I have swivelled Louis Catorze’s winter igloo around by 45 degrees. And, with the weather turning life-threateningly icy this week – London had a massive 5mm of snow on Thursday – he has been spending a fair amount of time in it.
Cat Daddy: “Are you serious? You’re writing an entire blog post about the fact that you’ve tilted a cat bed a little to the left?”
Well, ok, I don’t suppose any Hollywood big shots will be queuing up for the film rights to this one, but the comfort of Le Roi Soleil is at stake here. And that is not a matter to be taken lightly.
Previously Sa Maj had to hop straight up and into the bed in one movement, as the entrance to the bed was right at the edge of the wooden plinth. But, with the new angle, he has plenty of plinth-space to hop up and can step more easily and dignifiedly into the bed. And he is also able to extend his front paws out onto the plinth and have a good old stretch mid-exit, as opposed to jumping out/down and THEN stretching. Naturellement I have been unable to capture his stretch on camera because he either comes out of his igloo too quickly, or doesn’t come out at all when I want him to.
Cat Daddy again, without looking up from his laptop: “Don’t forget to take a photo of the igloo at the new angle!” [He says the words “new angle” in his Alan-Rickman-as-the-Sheriff-of-Nottingham voice.]
As well as his summer chaise longue, Louis Catorze now has a cosy bed for the winter. And, if you squish down the roof from the top, it folds into a bowl-shaped bed that also serves for spring and autumn.
Cat Daddy: “Absolutely bloody ridiculous. We don’t even have a summer and a winter DUVET, and yet he has A Bed For All Seasons?”
The bed was gifted by one of Sa Maj’s favourite pilgrims in the whole world, and it’s not hard to see why it was chosen: a creepy black kitty with vampire fangs has to have a Hallowe’en bed, n’est-ce pas? Our friend did initially wonder about pink for a boy cat, but I don’t suppose cats really have colour preferences. And, if they did, something tells me that our boy would opt for pink in an instant.
When we are home, we like it when the little sod sits on our laps. But, when we’re out, it’s nice to know that he has a comfy little spot of his own. Below is a picture of him enjoying his gift, and the fact that he took to it so quickly was something rather special as he usually does the opposite of whatever is expected (or wanted).
Louis Catorze has a Château full of comfortable beds at his disposal, with soft anti-allergy bedding and freshly-laundered duvet covers. So, naturellement, he chooses to sleep in … a grubby Hounslow Council plastics refuse sack, in the equally grubby Forbidden Greenhouse. You couldn’t make this up … and, to prove that I really haven’t, here he is, narrowing his eyes at me with no shame whatsoever:
Could he BE any more low-brow and unbecoming of a Sun King?
Cat Daddy: “If you gave him enough time, probably, yes.”
Dear God. Yet another night of disturbed sleep, because a certain someone decided to break into the cupboard under the stairs and pop bubble wrap (again) at some hellish early hour. Now, I don’t know if you have ever been woken from a deep sleep by the sound of bubble wrap – probably not, as I don’t imagine you share a house with the sort of inconsiderate shite who would do such a thing – but, believe me, it doesn’t sound like bubble wrap. It sounds like gunshots. So, rather than waking up cursing that inconsiderate shite, you wake up terrified for your life and reaching for the nearest weapon with which to defend yourself (in my case, a tube of Dermalogica moisturiser).
Cat Daddy got up between around 2am and 3am to go downstairs and haul Louis Catorze’s arse out of the cupboard. I was mildly perplexed that he chose to say, “Louis! What are you doing?” rather than just getting on with the hauling out – after all, Louis Catorze wasn’t about to reply – but I guess it was still better than having to go down and sort it out myself. After much scrabbling around I eventually heard the cupboard door close, followed by, “You’re putting on weight. You’re so MEATY!” Then there was Cat Daddy’s stomp-stomp back upstairs followed by a gentle pitter-patter of stupid little paws after him. Finally Louis Catorze jumped onto our bed, stretched out across both our stomachs and went to sleep on top of us.
WHY IS HE BEING SO ANNOYING? I suspect that, if we were dealing with a child, Mumsnet and their sort would be instructing me to wear the little sod out with relentless activity during the day in order to make him sleep at night. Louis Catorze sleeps under a bed from about 9am till after dark and barely moves a whisker during daylight hours; could it be that I need to kick his lazy behind into some sort of action? It seems rather mean to wake a cat from his sleep, but surely it can’t be good to go through a whole day without a spot of sunlight touching his body; maybe a bit of vitamin D could be good for his immune system?
I guess these are questions I could ask the vet when I book the appointment, although if any of Le Roi’s loyal subjects have any suggestions, I would love to hear them.
Good news: Louis Catorze has found a new day bed which isn’t the greenhouse. Bad news: it’s in my suitcase of not-yet-unpacked-because-there’s-nowhere-to-put-them clothes, including an unworn t-shirt with the label still attached, which I was intending to return to the shop.
Luckily my gratitude that he hasn’t picked a dusty sleeping spot outweighs my crossness about the t-shirt, so I’ve resisted the temptation to drag him out. It is, however, mildly annoying that he would prefer to be here than on any of the vast array of expensive anti-allergy human and pet bedding that we have all over Le Château.
I decided there was nothing much I could do but make the best of it, so I flung his bioenergetics pendant into the suitcase with him. I often wake up in the night worried that the pendant has fallen off the bed, or anxious that Louis Catorze is sleeping further away from it than the minimum requirement of 3 inches. Also, in my half-asleep scrabble around to try and locate it, my hand wanders uncomfortably close to Louis Catorze’s arse and then I have to get up and wash it. (My hand, I mean.)
So it’s a multiple and universal win: my boy gets to keep his sleeping place of choice, he gets close proximity to, and therefore maximum absorption of, the pendant’s magical healing rays, and I get a more restful night’s sleep without fear of touching his lower portions. Let’s just hope a piece of scrunched Sellotape will do the job on my t-shirt, and that the shop won’t realise that it’s had cat hair and cat arse on it.
Good news: I have found Louis Catorze’s secret hiding place. Bad news: it’s here. Yes, here! The Cage of Broken Dreams! The transporting vessel from hell, which strikes cold fear into the heart of every kitty as it usually indicates a trip to the vet! I’m very upset that my poor boy’s trauma is such that he’d prefer to hide in here than snuggle in bed with me. Alternatively, because he’s so darned stoopid, he could very well have thought, “A new bed? Pour moi? Magnifique!” I’m hoping beyond hope that it’s Option Deux.
(By the way, the door is lying in that position because he kicked it that way after our undignified tussle this morning. He was successfully medicated eventually, but that was 15 hours ago and he’s ignored me ever since.)
The positive news is that, despite the fact that he’s been Côneless since late on Sunday night (because, since we removed it to allow him to eat and drink, we’ve failed at every attempt to put it back on), he hasn’t been scratching at his wounds and they seem to be healing. They don’t look at all attractive as they go through the process, but then we didn’t get Louis Catorze for his looks, so tant pis. Also, the veterinary surgery attached to his ex-rescue centre – which was where he lived for many months before coming to us, as he wasn’t well enough to be adopted or fostered – have been communicating with our local vet, where we took him on Sunday, to talk treatment. Hopefully, between them, they will come up with a more long-term solution. No doubt it will be an expensive one, but that’s special needs cats for you.