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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.

  • Les caresses de chat donnent des puces

    C584A943-212A-47E7-9B98-81566F8D670CMy plan to make Louis Catorze a zero-waste kitty has reached an obstacle: spot-on flea treatment. Not only is the market fairly limited in terms of products – with some well known to be utterly useless – but not a single one is plastic-free. So it won’t be quite as simple as swapping brands, as we did with the little sod’s food. 

    Louis Catorze uses Broadline, which has the added benefit of also treating worms and therefore absolving us of the Greco-Roman death-wrestle when we try to get a worming pill into him. Each little vial comes individually wrapped in a plastic tray with a peel-off film cover. Whilst I can see why vets and pet shops would want such packaging for sterility, I wrote to the manufacturer to ask if there may be another option for at-home users.

    The response – which, unbelievably, came from a lovely customer services lady named Cat – was that the packaging was needed to keep the product stable and to comply with some fancy-sounding European safety law. 

    (When I told others about Cat, very worryingly a couple of friends told me that the name must just be a coincidence, as if I genuinely thought the company might only recruit people with animal names or, worse, that I thought they had an actual cat managing their customer service enquiries.)

    I wrote back to Broadline Cat and asked if they were doing anything to find an alternative to plastic. I understood about the product stability – after all, we wouldn’t want rancid chemicals to cause Catorze to mutate and turn into the scary Monsieur Hyde version of himself – but, given the ticking time bomb that is single-use plastic, I hoped that there might be another way. (Cat Daddy remarked that Catorze already IS the scary, mutant Monsieur Hyde version, and that a cocktail of putrid chemicals couldn’t possibly make things worse in that respect.)

    Broadline Cat replied as follows: 

    “Please rest assured that Boehringer Ingelheim continuously look to make improvements where possible to improve our environmental impact. Whilst there is nothing more we can share currently on this particular area, we will ensure to raise this with global manufacturing and supply chain colleagues working on our environmental programmes.”

    I don’t know what the solution is for packaging spot-on flea treatment. But I hope Broadline Cat will be true to her word and that they will continue to look for one. 

  • Je gueule, donc je suis

    I often write about Louis Catorze’s screaming but, in actual fact, depending on the situation and on his mood, he is a Man of Many Meows, not just one standard scream. Here they are, in order of volume (quietest first): 

    1. Le Miaulement à la Bouche Fermée. This is usually deployed in the middle of the night and is murmured through a closed mouth, which we take to mean, “I don’t want to wake you up, but I’m just checking in to bid you a bonne nuit.” Unfortunately, despite its softness, it DOES wake us up, hence why Cat Daddy finds this meow the most annoying of them all. 
    2. Le Cri Aigu. As the name would suggest, this sounds just like a dog’s toy, and it is the most un-catty sound that one can possibly imagine. It is usually uttered when Le Roi is grabbed or squeezed when not expecting it. And, yes, sometimes we DO do this to him just to make him squeak because we find it so funny.
    3. Le Cri de Guerre Wah! Wah! Wah!. What it lacks in volume – for it is only moderately loud – it makes up in evil intent. This sequence of short, staccato meows tends to be heard when Le Roi breaks into a sudden sprint, such as when he spots the door open at The Front or when he is in the perfect position for an exquisite photograph and then sees me reach for my phone. 
    4. Le Miaulement Habituel, aka what we hear 60% of the time. This sounds like a spoilt, whiny child who has just been told that there is no more ice cream. Visitors are often concerned that our boy is upset or in pain, and we are forced to shamefacedly admit, “Erm, no. That’s just his normal voice.”
    5. Le Cri des Cris, the most awful of the lot and, sadly, the second most frequently heard after Le Miaulement Habituel. This indignant holler can mean an assortment of things including, “Let me in/out!” and “Where the heck have you BEEN?” Those who have heard this sound – which, by now, includes most of our street – are unlikely to forget it, and, if you haven’t, today is going to be the day. 

    Now that my new domain of louiscatorze.com allows me to post videos, you will have the pleasure of hearing all of these meows at some stage (although I expect that, now that I have announced my keenness to capture them on video, Sa Maj will refuse to produce most of them ever again). We were, however, (un)fortunate enough to be greeted by a 5 pointer – Le Cri des Cris – one day after coming home from work, and I do have evidence of that. Turn the volume DOWN. 

    You’re welcome. 

  • La boîte à merveilles

    Middle-class cat problems: when your cat has too many toys. And, since every single one of them was given as a gift by a visiting pilgrim (oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: we have never needed to buy Louis Catorze a single toy in his life), I guess that makes it an upper-middle-class cat problem. 

    Cat Daddy decided recently that the cat toys must be secretly moving and/or multiplying in the night because, every time he comes downstairs, he finds them in a different position. It’s possible that supernatural forces are at work … although it’s far more likely that Catorze, like his mamma, is great at using things but not so good at putting them away afterwards. 

    I thought, for a minute, that Cat Daddy was going to threaten to get rid of the toys (or Catorze). But, instead, he suggested: A TOY BOX. And, naturellement, because he is Sa Majesté Louis Catorze, Le Roi Soleil, only the best box will do. 

    So Cat Daddy spent an afternoon painstakingly restoring Cat Grandpa’s antique tool box to make it into a toy box for Le Roi. We know that Cat Grandpa would have approved of this as he had a very special relationship with Catorze. During his visits he would whistle to Catorze, just like whistling to a dog, and the little sod would go running for a cuddle.

    Cat Grandpa would have been 100 today and we hope that, wherever he may be, he has cats and a whole stack of toys.

  • Le voyage des pèlerins

    Hallowe’en is over for another year, which makes me a little sad, although living all year round with a black vampire kitty means that every day is Hallowe’en here at Le Château. And, yes, we succeeded in keeping Louis Catorze under lockdown on the night of the 31st, with the little sod only managing to escape once. 

    Best moment of the Hallowe’en season? Catorze’s conspicuous indifference to the severed zombie hand. And, having transferred Le Blog to the new domain louiscatorze.com*, I can now post videos, so see below for some splendid non-giving of a merde from Le Roi: 

    *Cat Daddy: “Louiscatorze.com? Why have you done this? You only need to do this if you’re going to sell Louis Catorze merchandise. Are you going to sell Louis Catorze merchandise? Please don’t sell Louis Catorze merchandise.”

    This time of year is traditionally for remembering loved ones who have passed on. We have certainly been doing that, but I have also resolved to spend some time looking back at the Sun King’s visitors’ book and remembering the pilgrims who have come to pay homage to him. 

    I have been pretty rubbish at printing out the pilgrims’ photos and, until now, they have remained pointlessly trapped in my camera roll. But, thanks to a friend kicking me into action, they are now all in the book alongside the pilgrims’ lovely little notes. Having a picture of Catorze with each visitor really does make the book and, better yet, we have a VERY special visit due later this month. The details shall be revealed nearer the time, but I am excited beyond belief and I know that Catorze is, too. 

    Thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to visit Sa Maj and bring him gifts. He really does appreciate it, although he needs to work on showing it. 

  • Le meilleur ami de l’homme

    One of my cat-loving friends has just got a DOG. If you are following Le Blog it’s likely that you are a cat person, so you will understand what an apocalyptically big deal it is for someone to leave our ranks and defect to the Dark Side. That said, given that dogs are loyal and loving and cats are psychopaths who don’t care if we live or die, it’s possible that our side IS the Dark Side and that my friend had to save herself by whatever means possible. 

    I knew that she was thinking about getting a dog, because we spent a whole afternoon together Googling “Dogs that smell” and “Dogs that don’t smell” to help her to choose her breed accordingly. (Dog owners: sorry, but your houses can smell doggy. You don’t notice because you have become accustomed to it, and people don’t tell you because they are trying to be polite, but I’m afraid it’s true.) However, I didn’t know she’d actually got the dog until I went round to her place and her partner answered the door holding a trembling, honey-coloured ball of fur half the size of Louis Catorze. 

    “Surprise!” my friend trilled. “This is Nala! I didn’t tell you about her because I wasn’t sure you’d want to come round if you knew she was here.”

    “Erm, you’re right. I probably wouldn’t,” I replied. 

    “I know you’re not a dog person,” she continued, “but she’s about the same size as a small cat, isn’t she? So, erm, maybe you could just PRETEND she’s a cat?” Right. 

    Anyway, I spent the afternoon with little Nala and, apart from one pooing incident – fortunately nowhere near my person nor near my possessions – all went well. And, when I returned home, far from being repulsed by me (as he usually is), Catorze sniffed and nuzzled me, rolled all over me and purred like an aeroplane taking off. 

    So does this mean that our cat is … part-dog? He certainly has some dog-like qualities (following people around, wagging his tail when happy, being irresistibly drawn to dogs even if they are displaying all the signs of wanting to kill him, etc.). The one area where they differ is their compliance with humiliating Hallowe’en outfits and, luckily, Nala has been able to compensate for Sa Maj’s shortcomings. 

    As you can see, she was very obliging and happily dressed up whereas Catorze, despite usually being a lover and not a fighter, would tear my skin to shreds and watch me bleed to death if I attempted to put clothing on him. (Don’t ask me how I know this.) However, he and I did manage to produce a passable official Hallowe’en portrait this year, unlike last year when there was just one moderately decent shot out of about a hundred attempts, produced two months too late for the event.

    Happy Hallowe’en from all of us (including Nala), and may your furry overlords of whatever species behave themselves tonight. 

  • Le lion a suffisamment de dents pour se sentir bien dehors

    Have you ever seen one of those 1980s movies where the small-town neighbourhood bad boy is undignifiedly hauled home to his parents by the local sheriff? (I haven’t, but I am sure that it must have happened in some 1980s movie at some time.) 

    Well, Louis Catorze’s troublemaking-about-town has reached such a level that neighbours have started knocking at our door to return him to us. Cat Daddy is BEYOND mortified about this although, curiously, he fails to see that it wouldn’t be a problem if we* were more vigilant about keeping The Front under lockdown.

    *HE

    The first time that this happened, Catorze had slipped out unnoticed at The Front and his screaming could be heard from the living room of one neighbour, disturbing his TV viewing. A couple of weeks ago, he had slipped out unnoticed again and had tried to get into the same neighbour’s house as their dinner guests were leaving. And the most recent incident involved him slipping out unnoticed YET AGAIN (I think I may detect a pattern here) and ambushing Oscar the dog’s mamma and sister, screaming, as they left the house. They politely knocked at the door a few nights ago and said, “Louis is outside at The Front, and we just wanted to check that you knew?” Erm … no. 

    I never know what to say when the little sod is returned to us. I can’t even lie and say, “He’s never behaved like this before” because it tends to be the same people who keep bringing him back, and they all know what he’s like. 

    I am trying EXTREMELY hard to be careful at The Front, but Cat Daddy is somewhat more, erm, relaxed when he puts out the recycling. With Hallowe’en – which I am spelling authentically for the first time ever – around the corner, and the very real danger of Catorze being mistaken for a novelty vampire cat toy and scooped up into some kid’s treat bag, we need to up our game. (Yes, most cats would probably loudly and violently object to being carried off by a gang of sugar-high youngsters, but this is Sa Maj we’re talking about.)

    And I have just checked my calendar and realised that it’s a full moon tonight which, let’s face it, adds another complication into the mix that we really don’t need. Someone needs to intercept The Mothership’s transmissions très rapidement. 

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    Thank you to Emily for this amazing photo of the little sod who is, most unusually, moving AWAY from the front door

  • La paix, la justice, la liberté

    Because all cats are selfish users by nature, it’s not uncommon for them to lead a double life with another unsuspecting family. However, despite Louis Catorze’s recent daredevil escapology, I didn’t expect his other life to be this:

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    That’s him at the bottom, happily nibbling on a plant whilst the murderers, gang members and drug traffickers of the Porto Velho penitentiary go about their daily prison business around him. And, yes, I am aware that most black cats look very similar to one another. But if you live with one – and especially if it’s a troublemaker – you know your own. The miniature size, the pose, the casual chewing of plant matter with the intention of puking it up later in some inappropriate place … this is all classic, unmistakable Louis Catorze. And we all know of his tendency to gravitate towards men. What’s less clear is how the flip he managed to get all the way to Brazil. (He speaks English, French and the odd swear word in dog and bird language, but no Portuguese.)

    Cat Daddy: “Are you kidding? He can escape outside at The Front in broad daylight without being seen. He can break into locked rooms and cupboards and re-lock the door after himself. Of course he could make it out to Brazil and still get back in time to wake us up screaming at dawn.”

    This is true. 

    The only other question we have is which way Catorze’s prison gang allegiance has swung: has he made himself the kingpin of the Comando Vermelho or the Primeiro Comando da Capital? Given his extraordinary capacity to incite barking wars between Oscar the dog and (now sadly departed) Bert the dog and then smugly sit back and watch the fallout, I’d say that he has probably managed to fuel even more hatred between the two gangs whilst remaining annoyingly impartial* himself. In fact, I’d be prepared to bet Le Château on at least 80% of the riots in Porto Velho being his fault. 

    *Not giving a merde about either faction 

    One day his pot-stirring will he found out, and I don’t suppose the inmates will be too happy about it. In the meantime, it’s probably just as well that he has Le Château as a bolt-hole and us to take care of him. 

  • La nuit des morts-vivants

    The zombie fox is back, and not only has he brought back-up in the form of three equally shouty buddies, but they have been raising absolute hell in our street at night with their part-reanimated corpse, part-Velociraptor shrieking. I have seen/heard them with my own eyes/ears and, a few mornings ago, I found paw prints on our car windscreen which were much too large and too muddy to belong to cats. It seems unlikely that the dog walkers of TW8 would suddenly decide to use parked cars as an obstacle course, so I can only assume that Monsieur Renard and his comrades are to blame. 

    Needless to say, this has made our street quite an unnerving place after dark. And, naturellement, it has also made Louis Catorze more desperate than ever before to defy us and go outside at The Front.

    As you are aware, he can hear the sound of the front door opening from wherever he is in the house or garden. However, he has recently figured out that putting out the recycling involves opening the front door and, as soon as he sees us gathering up cardboard, glass or tins, his silly little ears prick up and you can almost smell him mentally planning his bolt. Evidently the stupid act was just that: an act, to trick us into lowering our guard and give him licence to run riot. 

    Last night I discovered that it is utterly impossible to gather up the recycling in silence. I tried, but the little sod’s head whipped around as soon as he heard the first clunk of aluminium against glass. He followed me to the front door and, when I came back indoors, I knew he was waiting on the other side of the door so I swung it open hard to startle him into retreating. He didn’t. He let out a squeak which sounded shockingly like a whoop of glory, shimmied between my ankles and pitter-pattered out, up-tailed and screaming. 

    I was never comfortable with him being out at The Front at night, but I feel even more nervous knowing that the streets are being prowled by four predators who are, most likely, seeking the little upstart who insulted one of their number. And taking refuge on top of a car is evidently not going to work for Catorze, as the foxes will just follow him. Foxes are not known for attacking cats but, if the cat is the one who starts the fight, I don’t suppose I can blame them for retaliating. 

    If Le Château was on high alert before, I don’t know what to call our current state. Is there a word for higher than high and redder than red? Anyway, here is Sa Majesté in his observation tower, waiting for nightfall so that his Army of Darkness (which consists of, erm, just himself) can attack: 

    060BBE31-9002-4E2D-8974-9F74A8D67A23

  • Louis Catorze et la Cape d’Invisibilité

    *Today’s entry of Le Blog would be greatly enhanced by listening to the Harry Potter theme music whilst reading*

    After the recent altercation with the zombie fox, you’d be forgiven for thinking Louis Catorze had been put off going out at The Front. Mais non. He is now obsessed with it and, even if he is outside at The Back, he can hear the front door being opened and he hurtles in, screaming, to try and break out. 

    And his Cloak of Invisibility appears to be growing in power as the Season of the Black Cat progresses, because he is managing to slip out unnoticed more than ever before. Last Tuesday night we found him outside on the window sill when we came home from the football, happily watching all the football fans make their way home, and on Thursday I came home from work to find a random passer-by stroking him on our front wall. On yet another occasion, a neighbour sent us this picture when we thought Catorze was asleep on our bed:

    F81E90C2-A325-4E70-9564-6BEB491ECFF0

    Little sod is having a ball, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit. If he is out at The Front, I have the shutters open and am anxiously checking every few minutes to make sure he isn’t rolling around in the road, screaming at dogs/foxes or launching himself at some terrified man. And, although he has been ok so far, I daren’t let my guard down. 

    Cat Daddy: “If we had children you’d be absolutely ridiculous with them, wrapping them in cotton wool.” Not true in the slightest. This is more of a civic duty to save the good people of TW8 some heartache, rather than for Le Roi’s benefit. Plus children come back when they’re called – or, if I had any, they’d bloody well BETTER come back when they’re called, or else. Louis Catorze couldn’t give less of a merde if he tried. 

    So Le Château is now in a state of high alert, although we are pretty defenceless against a Cloak of Invisibility on account of it being invisible. A friend suggested we confiscate the Cloak, and we would, if we could find it …

  • Je suis une légende

    Colder weather usually brings cuddling kitties, although they’re clearly just using us for our warmth and haven’t suddenly decided that they really like us. Louis Catorze, however, is still spending as much time outside as he did during the summer months, and his Short Man Syndrome has been getting him into trouble with foxes. This is not good. 

    Last Tuesday a fox ran through our garden and he thought it would be a good idea to run after it, screaming. He chased as far as the gap under the fence at The Back, all puff-tailed and indignant, watching the intruder disappear into the distance and not budging until he was certain that it had gone. 

    And, on Friday night, he had another stand-off with another fox, this time at The Front. As you know, he isn’t allowed out at The Front unsupervised because he can’t be trusted but, when he bolts out unexpectedly when we get back from an evening out and refuses to be caught, we can’t do much apart from keep the window open, watch nervously and hope he will decide to come in. 

    We thought Catorze’s screaming was bad, but he has nothing on Monsieur Renard. Everything we thought we knew about fox sounds was blown right out of the water after experiencing this hellish din. Imagine, if you will, a modern horror movie in which the lead zombie – of chillingly superior intelligence compared to the others – throws back his head and emits a piercing war-cry, the signal for his comrades to destroy the last few pathetic humans. THAT is what Monsieur Renard sounded like. And, terrifyingly, not only was he glaring straight through the bars of the park fence at Catorze as he made this unforgettably dreadful sound, but CATORZE WAS GLARING AND SCREAMING BACK. 

    “Aw, they want to be friends!” cooed Cat Daddy. “That’s so cute. Let’s leave them to it.”

    I really didn’t want to do that, yet Catorze was NOT coming in and repeatedly darted out of my way when I tried to grab him. I have no idea what the neighbours must have thought but, unfortunately, they all know the little sod well enough by now.

    Eventually, after more gut-wrenching zombie-hollering from Monsieur Renard, Sa Maj did come in through the window, and a punch-proud Cat Daddy rough-cuddled his boy and commended him for “showing the fox who was in charge at Le Château”. I would far rather he retreat and mind his own business, but nobody in this household seems that concerned with what I think. 

    October – and therefore the Season of the Black Cat – started today. And I fear that this means things are only going to get worse. 

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  • La belle et la bête

    I don’t often feature other cats in Le Blog – mainly due to the fact that Louis Catorze doesn’t have any friends – but I couldn’t resist a picture of Bella, who lives in Cat Granny’s residential care home. 

    We have visited Cat Granny there many times, and I have often said that the one thing the place needed was a cat. Then, suddenly, Bella was there. She is an absolutely delightful addition the home, happily sitting on residents’ laps for cuddles and slow-blinking at people passing by. And the place is big enough so that, should she want time to herself, she can just slip off and have a nap on a chair (as she was doing here when I interrupted her for a photo): 

    BEEFFA2A-18BF-41F1-9221-16CA66CA122E

    Cat Daddy and I wondered whether Sa Majesté could become one of those officially certified therapy cats who tour hospitals and residential care homes to cheer up sick and/or old people. Cat Daddy remarked that he was “most definitely certifiable”, which means that he agrees, right? In reality, however, because Catorze is such a little sod, I think he would end up being whatever the opposite of a therapy cat is, i.e. people who were fine before meeting him would need therapy afterwards.

    That said, he is bold, friendly and great with new people, and the fact that many elderly people are hard of hearing would mean that nobody would care that much about his screaming. Dialling down the volume on the hearing aid would bring instant peace, something for which we at Le Château desperately yearn at times. 

    Cat Daddy said we didn’t do enough to support elderly people’s charities and suggested that we make a donation.

    Me: “That’s a lovely idea. How much do you want to donate?”

    Cat Daddy: “About 3kg of pointless black fur?”

    (He was only joking. And, to make up for his unkindness, we have made a donation to the Mayhew, whose therapy animals – unlike Catorze – make people feel better.)

  • La joie de l’automne

    Today is the autumn equinox, which signifies the start of my favourite time of the year. Normally I would mark this by lighting a scented candle but, because of a certain sneezing little sod, this is now off limits. (He actually hasn’t sneezed in a while, but we are being cautious as we really don’t want another trip to the vet.)

    And, if my memory serves me correctly, this time last year I had also hoped to treat myself to a relaxing spa bath but the same little sod ruined it by battering at the bathroom door and screaming himself senseless. So I guess that is also off limits … unless, of course, I invite him in to make use of the steam to clear les narines royales.

    Instead, Cat Daddy and I will be celebrating with Louis Catorze cuddles – which, despite everything, are always a treat – and fillet steak when we get home from our autumn walk. And, yes, Catorze will be getting a little sliver of steak with his dinner. (His preference is medium-rare. Thank you for asking.) 

    Happy autumn to you all. Here is Sa Maj, resplendent among the Japanese anemones, heralding the new season in the only way he knows how: 

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  • Un chat sans parfum

    After le silence total for a couple of days, Louis Catorze finally sneezed on Thursday night. So we have been giving him Metacam in his food AND HE HAS BEEN EATING IT (wish I had known it were this easy when I was Greco-Romaning it to him in the past). We have not yet attempted the sauna treatment, although it’s on the agenda for discussion at the next Boys’ Club meeting.

    However, as a precaution, the vet did suggest that we do an audit of any new household or skincare products which could have caused an allergic reaction. So I have started to tighten up my usually rigorous control which lapsed a little during the summer months, resulting in a few cheeky perfumed items sneaking their way into the inner sanctum of Le Château. The lapse was partly because Louis Catorze was spending more time outdoors and therefore it didn’t matter so much, and partly defiance on my part: if Catorze couldn’t be bothered to spend time with me, I didn’t see why I should knock myself out making things nice for him and his silly nose.

    It also didn’t help that the airline lost our bags when we went on holiday, and we were forced to go shopping for toiletries that didn’t fit our usual exacting specifications. Rather than throw them all away when we got back and create more unnecessary waste, I have been frantically using them in the hope that they will be gone by the time the weather turns and Sa Maj decides to return indoors.

    The more time passes, the less convinced I am that his skin issues were directly caused by an allergy to scent, and I am fairly sure that his sneezing was caused by something else (most likely him just being an idiot). That said, I am not sorry that I cut down the scented products and, having got him to a healthy, drug-free state – no Gabapentin or steroid shots since summer 2017 and no Atopica since FOREVER – I am not prepared to take any chances by allowing too many of them back into Le Château again.

    When I let retailers know that I’m looking for low- or no-scent products because of my sensitive-skinned cat, it’s amazing how many of them turn out to be cat people. I receive lots of nice comments and questions about Sa Maj and, if I send a photo along with my enquiry, they often say how handsome he is. (Cat Daddy: “Trust me, they’re just trying to be polite.”) And, every now and again, someone truly goes the extra mile and does this: 

    Bravo et bien joué, Scent Trail. Sa Majesté wholeheartedly approves, as you can see from the photos in which he is conducting his official royal analyse de contrôle de la qualité. 

    Louis Catorze loves Scent Trail and highly recommends, in particular, their lime and vetiver candle, which appeared to have a calming effect on him during his stressy, tail-chewing days. Their products can be bought here: 

    https://www.scent-trail.co.uk/ourshop/

  • Un rare courage devant la maladie

    Cat Daddy and I had a long discussion about the right time to take Louis Catorze to the vet, because investigating the sneezing would require a general anaesthetic and that is not something that we feel should ever be undertaken lightly. 

    However, Catorze scared us witless when his usual breathy post-drink wheezing – a bizarre but utterly harmless quirk of his – sounded more like that awful mating fox yelp that sometimes wakes us Londoners in the night. And, when I checked his face again on Tuesday morning, I could see that his right nostril was somehow enlarged and misshapen. We know our cats’ faces like we know our own, don’t we, so we knew then that it was time. 

    Cat Daddy took Sa Majesté to the vet that morning and, as luck would have it, he had a sneezing fit in front of her so she was able to see it properly. He was sedated and thoroughly examined, only to discover no blockage whatsoever. It turns out that the little sod is likely to have a viral infection, and the cure is Metacam anti-inflammatory (which, apparently, tastes like chicken) along with … a series of steam sessions to help clear his nasal passages. I’m not joking. “Just turn on the hot taps in the bathroom and shut the door,” is what we were told.

    Cat Daddy afterwards: “So it’s cost us £300 to send him on a jolly day out and to find out that he basically has a cold? And now we’ve got to give him tasty meds and a luxury spa treatment? Who does he think he is: royalty?”

    Mais bien sûr.

    And, to add insult to injury yet again, not only was the little sod super-affectionate and flirtatious with the veterinary staff all day long, but he also stopped sneezing. Since his procedure there hasn’t been so much as a sniff, neither at the veterinary surgery nor here at home. So we have been left feeling hugely relieved but also quite annoyed, and Le Royal Sick Fund is sitting in a corner, crying, after the battering it has received. And Cat Daddy and I may well go and join in.

    Here is Le Roi just after he returned home, displaying his macho shaven arm like a tattoo sleeve. Quel. Fichu. Salaud. 

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