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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.

  • Ce chat est une chose que je ne peux pas expliquer

    *WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC REFERENCES TO NASAL MUCUS. DO NOT READ THIS WHILST EATING OR DRINKING.*

    After his 729th escape out at The Front this week, Louis Catorze rolled in with his hindquarters looking like this:

    No, we have no idea what it was, but it appeared to be something organic rather than artificial. And, although the photo gives the false impression of it being chalky in texture like matt paint, in real life it appeared to be of a consistency similar to that of … dried snot. I cannot – je répète, CANNOT – tell you how much the thought of this repels me to the very core of my being.

    For the sake of my own sanity I have decided to assume that he rolled in it, as opposed to someone actually picking him up and using him as a tissue. That said, neither idea is very pleasant – although Cat Daddy found the second one hilariously funny – and I don’t like the idea of any individual releasing snot into the public domain where others are likely to encounter it. A family member helpfully told me that, in some parts of the world, it is fairly common for people to expel snot directly from the nostrils into a roadside gutter and just let it wash away. Naturellement we stuck-up Brits find this utterly vile yet, if you think about it (not that I recommend it), it’s not much more offensive than blowing our noses into a tissue, carrying that gross tissue about our person all day long and constantly handling it to add progressively more snot. Not that any of this made me feel better, nor did it help me with the problem at hand.

    Anyway, what to do about it? I didn’t relish the thought of having to restrain the little sod and wipe him down, but then I didn’t want him pitter-pattering about with suspected snot on his fur, either. I winced and shuddered as I weighed up the options and finally decided that I would clean him … only to discover that he had given me the slip and, by the time I’d found him again, the stain had vanished.

    Cat Daddy, without looking up from his laptop: “He’s probably cleaned it off himself [i.e. eaten it]. Or he’s rolled it off somewhere [i.e. it’s on one of our beds]. It’s gone now, so who cares?”

    Ugh. If it were possible to bleach Catorze’s mouth, then incinerate the entire Château and rebuild it brick by brick, I would do so with my bare hands. And, if there is any creature in the animal kingdom more revolting than a cat (apart from a dog when it rolls in fox poo), I hope I never meet it.

  • Des cris aigus

    Although I probably give the impression that Louis Catorze only has two settings – Screaming and Asleep – in actual fact he has a number of different voices, as described in this post:

    https://louiscatorze.com/2018/11/11/je-gueule-donc-je-suis/

    My favourite sound is now numéro 2 on the list and, although we only used to hear it when he was taken by surprise, it is becoming more and more frequent now. It is making an appearance in Boys’ Club rough play and even, from time to time, in normal conversation with the little sod. (Yes, he and I do chat. I don’t always know what he’s saying but I just try to keep him talking because, if he’s talking to me, it keeps him from annoying neighbours or bullying Oscar the dog.)

    However, despite becoming more common, this sound remains as elusive as Bigfoot when it comes to capturing it on film. If you hear it once, then grab your phone to try to film a second squeak, it won’t come. And, should you discuss your intention to film it, you can guarantee that you will fail in your mission. But I was able to get lucky just one time, and the evidence is below.

    This video is from some time ago, but it captures the squeak perfectly. Turn the volume up:

  • L’amitié est un trésor

    The beautician who does home visits tends to be mysteriously “fully booked” during the days surrounding Hallowe’en. She and Louis Catorze did make their peace** after that unfortunate incident* but I fear that, just to be on the safe side, she avoids him during Peak Psycho Time. And I can’t say that I really blame her; I would if I could.

    *The incident: https://louiscatorze.com/2018/03/23/une-vision-de-la-beaute/

    **The truce: https://louiscatorze.com/2018/04/12/la-maison-des-mille-cris/

    Now that we are safely into November, she is free again and she came over the other day. We heard her talking at the front door long before she actually knocked, and we assumed she was on the phone but it turned out that she was chatting so Sa Maj who, at some point during the day, had escaped yet again. No, we have no idea of when nor how. But he followed her in, chirping and trilling, and then came upstairs to stare at her whilst she did the treatment.

    I was relieved and rather thrilled when she told me that another of her clients had a cat. “Ah, what’s the cat like?” I asked, hoping she would say “Deranged and homicidal” so that Catorze wouldn’t seem like the only one.

    “Very quiet,” she replied. “He just comes, looks at me for a few minutes and then goes away.”

    Oh.

    “But I told my client that, one day, her cat would be my best friend,” she continued. “Just like Lewis.”

    Awww!

    Afterwards I remarked on how well-behaved he had been during the treatment (although “well-behaved” is, of course, relative).

    The beautician: “Yes, Lewis, you were! Well, today, at least.”

  • Le chat hérite de la Terre

    Tonight is the biggest firework night of the year. And, as is the case every year, Le Château will be surrounded by bangs, crashes and whoops of all kinds. Most normal pets will be taking cover somewhere safe. However, if his behaviour last weekend – when a scattering of smaller-scale firework displays took place – is any indication of things to come, Louis Catorze will be more desperate than ever to escape out at The Front. Oh dear.

    I was out all day on Sunday and drove home to a chorus of firework explosions. And, the moment I put my key in the door, Catorze launched himself at my feet, head down and tail up like an ankylosaurus* going into battle, and I practically had to kick him indoors as I fought my way in.

    *Thanks to Jurassic Park, I expect the tyrannosaurus rex and the velociraptor top most people’s scary dinosaur lists, but don’t underestimate the ankylosaurus with its armoured body and flailing, mace-tipped tail. Living with Catorze on Bonfire Night is EXACTLY like having a very small, psychotic ankylosaurus loose in your house. Thank you to my nephew, aged almost 7, for introducing me to this dinosaur.

    Le Roi spent the next few hours prowling suspiciously in the hallway, listening to the fizzles and crackles and waiting for that moment when one of us unsuspectingly opened the door to put something in the recycling. And, when our heightened vigilance prevented him from breaking out, he decided instead to go out and enjoy the fireworks from The Back, most likely sitting on the sedum roof for a better view.

    Obviously it’s great that the little sod isn’t a petrified, quivering ball of nerves. But it’s not so great that WE are. Not to mention that this behaviour is utterly freakish and abnormal. Thank goodness this only happens once a year.

  • Écharpe 2,0

    I have finally finished knitting Cat Daddy’s Brentford FC scarf, just in time for today’s match against Huddersfield. The knitting experience has taught me a number of things:

    1. Drink-knitting is a thing and, like drink-driving, it should be avoided at all costs.

    2. No matter how many times you unpick and redo the bits that you drink-knitted, it will still look shite.

    The sober-knitted and drink-knitted parts of the scarf are so utterly distinct that anyone can spot the difference, even from far away. This scarf is not just a garment for winter warmth and an emblem of our beloved football team; its stitches tell a tale of resolute concentration followed by “Oh, sod this” followed by more concentration followed by more “Oh, sod this” and so on, from end to end.

    I have started knitting another scarf, this time for someone else, and I was feeling a little bad that, having now learned all the pitfalls, the second scarf would be much nicer than the one I made for Cat Daddy.

    Cat Daddy: “Well, mine is the original, and you can never beat an original. Plus, no offence, but I think it’s highly likely you’ll mess up the second one, too.”

    Great. Thanks.

    Anyway, Louis Catorze approves, even though he is a Sunderland fan. Here he is, giving his final quality control check – and, yes, it seems that the tongue is a crucial part of this:

  • Le nombre de la bête

    A few weeks ago I posted this photo and comment (below) on social media, in response to a video of a dog rescuing someone from the water. As you can see, there are a lot of people out there who, like me, know that cats are psychopaths who would happily drown us all if they could. And black ones are the worst of the lot.

    I couldn’t be more thrilled that, just in time for Hallowe’en, the number of Likes on my comment has reached 666.

    Joyeuse Halloween à tous. And, if you have a black cat and also enjoy swimming, don’t take any chances at the time of year when the little sods are at their most powerful.

  • La menace fantôme

    With Hallowe’en just around the corner, Louis Catorze has ramped up the creepy to Expert Level.

    He has started opening doors and shutters, and he is remarkably good at it. However, when we wake up to find the wardrobe doors open it can feel very unnerving. Think Sixth-Sense-meets-Poltergeist and you will understand what I mean.

    Naturellement, he hasn’t worked out how to shut doors after himself – unless it is to shut himself in a room, and then he decides he can’t be bothered to let himself out and screams for us to do it.

    When my sister and her family came to visit, Cat Daddy and I assumed that, if anyone made trouble, it would be the kids. Not so. Catorze prowled around the house all night, opening bedroom doors repeatedly and scaring my sister by projecting strange shadow shapes on the baby monitor. (The moving vertical candy cane shape really foxed her until she finally realised that it was his up-tail with the silly kink at the end.) Once dawn had broken he was clearly bored of scaring everyone quietly, and that was when he came crashing into our room, screaming.

    At breakfast that morning we discovered that everyone had a complaint about him, except for my eldest niece (aged 3) who said, “Louis came to look after me in the night! I love him!”

    Cat Daddy: “I guess someone has to.”

    My sister just about managed to catch him in action in the picture below. As if a black cat with vampire teeth weren’t already sinister enough:

  • Le dernier testament

    As we approach that time of year whose very essence is darkness and death, it somehow seems apt to mention that Cat Daddy and I have just been for a meeting with our solicitor about our wills. And it went something like this:

    “Have you written a will before?”

    “No.”

    “Do you have any idea of what should happen to your estate upon your passing?”

    “No.”

    “Have you talked about your funeral plans with anyone?”

    “No.”

    “Have you nominated anyone to have power of attorney in case of your ill health?”

    “No.”

    “Have you made ANY plans for what might happen after your death?”

    “Well, we’ve made arrangements for our cat.”

    [Silence, tumbleweed, crickets]

    Obviously, if one of us departed before the other, the remaining one would take care of Louis Catorze. (Cat Daddy has just read this over my shoulder and says he wouldn’t, but we all know that he loves his boy.) However, we discovered when planning for the unlikely event of Catorze outliving both of us, that the issue of who would have him isn’t as straightforward as we thought. Many of our friends and family members have cats, or love cats, but that’s not to say they would want another one. Especially not one like Le Roi.

    Here is a written summary of our discussion and conclusions:

    ⁃ My mum: has a cat who has one feline best buddy but hates all others, so no

    ⁃ Sister 1: has recently adopted a cat who has a history of scaring other cats, so no

    ⁃ Sister 2: husband is a dog person, so no

    ⁃ Neighbour 1: has Oscar the dog, so HELL no

    ⁃ Neighbour 2: has Cocoa the babysit cat who enjoys life as an only cat, so no

    ⁃ Neighbour 3: “likes cats, but wouldn’t want to live with one”, so no

    ⁃ Neighbour 4: is sick to death of having to bring Sa Maj back to us every time he escapes at The Front or breaks into his house, so no

    Luckily, Catorze’s ex-rescue have a policy of allowing their ex-cats back into the fold should circumstances change. And, as they not only know his intricate and elaborate history but also saw fit to spend in excess of £12,000 trying to make him well, I would feel more comfortable with them heading up his rehoming process than with potentially inconveniencing someone who didn’t really want a(nother) (complicated) cat. So I have asked one of my sisters to be in charge of contacting them and arranging for them to collect him, and hopefully they would be able to find another set of suckers family to take him on.

    I don’t suppose any of us really want to think about our cats outliving us. But we should probably still plan for it, just in case.

  • La chasse aux baies

    Poor old Louis Catorze. Here he is, dutifully fixed to his post at the virginia creeper and utterly unaware that the tantalising sounds within are, in fact … falling berries.

    Oui, mes amis: there are no birds, no mice and no bugs, nor has he discovered an opening to The Underworld. It’s just berries. Cat Daddy made this discovery during an alfresco session of Boys’ Club, and it perfectly explains not only why Catorze assigned himself to a spot too high for mice and too low for birds, but also why he hasn’t caught anything yet (not that we are complaining about this).

    Anyway, he has spent most of the week still in the same place. No doubt he will be there today, tomorrow, the day after that, and the day after that. It would be tragic if it weren’t so utterly hilarious.

  • Le pouvoir du vampire

    This week I asked some of my students whether they liked dogs or cats. They said cats. This is the correct answer.

    The conversation then led to our own cats, past and present, including, of course, Louis Catorze, and at the end of the lesson I showed them a photo of him. They were utterly spellbound and speechless at the sight of his magnificent vampire fangs.

    “Miss, he’s REALLY beautiful!” they exclaimed. “Can we see more pictures? Can we just look at cat pictures next lesson instead of doing work?” They will never know how much I wanted to say yes to this. French pluperfect tense grammar rules or cat photos? It’s a no-brainier, oui?

    Anyway, the students now appear to be under the impression that people would pay a fortune for a black vampire cat, and they are devising a Dragons’ Den-worthy scheme to get rich by breeding Le Roi and having his hypothetical Reine birth lots of fanged babies. Cat Daddy spat his tea all over his newspaper when I told him this, and said, “Bad, bad idea. One: he has freakish physical and mental abnormalities that are best not passed on. Two: females aren’t his thing. Three: he has no balls and can’t reproduce anyway.”

    Good points, well made. But, as the little sod’s big day approaches, I’m with my students on this one. I think that we have been blessed with a very special gift indeed, because who DOESN’T want a vampire cat at Hallowe’en? And it is my civic duty to share this gift with the world.

    Cat Daddy again: “No. It’s really not.”

  • Je chasse, donc je suis

    Whilst most normal cats are opting for indoors as the temperatures drop, Louis Catorze has been doing the opposite. This will, of course, be of no surprise to anyone.

    He has been spending more time outdoors than he ever did in the height of summer, even/especially when it’s raining. In fact, we have barely seen the little sod lately, except for the regular 3am drenched screamathons. Even Boys’ Club meetings appear to have been adjourned indefinitely. And this is because he has found a new hunting spot. Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: there is something in the virginia creeper.

    The other day I just about managed to catch him mid-rummage (see photo). I am mystified as to what it could be as I can’t imagine birds would live so low down, nor do I think mice would live so high up. But whatever it is has been occupying every waking minute, and no doubt the mystery will be solved when we are woken in the middle of the night with a twitching, oozing corpse dumped onto our bed.

    What more surprises could be winging their way to us during this cursèd month when psycho black cats are at their most powerful? (Not a rhetorical question: I genuinely want answers so that I can prepare myself.)

  • De nouveaux horizons

    Cat Daddy and I are a little sad because we have had to give up Kim*, our lovely, reliable car who never gave us any trouble. (Although we do, of course, realise that we lead a very fortunate life if that’s our greatest upset.)

    *Not named after Kim Kardashian, I might add, but after, erm, Kim Jong-Un. It was funny at the time.

    Our new car is the same make and similar in colour and shape to Kim, so there should be none of that initial new car confusion when attempting to locate it in car parks. But will Louis Catorze recognise it? For all his lack of brain cells, the little sod had grown to know the sound of Kim and was always at the door to greet us when we got home.

    Cat Daddy is convinced that cats instinctively pick up on the HUMAN presence at the door, not the car outside, and appears to have completely forgotten about this incident:

    https://louiscatorze.com/2016/11/04/le-sixieme-sens/

    But I think it’s both. And I now wonder how long it will be before Catorze learns to associate a new car sound with us? I will keep you informed on how promptly he shows up at the door when we get home after being out.

    The day we dropped off Kim and collected her successor, I said to Cat Daddy, “This must be what it’s like when you foster a cat and then it finds a new home, don’t you think?”

    Cat Daddy, without looking up from his laptop: “No. I don’t think it’s remotely like that.”

    Me: “Do you think Scott [the car dealership sales guy] would think it weird if we asked him to make sure Kim went to a good home? And maybe the new owner could send us photos?”

    [Silence, tumbleweed, crickets]

  • Que Dieu ait son âme

    I am taking a break from Le Château this weekend, leaving Boys’ Club to itself – Cat Daddy has assured me that he will “try to remember” to feed and water Louis Catorze – and I have escaped to the south coast for my annual Halloweekend celebration with my sister and her family.

    It’s a tradition that we started some years ago and still continue to this day, and this time I am lucky enough to be a guest in their lovely town house overlooking the sea. My sister doesn’t have any cats but she does have a homicidal Hitchcock-esque seagull, easily big enough to carry off Catorze should it feel so inclined, who lives on her roof and who dive-bombs passers-by every now and again. So I haven’t entirely escaped from unhinged animals who want to kill me.

    To help us decide what to do this weekend, we have been taking inspiration from Tina Brown’s book “Haunted Experiences in Hastings and Beyond”. The last chapter is entitled “Ghostly Animals” and, would you believe, it turns out that they’re all cats. Every. Last. One.

    Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: it seems that, whilst other animals have got the hang of the whole resting in peace thing, cats haven’t (or don’t want to). Even death is not enough to stop the little sods from driving us round the bend. I am shocked but not the slightest bit surprised.

    Do you have any scary cat stories? Have you encountered any ghost cats, or have your living cats ever freaked you out with their kitty ESP, their spirit-spotting capabilities or their general creepiness? If so, I would love to hear all about it.

  • Chacun tire la couverture à soi

    The members of our knitting class are now busily working on new individual assignments, having submitted our group one a few weeks ago. And we have welcomed Wife of That Neighbour as our newest recruit. Well, after making Freddie Mercury’s “I Want To Break Free” jumper she is knitting royalty, so how could she NOT join us?

    Puppy Mamma is going to make a jacket for Nala the dog and I have started making a scarf for Cat Daddy in Brentford FC’s colours, but we might tell Cat Daddy and Puppy Daddy that our next assignments will be matching Freddie Mercury-style pink sleeveless jumpers for them, just to see their faces.

    Anyway, I am sure you’re desperate to know what our group project was. (Cat Daddy: “NO. BODY. CARES.”) The multi-coloured, spirally squares that we made have all been coordinated and sewn together by our instructor to make a throw, and we have decided to donate it to a local charity shop to be sold or raffled. So, if you live in or around TW7 (which is where the shop is located) and you happen to purchase or win this item, you may wish to pay extra attention to the areas circled as they contain cat and dog spit: