L’invasion verte

Cat Daddy is trying to re-teach Louis Catorze how to hunt. He is becoming increasingly frustrated by his boy’s refusal to fend off the parakeets and pigeons who eat from our small-birds-only feeder, and he is hoping that some refresher sessions will help.

The training sessions appear to be going exactly as one would imagine: a bit of mwahhing, a LOT of Unrepeatable Expletives, but not much action.

Catorze is excellent at catching and eating bugs, and he puts a great deal of time and effort into doing it. And, when Cat Daddy goes outside for a quiet read in the garden, Catorze is on high alert and full of energy, bullying him non-stop for attention, darting back and forth and generally being a pest. However, when the parakeets come along, he goes to sleep. And this infuriates Cat Daddy like you wouldn’t believe.

Well, you just help yourselves.
Let them eat bird seed.

I went out with a friend the other day and, when I came back, Cat Daddy was mid-altercation with a particularly persistent parakeet, yelling, throwing water at it and so on. He then scooped up Catorze, pointed his little face in the direction of the bird feeder and said, “Look: that’s what you’re supposed to be guarding. When the parakeets come along, do something! Don’t just lie there and do f*** all.”

Catorze: “Mwah!”

Cat Daddy thinks Catorze is scared of the parakeets. I don’t agree. I think that, having seen Cat Daddy pursue them, he thinks it’s his papa’s job to chase them off for him, and not vice versa. After all, he is Le Roi Soleil, and Cat Daddy is a mere [insert appropriately lowly noun here].

This was the sequence of events when THE SAME PARAKEET came by for another go:

Trying to give a merde …
Still trying to give a merde …
STILL trying to give a merde …
Nope. Merde not given.

Les perroquets verts

Cat Daddy and I have decided that we aren’t making the most of living in London, and that we ought to do more London things. To be honest, this is by no means a recent revelation. We have known this for some time, and it became especially apparent last year when I took a French friend on a Thames boat trip: “There’s a nice building. No idea what it is. Look, there’s another nice building. No idea what it is …” and so on. 

We have a book about strange and unusual sights in London, and, to my surprise, when I consulted the “South West London” section for things to do and see, I discovered that the Angry Birds were listed as one of the “attractions”. Yes, THOSE Angry Birds. Or, as Cocoa the babysit cat calls them, “main course”:

https://louiscatorze.com/2018/08/20/les-oiseaux-furieux/

Last year they drove us absolutely insane with rage with their screeching and, on one occasion, when I couldn’t stand the racket anymore, I looked outside to see that the Louis Catorze was winding them up. Now, it seems, not long after discovering the extent of their célébrité, they have started to drift back. Cat Daddy spotted a couple the other day on the telegraph wires behind Le Château, and they may have come back to nest and feed but it’s more likely that they’re looking to lay their vengeance upon Catorze.

Given that birds are able not only to recall the faces of individuals who have wronged them but also to encourage their bird friends to give said individuals some grief, I really hope Sa Maj will mind his own business this time. After all, a small, black cat with vampire teeth and a voice that could strip paint is pretty distinctive, and there’s no mistaking him for some other (nicer) cat or vice versa.

The Angry Birds can be found on page 266 of Graeme Chesters’ “London’s Secrets: Bizarre and Curious”. Their location is listed as Richmond Park although, in reality, they can be found all over West London and, rather like the Aurora Borealis, encountering them is more due to chance than anything else. Should you happen to meet them, it’s probably best to deny that you’ve even heard of Sa Maj.

Here he is, reminding them of who’s king around these parts: