fight

Tremblez, tyrans!

~ iamthesunking ~ 2 Comments

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Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: Louis Catorze has finally encountered another feline visitor to Le Château.

We saw the pair of them narrowing their eyes at each other, not quite sure which way things were going to go and feeling anxious as this dude was larger than Le Roi. Then Cat Daddy yelled, “Shit! Louis has gone for him!”

We don’t know whether Louis Catorze lunging at the interloper was an attack or a “Youpi! Let’s play!” But the photo was (hurriedly) taken just as he had chased Ginger Impinger into the greenhouse, and GI was desperately seeking an escape route. He suddenly knew that he was cornered, and Louis Catorze (possibly) realised then that his nouvel ami didn’t want to play. It may also have dawned on Catorze that he was at a major disadvantage, not only in age and size but also in height, with GI having taken an elevated spot high up on a shelf. Neither of them quite knew what to do with themselves, and that was when we decided to intervene and escort the newcomer off the premises.

Whilst this wasn’t the most successful of meetings, we were relieved that our boy had chosen to play/defend instead of scurrying indoors, terrified. In fact, after coming indoors briefly to refuel, he was straight back out there within minutes, demonstrating that he’s either very brave or just plain forgetful.

So Le Château is still the solid royal stronghold that it always was, the monarchy remains intact, and pesky challengers to the crown have been well and truly dealt with. Tout est bien qui finit bien.

Le Roi nous fait chier

~ iamthesunking ~ 3 Comments

On dark, cold, moonless nights with howling winds, most people have the sense to remain indoors, especially if they’re not well. I, however, decided last night to leave the toasty-warm cocoon of Le Château and haul a protesting, itchy black cat to the vet for his steroid shot.

The vet is a lovely lady who is sweet to Catorze and talks to him gently in her cat lady voice, and, the last time we saw her, whilst he didn’t exactly behave impeccably, he did allow her to live. We were full of confidence about this visit as Le Roi is generally fine with injections; it’s the meticulous examination of orifices and membranes that he finds objectionable (can’t say I blame him), and that wasn’t on the agenda for the evening.

Luckily we’d got him there at about the right time, just as his condition was starting to turn but before it had reached the grimness of broken skin, weeping wounds and scabs. And that fact was pretty much the only positive.

Louis Catorze decided that, yes, he may well have tolerated les injections before, but that was before. This time he had changed his mind, struggling, kicking and hissing as if demonically possessed, with the three of us barely managing to contain him. The injection finally succeeded on the third or fourth attempt, with Louis Catorze fighting so hard that the needle came out bent at an angle. (I wanted a photo but refrained from asking in case it sounded insensitive.)

We couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. The vet suggested that perhaps Louis Catorze had been taken by surprise by the previous month’s shot, whereas this time he was recalling what had happened before and steeling himself for it. If this is true, it doesn’t bode well for what I had hoped would be dignified trips to the vet in lieu of thrice-weekly Atopica assaults. There is, apparently, the option of giving the injection under the skin as opposed to deep within the muscle (which is the painful bit), but it’s not as effective; if we’re bothering to drag his arse there and jab a needle into him, we may as well do it properly.

Little sod’s short-term memory appeared to work in his favour upon our return home; he trotted out of La Cage, up-tailed, and, ever since, has been happily pitter-pattering in and out of the house, annoying Oscar the dog, having cuddles on the bed and so on. I wish his treatment were as simple as his outlook on life.

Flotte comme un papillon, pique comme une abeille

~ iamthesunking ~ 2 Comments

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Louis Catorze is strutting around Le Château as if he were the heavyweight champion of the world.

Mind you, by “world”, we really mean a small patch of land in TW8 measuring about 10 metres by 6 metres. And weighing in at 3.48kg (as he did at his Christmas Eve vet visit) is hardly, by any reasonable interpretation of the word, “heavyweight”. Come to think of it, given that we haven’t seen the condition of his opponent and can’t conclusively state that Catorze delivered the knockout punch, even “champion” is a bit of a stretch.

Apart from all that, though, he’s the feline incarnation of Muhammad Ali, sans doute.

He is utterly unconcerned about the fight and is full of feisty confidence. (I like to think this is because he’s such a fearless warrior, but in reality he’s probably just forgotten about it.) People who haven’t seen him for a while – even Cat Daddy, who was away for a day or two – remark upon how thick and soft his fur is, and how meaty and well he looks. His ear, on the other hand, looks rather like a gnarled, 900-year-old tree root, and I expect it will continue to look this way as it heals, but it’s much less red and sore than it was. Plus it adds a little grit and character to his neatness, rather like a tattoo, a piercing or an extreme sports injury (not that Louis Catorze has any friends to impress).

As this year comes to a close and we prepare to welcome in the new one, this is a great place to be. All of us at Le Château wish you a very Happy New Year, and we hope that 2016 brings joy to you and your furry overlords. Xxx

Le club de bagarres

~ iamthesunking ~ 5 Comments

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The first rule of Fight Club, apparently, is not to talk about Fight Club. And, for once, Louis Catorze has been sticking rigidly to the rules.

Because I know his face better than I know my own, I was able to tell immediately that all was not well this morning. He has cut his ear, and I know full well that he didn’t simply catch it on a trailing bramble or any such nonsense: the little sod has been fighting again. Cat Daddy, who is still away, agreed: as soon as he saw the photo he texted back, saying, “Fighting wound. Little bastard.”

I posted this photo on a cat forum and others confirmed my belief that it wasn’t an urgent vet situation. Apart from the odd shaking of his head, Catorze is absolutely fine; in fact, if anything he is MORE zany than ever, and I was lucky to get him still enough to take such a clear photo. But my bigger problem is the identity of this invisible assailant, and when and where this underground Fight Club takes place.

We haven’t seen a single cat in our garden since the week we moved in. Nor have we heard any fighting, as we used to all the time during the Luther administration – and, on the rare occasion that Luther wasn’t responsible, upon hearing the howls he would go outside immediately to get involved. So how on earth is this happening, unseen and unheard, to Louis Catorze?

The good thing is that Le Roi is either exceptionally brave or too stupid to remember the fights, because he continues to come and go happily; obviously this is far better than being terrified to set paw outdoors. But I’m not loving the thought of him having this double life and fighting like a silent, invisible ninja behind our backs.

Cat Daddy, on the other hand, now sees him as some sort of Bruce Wayne / Batman superhero and is secretly quite impressed.

Je lutte, donc je suis

~ iamthesunking ~ 1 Comment

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Happy autumn equinox to all pagans and pagan-sympathisers! This is usually one of my favourite days of the year because it means that the whole of the glorious season of autumn, and the countdown to Halloween – the ultimate celebration of the black cat – are ahead of me and still to be enjoyed. However, on this occasion I’m a bit ticked off because a certain little sod has an infected wound and has had to go to the vet.

Cat Daddy was working from home today and noticed that Louis Catorze wouldn’t stop licking and scratching the top of his head. Then, when he sent me a photo (too disgusting to feature here, hence why I’ve used a pretty autumnal flower instead), I knew he would need an antibiotic shot, so off to the vet they went. To his shock, Cat Daddy was told that the shape and position of the wound made it very likely to be a fight injury.

I almost fell over when he broke the news to me. Fighting is just so … well … VULGAIRE. I thought I’d raised my boy better than this. What’s more concerning is that, although our neighbours have reported seeing Louis Catorze in their garden “having a stand-off with a very pretty tabby”, we’ve only ever seen one other cat in our garden on one occasion during our first couple of weeks at Le Château, and not a single cat since. With whom is he fighting? Where? And how on earth can I do anything about it if I don’t see it?

Luckily Louis Catorze remains utterly unbothered both by the vet visit and the wound (and, presumably, the fight) but I’m going to have to keep an eye on him. Clearly my theory about him being too stupid to get into trouble is wildly inaccurate.