dailyprompt

Le chemin du Citron

~ iamthesunking ~ 22 Comments

List your top 5 favourite fruits.

Will one fruit do?

We had a visitor to Le Château the other day, as you can see below. And, before you ask what on earth this has to do with fruit, our guest’s name is Lemon. I’m not joking.

When life gives you lemons …

Lemon may look like a fine specimen of velvety plumptiousness in these photos but, in actual fact, the poor boy has seen better days; he has the remains of an old wound on his face, and an even worse, more recent wound on his shoulder. Louis Catorze gave him the traditional Catorzian welcome (hissing and swearing) and Lemon, rather than retaliating, backed away, looking confused and sad.

“C’est MON Château! Dégage!”

I pinged his photo out onto our local neighbourhood forum and, within a matter of hours, I was able to find out his name and where he lived. It turned out that he wasn’t lost, but had just wandered too far on account of his, erm, fruits still being on the vine. One of our neighbours has alerted Lemon’s owner to his injuries and told them – again – to harvest those fruits.

In the nicest possible way, I hope we don’t see him again; the thought of him crossing the Zone Libre amidst foxes, aggressive crows and all manner of other horrors, isn’t very nice.

Neuter your cats, people. There’s absolutely no reason not to.

Vivre la vie d’un roi

~ iamthesunking ~ 9 Comments

What’s one small improvement you can make in your life?

Louis Catorze thinks his life is perfectly delightful as it is, merci for asking. He thinks it’s the rest of us who need to improve OUR pathetic lives, and that we should do so as follows:

1. Give the cat whatever they want.

2. See Point 1.

The fang can be useful to help orientate your Chat Noir.

Tu peux rester sous mon parapluie

~ iamthesunking ~ 25 Comments

Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind.

Louis Catorze loves the rain. Usually, when it starts raining, he races out to sit in it.

However, he is highly displeased right now because, although he loves the rain, he doesn’t happen to like THIS rain, TODAY. And he would very much like us to switch it off, merci s’il vous plaît, and to replace it with the good kind of rain.

None of us understand this.

Here he is, whining like a brat. And there is a bonus demo of his weird kicky-out back leg thing. (None of us understand that, either.)

Bad cat gone worse.

This was just a few seconds. Think of us, having to listen to this all day.

Le chat sportif

~ iamthesunking ~ 24 Comments

What’s the most fun way to exercise?

Louis Catorze is a senior gentleman, so much of his time is spent not doing a great deal.

However, he is able to commit himself to sport when he feels like it, and these are some of the ones that he likes:

Gymnastics (beam).
High jump.
Wrestling.
Mountaineering.
Caving.
Street dance.
Rhythmic gymnastics (ribbon).

However, Catorze’s favourite sport of them all is the modern French classic: parkour. This sport is best done at 3am, using furniture, window shutters and sleeping humans as obstacles, and the full moon seems to oomph up the athlete’s power and endurance, just like a celestial performance-enhancing drug. It certainly tests the little sod’s physical limits, not to mention our mental ones.

It’s not all hardcore endeavour, though. Catorze would like to remind everyone that sufficient rest and relaxation is vital for the body to repair after exertion.

Here he is, demonstrating how it’s done:

Catorze recovers from the last parkour session, and dreams about the next one.

Qui dirige le monde? Les chatons!

~ iamthesunking ~ 26 Comments

What animals make the best/worst pets?

I don’t know enough about all the different animals in the world to know which are the best pets. But kittens are the worst, without a doubt.

I can’t deny that my sister’s new kittens, Mothra and Rodan, are cute. But then all psychopaths have an initial superficial charm, don’t they?

Here is a list of things that my sister and her family can no longer do, on account of sharing a house with kittens:

1. Eat food (because all food is kitten food).

2. Drink drinks (because all drinks are kitten drinks).

3. Work on the laptop (because tapping fingers are toys).

4. Move their feet (because toes are toys).

5. Move their heads (because hair is toys).

6. Blink (because eyelashes are hair; see previous point).

7. Clean the floor (because the Roomba is a toy).

8. Have nice things (because nice things are both toys and claw-exercising apparatus).

Kittens are not allowed on the table.
Kittens are not allowed to drink tea. (And Mothra didn’t, on account of not being able to reach her head all the way in.)

The humans of the household have also told me that Rodan, the Chat Noir, is naughtier than his sister, the tabby. I know. Who’d have thought it?

Rodan has been banished to the Naughty Chair, after ignoring three (3) orders to leave the humans’ food alone.

I’m convinced that this is all a big feline conspiracy: we tolerate kittens’ stupid shit in the hope that they might grow out of it, then, when they’re much older, the harder-to-prove psychological torture starts, by which time we’re too worn down to do anything about it.

People often tell me that Louis Catorze as a kitten would have been adorable. Erm, the same size as he is now, but with more energy? No, thank you.

I’m sending my sister thoughts and prayers. Although maybe vodka would be more useful.

“You have done well, mes p’tits soldats.” Catorze approves of the carnage.

Dis juste non

~ iamthesunking ~ 27 Comments

How often do you say “no” to things that would interfere with your goals?

My only goal in life is to sleep, and anyone who struggles to sleep will understand this. A good night’s sleep doesn’t simply make me feel better; it makes LIFE feel better. On those precious, rare days when I’ve slept well, I bounce through the day with the vitality of, erm, a small black cat on steroids. And, when I haven’t, I often wonder whether it’s even safe for me to be around people.

I have done everything in the Sleep Text Book to make it work: an enormous bed, eucalyptus silk bedding, a soft colour scheme and a gentle alarm which wakes me to the sound of birdsong rather than a tinny, synth version of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik or some such thing. I’ve even booted Cat Daddy out because of his snoring, and he is now banished to the attic bedroom.

So why, then, after all these efforts, do I allow Louis Catorze into the bedroom at night?

You’d think there would be plenty of room on a super-king-sized bed for me and a 3kg cat. Well, yes. But also: no.

The little sod is the most disagreeable bedfellow imaginable. More often than not he comes in soaking wet and screaming. And, after a few rounds of nocturnal parkour on the bed, instead of cuddling quietly beside me, his favourite thing is to sleep on top of me, either on my chest in Loaf Pose, or across my stomach like a furry, living belt.

(He does the same to chat-sitteurs when they stay here. They tell me that they find it cute, which it probably is if you’re just visiting. Living with it is distinctly less cute.)

Oh, and there are also incidents such as this one. And this one.

Catorze is the one thing that interferes with my one goal. So why don’t I say no to him? Why do I persist in letting him into the bedroom?

This isn’t rhetorical; I would genuinely like to know the answer.

You make yourself comfortable, little sod.

Pour devenir centenaire, il faut commencer jeune

~ iamthesunking ~ 27 Comments

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self

According to those charts which convert human years to cat years, Louis Catorze will be a hundred years old in 2031.

(And I know that, when Cat Daddy reads this, he will say that Catorze looks a hundred years old right now.)

“Geriatric”? Catorze prefers “Elder Statesman”, merci.

2031 is actually not THAT far away. It would make Sa Maj twenty-one in human years, which is pretty ancient yet not beyond possibility, especially since we never even expected him to live to ten. In fact, being part-vampire, part-alien and part-cryptid, age is probably a different concept on his planet and he will probably live forever.

By the time Le Roi turns one hundred, it’s possible that The Uprising will have taken place and cats will be ruling the world. And, if he could write to his future self, whom I imagine sitting atop a golden throne, watching what’s left of the planet smouldering in a pile of Mordor-esque embers, I am certain he would only have one thing to say:

“Bien joué, mon gars.”

Very pleased with himself.

Un tout autre chat

~ iamthesunking ~ 29 Comments

If you could permanently ban a word from general usage, which one would it be? Why?

Can you ban a word from the English language even if it wasn’t a proper word in the first place? If so, “nother” needs to go. It’s just silly.

An example of that non-word in a context that we cat freaks will understand, is as follows:

“When I brushed my cat, so much fur came out that I could make a whole nother cat with it.”

Non, non and thrice non. Even Louis Catorze isn’t happy about this:

Not impressed.

If you have ever used “nother” other than to criticise it and to demonstrate what an absurd non-word it is, I’m afraid we cannot be friends.

However, if you have ever made new cats from the offcuts (offbrushes?) of your actual cats, please show them to me.

This cat will be much less bother than Catorze.

Par la soif, on apprend l’eau

~ iamthesunking ~ 78 Comments

What is your favourite drink?

Scully the pub cat is trying to cut down.

Louis Catorze doesn’t have a repertoire of drinks, and is only allowed water. Well, you’ve seen what he’s like on just water – would you really want to see him on absinthe shots or cask-strength whisky?

(Ok, I know that some of you would, just for the entertainment value. But, trust me, he would not be a force for good.)

You’d think all waters were created equal, but they’re not. Cats are weird when it comes to drinking, and there’s no logic to their thinking. (That wasn’t supposed to rhyme.)

Sa Maj likes his water from a tall glass, and it has to be either a highball/Collins glass, a wine glass or a pint glass. It’s a firm NON to a cocktail coupe, and don’t even bother serving him water in a bowl because he won’t drink it … and, if he has to go on thirst strike and shrivel up into a dry husk to prove this point, so be it. That said, there are days when he will leave his water glass untouched, preferring, instead, rainwater from the grimy surface of the outdoor table, or the murky, fly-infested depths of a bucket or watering can.

Nobody understands why.

Table water! Youpi!
Bucket water! Youpi!

Catorze’s departed cat-cousin, Alfie, had similarly unconventional tastes, refusing both tap water and bottled water and only accepting liquid refreshment from the water butt in the alleyway, once it had started to turn green. The first time I saw the state of his water bowl (decanted from the alleyway water butt), I thought his human was perhaps a bit negligent. He wasn’t. This was the only way that Alfie would drink – and, given the choice, green water is (a bit) better than none at all.

Alfie lived to fifteen, so obviously green water didn’t do him any harm.

We can blame evolution for most of their oddities, but I would love to know what force compels them to favour gross water over fresh and crystal-clear; nothing about it makes any sense. But, for once, I can confidently say that it’s not just my cat who’s this weird, and I’m sure that there are others out there who are even worse.

Is yours one of them?

Condamner le crime ou condamner le criminel?

~ iamthesunking ~ 18 Comments

Have you ever unintentionally broken the law?

Well, let’s see:

1. Trespassing: wandering onto other people’s land without permission.

2. Breaking and entering: wandering into other people’s property without permission.

3. Affray: loud disputes with at least one bird, squirrel, dog or other cat.

4. Violent disorder: as above, but with numerous third parties at once.

5. Threatening behaviour: causing alarm and/or distress with any or all of the above.

I am talking about Louis Catorze, of course, not me. Although it would be funny as hell to see a human having a loud, public spat with a cat.

The word “unintentionally” bothers me somewhat, as Catorze wouldn’t do these things by mistake. That said, “intentionally” suggests that he actually cares.

He doesn’t.

It would be more accurate to say that he commits the above offences with neither intent nor lack of intent but, rather, with a cold indifference and a blatant disregard for whether he breaks the law or not.

It’s not often that I catch him in the act – which is good, as it lends more weight to my “It must have been some other black cat” argument, should anyone else witness anything – but here is one occasion when I did. Yes, it really was loud enough for me to actually get out of bed and come downstairs to investigate.

Here’s another (worse) one.

There are many, many more, but I’ll stop at that.

Feigning absolute innocence (LIAR).

Un inspecteur vous demande

~ iamthesunking ~ 21 Comments

Do you need a break? From what?

Come on. You know the answer to this.

We have a school inspection going on at the moment. If you have ever worked in a school you will know what utter purgatory an inspection is, not just because of having people watch you teach (although that’s quite awkward and embarrassing) but because of the unbelievable amount of paperwork required. Most of it is either utter shite, or a duplication of other paperwork, or both.

Also, the kids can’t be trusted not to show you up. One inspector came to my Spooky Club; when he asked a usually impeccably-behaved kid to explain what the club was all about, she replied, “It’s basically like a cult.” Saint Jésus.

Anyway, when it’s inspection time at school, you want all other aspects of your life to be going normally and peacefully. It’s really not the best time for the following:

1. Being clawed and stamped by a screaming cat when you’re trying to get your work done. It was so bad that I had to beg Cat Daddy to remove him and keep him contained elsewhere.

2. Waking up to a dead mouse in the bedroom when you’re rushing off to work early.

3. Nocturnal scampering which wakes me at 2:30am then, when I turn the lights on, Catorze is just sitting in the middle of the floor, with his tail neatly wrapped around his paws. Incidentally, this was not on the same night as the mouse, so we are yet to discover what he was chasing (and, more importantly, where it is).

Cat Daddy asks me how each day went and looks after me when I come home, but all his efforts are cancelled out by a manic Catorze. I bet he’s been waiting since the last inspection to do all this.

Bastard cat.

Le Roi and his shadow self are ready to do their worst.

Ici pour un bon moment, pas longtemps

~ iamthesunking ~ 15 Comments

In what ways do you communicate online?

Mainly to share useless dross. Nothing constructive or admirable.

Dog people, however, get to do THIS kind of thing (below). Social media has informed me that there is a Sausage Dog Meet-Up scheduled for Saturday 11th February.

Before you tut at me for not anonymising names and faces, THIS IS A PUBLIC EVENT.

It will be taking place in a park close by (not the one over the road, although that would have allowed me to observe from a window, giggling to myself, without even leaving the house), in honour of Daisy’s first birthday. And it has been created by a group called the London Lowriders; I have no idea who they are, but they sound like some sort of south supremacist gang.

Daisy is, apparently, is a therapy dog. It sounds as if she has done a great deal in just one year, whereas Louis Catorze has been on the planet for almost FOURTEEN TIMES THAT LONG and has achieved the square root of bugger all.

The last time I checked, there were eleven guests confirmed and one hundred and two interested. No doubt by the time the event takes place, more will have signed up. However, posting the event on a public setting has the potential to go a bit Project X*, non? What if two hundred sausage dogs turn up? Or two thousand?

*Older followers: ask your kids/nieces/nephews who are in their early twenties.

You’d be forgiven for thinking that there couldn’t possibly be that many sausage dogs living in the area, this is Richmond, sweetie. Sausage dogs are quite the upper-middle class accessory, just like Breton tops and jauntily-coloured wool blazers.

If you have a dog, and you happen to be passing through TW10 on Saturday 11th February, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be turned away if you dropped into the event even if your dog isn’t a sausage dog. Dog people are like The Mob: they stick together.

And if you have a Chat Noir, meet me and Catorze in the cemetery on Hallowe’en night. Which cemetery? Just follow the sound of the screaming.

Catorze will probably leave early on account of the lack of men.