Back

    3. CATORZE’S TREE

    Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: despite all his protests against giving Sa Maj his own tree, Cat Daddy braved the Blood-Letting Needles of Death to decorate it and has lived to tell the tale.

    Here is the tree in all its splendour. And here is Catorze showing his gratitude in the only way he knows how:

  • Le sapin de mort

    We have the maman of all middle-class problems here at Le Château: the festive tree that we purchased for our cat is so spiky that we can’t decorate it.

    Cat Daddy: “Well, you wanted a tree for him. It’s your fault.” To be fair, he has a point.

    Here is a picture of the tree (below) and, as you can see, I can’t even take the packaging off the pot because the Blood-Letting Needles of Death slash me to smithereens whenever I go near.

    Cat Daddy is concerned that Louis Catorze will come a cropper in the same way but, despite logic suggesting entirely the opposite, I actually trust the little sod on this one. After all, it was he who informed us that the sprawling tendrils of the butternut squash plant were riddled with killer spines when we noticed him leaping to clear them instead of just elbowing/headbutting his way through: https://louiscatorze.com/2017/09/10/attention-aux-courges-butternut/

    Anyway, my options now are as follows:

    1. Leave the evil tree as it is.

    2. Invest in one of those telescopic picking-up devices and use it to hang the decorations from a distance.

    Cat Daddy: “What about “Option 3: Leave someone else to fix the problem that YOU CREATED IN THE FIRST PLACE”? That’s what’s going to end up happening, isn’t it?”

    He has a point there, too.

  • Suivez le chemin de briques bleues

    One of the joys of WordPress is that I can draft posts and save them for later and, for some time now, I have had an entry sitting in my Drafts folder, waiting for the right photograph to accompany it.

    The post is about our new front path and how much nicer Louis Catorze looks rolling on tasteful tiles than on the previous ugly concrete. My intention was to publish a concrete-rolling and a tile-rolling photograph side by side, so that we may compare them and gasp in wonderment at the marked difference. However, despite there having been multiple escapes to The Front since Lee the tiler finished the work months ago, Sa Maj hasn’t rolled on the tiles once.

    Cat Daddy: “Well, of course he hasn’t. He probably hates the beautiful tiles and liked the ugly concrete better. I don’t know why you are the slightest bit surprised.”

    Anyway, if things continue in this fashion – i.e. Catorze doing the exact opposite of what we want him to do – I might have to resort to the secret weapon suggested by a friend: catnip sprinkled on the path.

    On verra. Anyway, here is a pointless photo of the path, sans chat:

  • Trop de choses à faire

    The winter solstice is fast approaching and, whilst Louis Catorze is following his natural instincts and burying himself so deeply into his igloo that I fear he might become part of it, Cat Daddy and I are doing the opposite. We have so much to do, including the following:

    ⁃ Buying, putting up and decorating our main tree, which Cat Daddy put outdoors one year because he didn’t want to disturb his boy’s main sleeping spot (even though he has 849 other sleeping spots) and has remained an outdoor tree ever since: https://louiscatorze.com/2017/12/15/mon-beau-sapin/

    ⁃ Buying and decorating Catorze’s tree (yes, Sa Maj has his own tree, although I don’t suppose he will agree to be pictured next to it)

    ⁃ Choosing a charity to receive the donation that we make in lieu of sending cards

    ⁃ Sending cards to the awkward people who don’t know about or understand the charity donation thing, and who would probably never speak to us again if we didn’t send them a card (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE)

    ⁃ Organising the festive menu for the day (even though we still don’t exactly know who’s coming and for how long)

    It’s all a bit manic and although, at times, we wish we could climb into that igloo with Sa Maj and just wait for it to all be over, we know how lucky we are that we are able to do these things. The people who can’t, for whatever reason, are very much on our minds at this time of year.

    We hope that your festive planning is going well, and that it’s bringing you more joy than stress. In the meantime, Sa Maj is still in his igloo, and he won’t be budging anytime soon.

  • J’adore mon iglou

    Louis Catorze’s winter igloo has officially been reinstated. Even though I know that, once he’s in, he won’t be coming out unless it’s on fire.

    Selfishly, I wanted to delay giving him back his igloo because I like having him on our laps. That said, I know how much he loves it. And it means we can have our blankets back. And, possibly most importantly, if he’s sleeping in it throughout most of the day and night, it’s less likely that he will be bothering the neighbours, howling at dogs / foxes / magpies / parakeets / other cats, or waking us up by bouncing around our bed and screaming in our faces. So, in many ways, it’s a win-win.

    If anyone wants him – don’t all rush at once – he’ll be here until next May:

  • J’ai dégusté ses poils avec des fèves au beurre et un excellent Chianti

    On Friday night there was no sign of Louis Catorze, which was rather unusual as he has slept on our bed with us pretty much every night ever since the first day he came to live with us. That said, since the time he hid somewhere in the house (hiding place still unknown) and we made Oscar the dog’s folks go searching in their shed for him in the middle of a storm, we have learned not to panic too much at his disappearances.

    When Cat Daddy went downstairs and opened the dining room door the next morning, out shot Catorze, all indignant and screamy. Yes, the little sod had used his Cloak of Invisibility to sneak in and had been shut in there all night.

    I heard Cat Daddy say, “Well, it’s your own fault. You should have meowed for help.” Then I heard purring and squeaking, which are the classic signs of Boys’ Club rough play and forgiveness for whatever misdemeanour may have previously occurred.

    Luckily Catorze hadn’t turned the dining room into les toilettes, nor had he trashed the place doing parkour trying to get out. However, he had managed to break into the cupboard containing all the good crockery and cutlery and had rolled all over everything. This photo is of one of our napkins:

    Now, the cat people that I know fall into one of two camps when it comes to this kind of thing:

    1. Disinfect and/or incinerate everything
    2. Dust it off and nobody will notice

    Dinner guests past and present, you will be relieved to know that Cat Daddy and I are firmly numéro 1. I think it’s safe to say that, given the choice, most people wouldn’t opt to eat from tableware that has been rolled on by a gross cat. And, whilst they wouldn’t necessarily know about it, we would.

    The contents of the cupboard are now cleaner than an operating theatre. And, as the festive season approaches, Sa Maj is ready to receive pilgrims, both old and new, for dinner.

  • Le froid ne m’a jamais dérangé de toute façon

    We all know that Louis Catorze isn’t really one for doing what we would expect (or want). In 37-degree heat, he heads for the sun. In thunderstorms, he heads outside. And, if faced with a larger and more ferocious animal who could kill him in an instant, he pitter-patters towards it, up-tailed and screaming.

    However, on a cold day, he can’t ignore his natural catty instincts, and that is when he wants ALL THE BLANKETS. One clearly wasn’t sufficient so he actually has a total of three here. We wouldn’t mind a couple for ourselves, but it doesn’t look as if that will be happening. Not today.

    His face looks sour as an underripe lime but, trust me, the little sod is very happy indeed.