Louis Catorze’s fur is in a dreadful state due to the non-stop rolling in the workmen’s dust and garden soil. It’s not just surface dust that can be easily brushed away; believe me, we’ve tried. Somehow it has penetrated quite deeply and, whilst he looks ok in photos (apart from this one, clearly), when you stroke him he feels gritty, claggy and vile. He doesn’t appear to be aware that he’s gritty, claggy and vile, but then he’s not aware of much.
Cat Daddy thinks he needs a proper wash with water, which could be true. But, if you have followed Le Blog for a while, I think you can probably anticipate how that will end. There’s also the fact that work in Le Jardin is still ongoing so, if we wash him, he’ll only go straight out and roll around in dirt again. The one thing worse than the prospect of washing such a dangerous, psycho cat is the prospect of having to do it twice.
Yet leaving him with filth-drenched fur is not an appealing thought, especially as he has skin problems, and, if he grooms the gritty, claggy, vile fur, it essentially means he will eat the dirt.
So … what do you think? To wash or not to wash?
Good news: despite our silly cat’s efforts to distract and interrupt the workmen, the patio area is almost done. Bad news: when choosing the colour of the paving slabs, we completely neglected to take into account Louis Catorze’s disgusting paws. See below for an indication of both the problem and Catorze’s level of contrition, summed up perfectly in a single shot. (The photo is actually a still from a video of the cheeky little sod rolling.)
Le Roi’s footprints have had a curious mind of their own lately, appearing in odd places such as the middle of the bathroom yet with no trail of prints leading up to that point. Of course, those ones can easily be cleaned whereas, sadly, it seems that there’s not much we can do about the patio ones. We went through our options the other day, which appear to be as follows:
1. Ask Cultivate London to take up all the slabs and replace them with darker ones. (Rather princessy and embarrassing, so no.)
2. Spend half an hour a day cleaning the patio. (A pain in the arse, so no.)
3. Ban Catorze from the patio. (He would ignore us and go out there regardless, so no.)
4. Rehome Catorze. (Nobody would have him, so no.)
(The last 2 were Cat Daddy’s idea.)
Cat Daddy spent half the weekend on the Wickes website, looking for some sort of high-pressure water jet thing “to hose down that unsightly, God-awful mess”.
I hope he was talking about the paw prints.
The nice gentlemen from Cultivate London have been working at Le Château for several days now, although I’m surprised they’re getting anything done at all, what with Louis Catorze’s work-halting flirting and rolling. Despite the fact that they’ve had to drag concrete, soil and plant matter through the house to dispose of it, there’s not been a speck of dirt anywhere; every day they leave the place so whistle-clean that we could eat our dinner off the floor if we wanted to. (Luckily we don’t.)
Louis Catorze, however, has had other ideas. Today, we came home from work to find this mess on the arm of the sofa:
There were further grubby paw prints all over the floor, yet no traces of human footprints anywhere in the house. So it looks as if one of the following things has happened:
1. The workmen cleaned their own footprints but inexplicably decided to leave the paw prints intact.
2. Louis Catorze waited until they had scrubbed the place down and THEN did this.
Anyone looking out of the window today would know immediately from the weather that it’s a bank holiday Monday: grey skies, torrential rain and general misery. Most people with any sense will have stayed at home and kept dry. Louis Catorze, on the other hand, is outdoors.
No, we haven’t shut him out, nor is he lost or disorientated and unable to find his way back. The cat flap is accessible, the back door is ajar and there’s nothing in the house which is scaring him away except, perhaps, for me. He has chosen, of his own free will, to sit in the flower bed, blink at the raindrops like a lunatic and get soaked. (No photo available because that would, of course, involve going out there myself, and I’m not going to do that.)
Although I’ve very much accepted that my cat isn’t normal, this behaviour really takes the gâteau. I can see the appeal of freshly-washed laundry, perhaps even cardboard boxes, but getting cold and wet when you don’t have to? WHY? Someone suggested that perhaps the rain was soothing on his sore skin, which is fair enough, but then why not stay out for just long enough to be sufficiently soothed and then come in? Why wait until you’re utterly drenched, come in shouting indignantly about it (even though it was your choice) and then rub your disgusting, wet body and muddy paws all over our bed?
News just in: he’s now run indoors, looked back outside through the glass doors and done the bird-chatter noise at the rain. There isn’t a single bird in sight (probably because even they have the sense to stay out of the rain). This is BEYOND weird.
I guess a normal cat wouldn’t give me nearly as many blogworthy moments. But then, are any of them normal?