La vérité la plus folle

One of our dearest friends visited us at the weekend. He follows Le Blog but, somehow, I never remember this. So, when we meet, I update him on the various twists and turns of Catorzian goings-on, only for him to remind me that he already knows.

Cat Daddy: “She does embellish things in the blog, though.”

Me: “Really? Name me one thing that I’ve embellished?”

Him: “Well, you make me out to be a complete shit, for a start.”

[Silence, tumbleweed, crickets.]

Our friend: “I kinda guessed that some parts were embellished. All that stuff about the boys supposedly ostracising you in your own home …”


I caught Cat Daddy’s eye, hoping that that brief moment would be enough time for me cast him my “If you lie about this, I will finish you” look (and for him to register that I had done so).

It was.

Cat Daddy: “Erm … ahem … yeah, to be fair, that does actually happen.”

Louis Catorze, who was on my lap at the time, illustrated this point perfectly by leaving me and going to Cat Daddy’s lap as soon as he sat down. But, of course, there was a price to pay for the pair of them backing me up and actually NOT making me look like a liar, for once: this move meant that Cat Daddy was TUC all evening, so I had to keep getting up to bring him wine.

Boys’ Club is in session right now as I write. And don’t be fooled by Catorze’s healthy appearance; his mysterious, crop-circley bald patch is still there, hidden by the fold of his shoulder:

In his happy place, despite the disapproving look.

Le bâillement-miaulement

Last Friday it was Cat Daddy’s birthday, and his second-best present was the whisky that I bought him from the Abhainn Dearg distillery on the Isle of Lewis.

His best present, however, was a restful birthday lie-in unpeppered with feline screaming. There really is no price one can put upon that.

Our chat-sitteur captured les fangs perfectly here.

One of the many things that I love about cats – apart from the rare occasions that they let us sleep in peace – is when a meow turns into a yawn. My family have named this phenomenon, erm, the yawn-meow. I know. Creativity and originality just run in our blood.

I suppose it should be the meow-yawn since the meow comes first, but yawn-meow is so much easier to say.

It’s a difficult thing to record because we don’t know when it’s coming. I don’t imagine even the cats know it’s coming – and, if they did, they’d try to hold it in as soon as we took out our phones, just to spite us. But I was lucky enough to capture the Catorzian yawn-meow some time ago but, as is often the case with Louis Catorze, I couldn’t post it at the time as he was doing so much other stupid nonsense which took over Le Blog.

Catorze reads Le Blog, highly amused by the antics of King Ghidorah and Samba.

Here is the yawn-meow, in all its fine glory. You’re welcome:

Watch him go cross-eyed when he does it.

On a dépassé cinq cents!

Sainte Marie, Mère de Dieu: Sa Maj has reached the incredible number of five hundred – yes, FIVE HUNDRED – followers. This is quite something given that, when I began Le Blog all those years ago, I thought perhaps my mum and about a dozen friends might read it (and that most of them would get bored after a week or two).

Back then, the original aim was to reach out to other humans with allergic cats, in the hope of finding someone who had a cat like Louis Catorze and perhaps even finding a cure for his allergy. I never did find that cure, and I certainly didn’t find another cat like Catorze (which is probably just as well), but Le Blog has introduced me to lovely people from all over the world, and their wonderful furry overlords.

I have lost the odd follower along the way, most notably the group of bodybuilders who started following when I added the key word “steroids” to my tags. Unsurprisingly, when they came to realise that this was actually a blog about a silly black cat and not about performance-enhancing substances, one by one they fell away. I can’t say I’m surprised, as Catorze has that sort of effect on people. But how delightful that the hardcore among you have hung on in there. If you’re still here, MERCI BEAUCOUP, especially if you have been around since the beginning.

Here is the very first photo of Catorze, taken in his foster mamma’s garden on the day we brought him home in July 2014:

A bit rough around the edges.

And here he is now (taken yesterday):

Not really any improvement, but tant pis.